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In 1930 Lucius Beebe, the noted journalist, gourmand,
travel critic and raconteur said this of the bar at the GRISWOLD
INN,
“It is the most perfect drinking establishment in the world.” Fifty
seven years later a similar claim made by a writer for the New York
Times would spur this author to abandon his usual Sunday morning
rituals and make the ninety mile drive north to the town of Essex,
Connecticut. |
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| THE GRISWOLD INN |
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HISTORIC
DECOR |
I have for most of my life harbored this unfair notion
that Connecticut is the state that one has to pass through in order to
get to New England. Congestion, tractor trailers and long crawls up
I-95 were impediments to the pleasures of Newport, Boston, Portland and
Boothbay Harbor. Yet there were always these pleasing black and white
images buried in my consciousness that supported a very different point
of view about the Nutmeg State. Early Hollywood had spun wonderful
tales of dashing young men, beautiful heiresses and spirited
ingénues
finding purpose and contentment in the charm and gracious living of
this part of southern New England. My arrival in Essex would turn those
black and white celluloid memories into a rich and vivid reality.
The English settled this area on the banks of the Connecticut River in
1645. Then known as Pettipaug, its deep waters and proximity to Long
Island Sound fostered the emergence of a maritime industry that would
play an important role in America’s naval and military history. Between
the Revolutionary and Civil Wars more than five hundred sailing ships
were constructed in the boatyards of Essex.
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ESSEX WATERFRONT
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CONNECTICUT
RIVER MUSEUM
THE INN'S
GUN COLLECTION
HOGWASH IS TOLERATED
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Today the town enjoys a bounty of painstakingly
restored 18th and 19th century homes. The gentle flapping of the sails
on passing pleasure boats sets the tone for the unhurried pace of
visitors and locals taking advantage of the fine shops and eateries
that dot the village landscape. But as usual my pace is anything but
unhurried. The motivation for this Sunday morning motor trip is within
my grasp.
I unlatch the door and walk into the
Griswold Inn's
small lobby.
A very pleasant host inquires if I am here for the Hunt Breakfast, a
tradition, he explained, started by the British after their successful
raid on the town in 1814. On April 8th of that year a contingent of
marines and sailors armed with pistols, muskets and swivel guns put
forth in six small boats from English warships anchored in Long Island
Sound. After rowing six miles upstream they landed, quickly
commandeered the town, seized stores and proceeded to set ablaze as
many ships as possible. In all twenty eight merchant vessels and
privateers were destroyed or found there way to the bottom of the
Connecticut River. After six hours of mayhem and military handiwork the
British commander entered the Bushnell Tavern (now the Griswold Inn),
and demanded a hearty breakfast. I appreciated the history lesson but
declined the repast and headed directly to the taproom.
Lucius Beebe was correct, as was the
man whose pen had
prodded me to undertake this journey. The barroom was simply
magnificent!
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THE TAPROOM
This section of the building began its existence
as an 18th century schoolhouse that, with the help of a few logs and a
bit of Yankee ingenuity, was rolled down Main Street and attached to
the inn. There were I suspect a few alumni on hand that applauded the
room’s conversion to a place dedicated to adult education.
During a recent visit to the Griswold I was treated to a tour of the
inn’s new wine bar. The latest addition to this revered edifice
reflects the style and sophistication of post industrial America. The
roughly hewn beams and candle lit sconces of the old building give way
to polished mahogany and chic lighting.
THE WINE BAR
I’m sure if Mr. Beebe was still
turning a phrase for the old New York
Herald Tribune he might have this to say about the current state of
affairs at the Griswold, “This is certainly a case of the past perfect
converging with the present perfect."
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