Sampler at Rafters

photo courtesy Roy Knoy

If you’ve noticed the brand spankin’ new sign outside the venerable Seasons hotel, you should know that it is welcoming you to the completely refurbished dining room for a gustatory experience that is both new and comfortably familiar.

I have always had a bit of a soft spot for the dining room at the Seasons, with its long bank of windows overlooking the Salt Creek Valley. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed many a fine meal parked at a table by those windows, taking in the lofty view.

The pandemic lockdown affected businesses everywhere, with restaurants in particular taking a massive hit. But, up at the Seasons, they wisely used the downtime to completely remodel and create a new watering hole called “Rafters.”

In the restaurant sampling game, if you want to get a glimpse into the real soul of a restaurant, show up at one of their peak hours, when every table is full and the staff is stressed to the point of being overwhelmed.

I chose a busy early Sunday afternoon, when the visitors crowd in for one last Brown County dining experience, and church-goers eat after being released from their religious duties.

The resulting dinner rush nearly fills the spacious and nicely appointed dining room, as well as the comfortable tables on the bar side of the room.

I am of the church crowd, and I arrived at the Seasons fresh from the pulpit, having completed my Sunday chores as the pastor of a small Baptist church.

Many years ago after a church homecoming dinner, I visited with several older preachers who had gathered to reminisce and swap pulpit jokes.

One of them said, “Back in the old days, when a young man expressed a desire to become a preacher, the other preachers would sit him down and ask him one burning question,

“Are you willing and able to eat fried chicken for every meal, morning noon and night, so long as you live?”

Each Sunday the preacher would take his dinner at the home of one of the congregants. When the preacher came for dinner, people cooked the only fancy meal readily available to them. They went out in the yard, grabbed a chicken, and fried it up.

The result was that the preacher was always being served fried chicken, and he had better develop a taste for it if he were to thrive in the ministry.

If a man preaches, he gets fried chicken. That’s the Code of the Hills.

There was no question what I would be ordering on this particular visit to the Seasons dining room.

But, of course, there are plenty of other choices on the menu.

Available entrees, each served with the Seasons signature fried biscuits and house-baked apple butter, include chargrilled wild-caught Pacific blackened salmon with lemon dill or a bourbon glaze. There’s also a nice New York strip steak in four, eight or 12-ounce sizes.

The battered and fried whitefish served with fries and coleslaw is always delightful, as are the chicken tenders; premium, all white-meat chicken dipped in buttermilk, breaded and fried to a crisp, golden brown and served with honey mustard.

For your inner child there is Rafters mac and cheese; tender elbow pasta in a creamy cheese sauce with toasted panko crumbs, and your choice of slowcooked pulled pork or sliced grilled chicken, finished with a drizzle of honey barbecue sauce and fresh green onions.

There are numerous burgers and sandwiches to tantalize and satisfy, ranging from “Just a Burger” on a toasted brioche bun to an apple butter bacon burger, or a bourbon black and bleu burger.

You might have a hankering for other special sandwiches, such as the Rafters tenderloin, or Nashville hot chicken on a toasted bun, or pot roast sliders on fried biscuits with horseradish aioli, or the pesto portobello sandwich.

All burgers and sandwiches are served with French fries.

Also on the expansive menu are tacos, wraps, and flatbreads in a wide variety.

Fish, chicken, or pulled pork tacos are stuffed with cheese, sauces, and veggie combinations.

Toasted flatbreads range from the Margherita to the California chicken.

Fried appetizers? Love ‘em!

How about some chicken wings or cheese curds. My favorite is the beer-battered onion rings.

There are salads and desserts too numerous to mention, along with various beers and cocktails to suit any taste.

My chicken arrives, hot and juicy, lightly breaded, and fried to a tender golden brown. There are mashed potatoes and green beans, plus the inevitable fried biscuits with apple butter.

The chicken is delicious. With the view and the friendly ambience of the place, the magical spell of Sunday dinner sets in. The code has been kept. Tradition is fulfilled.

And I am profoundly satisfied.