Most really bad restaurants are in-your-face, impossible-to-miss bad: bad food, bad service, creepy and uncomfortable, grossly over-priced, etc. But some are much less obvious. Case in point: the Ropewalk Restaurant in Chincoteague, Virginia.

In its defense, Chincoteague is an off-the-beaten path island in the middle of the eastern shore of the DelMarVa peninsula. It is not a place you might just find yourself. But it is not quite as deserted as the map might make you think. The Navy, NOAA, and NASA have facilities there. Plus, winter is a time for construction and infrastructure improvements. While not full, the motels that stay open do a brisk business, even if at a dramatically reduced rate. (We paid $84 for a water view room that might go for $300+ in summertime.) 

The Ropewalk was one of the few open restaurants. It had a surprisingly large clientele to attract … and attract they did. On a random, cold Tuesday night in February, it was packed, mostly with contractors and workers, and only a few crazy wanderers, like Rebecca and me.

Fortunately, we arrived early, so getting a table was easy. Sandy, our waitress, was sweet and helpful. The view of the bay was superb. The murals lining the walls were gorgeous. Everyone seemed to be having fun. The menu has lots of variety, a fair amount of local and boiled (non-fried and gluten-free) options, and the prices were not at all outrageous. The place looked great. What could go wrong?

As we walked from the entrance to the dining room door, a life-size bronze statue filled the corner of the hallway. It stopped me in my tracks. What the hell was a life-size bronze sculpture of Ronald Reagan doing in a restaurant in Chincoteague? WTF!!!!!

I asked Sandy to explain his presence. She said that the restaurant’s owner (who was noticeably absent) thought Reagan was the best president ever, so he had the bronze statue made at his own expense. It adorns the entryway to his restaurant.

For the most part, I try not to get too political in this blog. Unfortunately, I am not very good in the self-control department. While Reagan had qualities that I deeply appreciate – like his affability and his desire to work across the aisle with the likes of Tip O’Neill – his politics were horrible. Let’s start with his first official act as president: ripping Jimmy Carter’s solar panels off the roof of the White House declaring (as I recollect) that energy conservation meant sitting in the cold in a sweater. (Jimmy Carter famously encouraged energy conservation by turning down the thermostat and wearing a sweater, which he did throughout his presidency.) As a long-time advocate for renewable energy and conservation, shall we say that Reagan’s policies sort-of rubbed me the wrong way. His “trickle-down” economic policies, his labor policies still make me crazy (think Air Traffic Controllers), his military policies (like the invasion of Granada!), and most-of-all, his environmental policies were direct precursors to today’s rants of “I’m going to drill, drill, drill.” His Interior Secretary, James Watt, was a bastard!!! Known as an anti-environmentalist, he purportedly said that “after the last tree is felled, Christ will come back.” In characterizing the panel reviewing his coal leasing policies, he offered reassurance to others by saying he had “every kind of mixture … a Black … a woman, two Jews and a cripple.” He never did spend time in jail … just 5 years of probation … for withholding documents in an influence peddling investigation.)

Being greeted by Reagan upon entering the dining room made a most unpleasant first impression. 

But let’s get back to Sandy the Waitress. She was in our age range, 70-ish +, and super nice and friendly. She also was alarmingly overworked, waiting on way-too-many tables across way-too-much geography. She could not possibly keep up.  

We ordered a salad that came with blue cheese and asked Sandy to put the cheese on the side. (Rebecca doesn’t eat dairy.) Sandy replied, “Always.” When the salad arrived, it was filled with crumbled blue cheese, but we did indeed have two blue cheese dressings on the side. OOPS. As Sandy later said, and we totally agreed, it was an honest mistake. We did not see Sandy for 10 or 15 minutes while another worker took our salad back to the kitchen and replaced it with one with crumbled blue cheese on the side. Sandy was way too busy taking orders from other tables. The restaurant was insanely understaffed. Sandy’s comment about it being an honest mistake caused Rebecca and I to look at each other in guilt-ridden disbelief: we both feared that Sandy herself might be charged for the salad because of the mistake. I do not know if we were right, but I would not be surprised.

That the restaurant was so understaffed also seemed Reagan-esque: if the owner can keep the restaurant filled, the happy customers will tip the wait staff generously, thus enabling his profits to “trickle down” to the lowly line workers and wait staff. We did indeed tip Sandy well, but we have no idea if she or the cooks or the helpers received any of it.

Following the salad, we got our first course: a bowl of Maryland crab soup. It was really tasty … in a canned tomato sort-of way. Then I tasted the potatoes and the other veggies in the soup. Every bit of it, including the almost-imperceptible crabmeat, tasted like it came from cans. Crap! I could have made that soup in minutes for pennies per bowl. It was tasty, but a million miles from anything special or worthy of restaurant fare.

Our main course was actually delicious and deserves almost no criticism: boiled shrimp. It was as billed: boiled shrimp. I did, however, have to ask for lemon and horseradish to accompany the plain ketchup they served along with it. To the chef’s credit, the shrimp were not overcooked.

Once we ate, my Inner Sociologist started watching the restaurant, which was filled with contract workers who were there doing any number of different jobs on the island.

I noted the platters of food that the (all-too-sparse) waitstaff took to the tables. The fried stuff was the perfect color of fried food, but each piece had an identical swerve-y pattern and a perfect this-didn’t-happen-here crust. I’ll be damned, I thought; they are not preparing the fried fare here; they are buying it frozen, warming it in the fryer, and serving it.

Then I noticed the people, mostly young and densely packed. “Good lord,” I realized, “We are in a germ incubator! We’ve got to get the F out of here, and quick!” (Fortunately, we are recently vaccinated and very healthy.)

I stood up to try to get Sandy’s attention so we could get a check and bolt. Getting the check took a good while, and during that time a DJ started broadcasting something over a speaker system. His voice was so garbled that nothing audible resulted … but it was very loud.

Great timing. We got our check, left our tip, and escaped as quickly as we could.

Mine and Rebecca’s time in Chincoteague was good. My Inner Sociologist’s time in Chincoteague was FANTASTIC!!!!!!

And sorry for the political digression. I hope I did not offend anyone too badly.

Oh, and by the way, that in-town airport in DC will always be Washington National to me. No other names really work.