Ashby Inn

I cannot think of another restaurant where I've lingered so long because the entire experience has calmed me into one of those wonderful Sunday afternoon stupors, where I don't have a care in the world.  This happened to me Sunday at the Ashby Inn, an hour west on 66 in Paris Virginia.  I think this lovely little farmhouse turned Inn may be the only business in this hamlet.  I sat on the edge of their covered portico at a table for two with my good friend Andrew, overlooking the hillside at the base of the Shenandoah Valley.  The only thing missing were sheep grazing.  Perhaps I was simply there on the wrong day.  A path edged with unique herbs led to a wall of shrubs -- the only thing between me and this wilderness.  Butterflies swarmed.  Sparkling wine uncorked by New York transplant Lissa (with 2 s's), who was more our friend than our server.  With a price fixe menu -- my appetizer was by far one of the best dishes that has ever touched my lips.  Understatedly described on the menu as a peach and mozzarella napoleon, this creation came to me on a long, thin white plate -- a perfectly plump and juicy peach sliced in 1/4" sections.  Grilled and still warm.  In between, slightly melted pieces of buffalo mozzarella.  The entire thing was drizzled with an orange cilantro reduction that made the flavor of the dish pop into another genre.  This course was followed by a dual eggs benedict.  One was served with a steak fillet, perfectly grilled.  The other with canadian bacon.  I have never seen two such perfectly poached eggs.  The desert choice was an apple cake that was a cross between pie, cake and candy.  Brunch began at 1pm.  I left around 4.  I will never forget this brunch and will return to this place often.