We Don’t Deserve the Windsor Hotel
The Historic (and seemingly bustling) Windsor Hotel, 1898
Do you know how hard it is to get a good drink in a bustling city, let alone a tiny mountain town?
I'm not talking about a vile of vodka with a splash of cranberry. I’m talking about a dash of bitters, liqueur you can't pronounce, and some time-earned skill.
Do you know how rare it is to ask for a wine recommendation from someone who really knows? And is willing to share their knowledge? Someone who will direct you away from the expensive and popular vineyard to the affordable and underrated?
Do you know how difficult it is to find and keep a talented chef? One that can spin a new menu on a dime, shows up when expected, and is actually a nice person? One that willingly steps out of the box to innovate flavors, educate customers, and takes off the chef pants and puts on a lab coat? A regular chef might throw something at your head if you ask him to retrieve something from the walk-in.
Do you know how rare it is for a dilapidated historic building to escape the wrecking ball and come out sparkling on the other side? Her own architect said it would have made more sense to tear her down, but nonetheless, she persisted.
This is all remarkable, and I believe enough to support my argument, but I'm not done.
The Windsor is a sparkling gem that defies economic logic. How many dining rooms attract patrons willing to drive three hours for a meal? And how many continue to attract repeat guests?
I have had the privilege of exploring many a small town, in many a state across the country, and this is rare, even for with dense populations and a demonstrated appetite for white tablecloths.
As my neighbor likes to say whenever I get out of line, "This is Del Norte!"
The Windsor is not something you would or should expect from a town of less than 2,000 souls.
When I stop in for a meal, I can't help but marvel at the mechanisms of success. Dedicated, talented individuals that believe in their work and won't settle for average anything.
When I first came to town, they were dropping Japanese milk bread on the table as a compliment. This is a special carbohydrate, that is not even easy to craft.
Rarity in service and cuisine is one thing, but a genuine historic footprint and a staff dedicated to her future is another. It isn't just a business, it’s a story, a support beam of the town, run by people who live here and love it.
With a food truck, distillery, and tasting room, the sky is the limit. I will continue to foster a humble spirit of awe, and I welcome you to slap on some cologne and a collared shirt, and come taste the wonder.
Just don't take it for granted, because we don't deserve her, and maybe one day she'll find out.