March 16th. The eve of the green madness. We won’t be dying the creek a questionable shade of emerald, but we might be practicing our jigs. In The Lodge, the fire is roaring. The chef is possessed. . . Five courses that bridge the gap between a mountain hollow and a Roman piazza. It shouldn’t work, but it does. It’s the culinary equivalent of a bluegrass fiddle playing Vivaldi.

Your server brings in the Italians. A Barolo so deep it has its own gravity. An aromatic Barbaresco that cuts through the mountain mist like a searchlight.

A man steps out of the shadows - his hat cocked at an angle that suggests he knows exactly what you’re thinking and finds it amusing. He starts to sing, and for a moment, the last forty years simply vanish. You’re in the Velvet-Lined Pocket of 1954. He starts into "Summer Wind," and you’d swear the Chairman himself had decided the hills of Georgia were a fine place to spend an evening. By the time he reaches “New York, New York”, you’ve forgotten where you parked. You’ve forgotten your mortgage. You are, quite simply, a character in a much better movie.

Wear something wool. Bring an appetite. Leave the green tie in the suitcase. While the world prepares to wake up with a headache and a plastic hat, you’ll be finishing a glass of Vin Santo by the hearth. Quiet. Refined. Superior.

Would you like The Lodge’s room availability for the night? Call us for a Package Price! 706-835-7433