Many readers will remember The Willow Inn in Oak Forest. I chose to write about that spot this month because holidays there were beyond special to me.
I was in middle-school when I first started going there. I was so intrigued by this beautiful inn, I still think about it on a regular basis.
I deeply miss going there. I miss the ambience, the food, the attention to detail, the uniqueness, and the delightful owners who made it so incredibly special. I have traveled extensively, yet I have never enjoyed a dining experience as much as I did at The Willow Inn.
I don’t think it could ever be duplicated. Too many wonderful people, recipes, and objects collided to make an unforgettable experience. The property was purchased by Pat Varner and Ralph Wilson in 1974. The brick farmhouse dated to 1790 and needed many repairs.
Pat was quoted in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette saying, “it took three years to refurbish the home, and eight years to turn a profit.” Ralph was not a trained chef. But after leaving his teaching position, he taught himself the art to fulfill a life-long dream. We are so fortunate they both took the chance in Greene County.
I got the privilege of knowing both gentlemen professionally when we allowed them to have free reign in our produce and meat departments at Giant Eagle, so they could handpick for their menu. Managers enjoyed bringing them into walk-in coolers and prep areas, and friendships developed over the years.
They were excellent and exceedingly kind customers. They brought the term “shop local” to a whole new level.
The restaurant was open year-round, but the holidays there were magical. I remember stepping up onto that creaking, sloping front porch with the candlelight flickering through the frosty windows.
As you stepped into the foyer, you were greeted by Ralph with a glass of wine. It was rather dark as only candlelight was used, but the soft glow was so inviting and warm you felt as if you had stepped into a Christmas story from years ago.
The scent of pine and the delicious smells from the kitchen flooded your senses. Guests could mingle with anticipation in the dining areas. The interior floors and steps were also sloped and slanted, but it only added to the charm. Pat’s “primitive style” paintings adorned the walls.
Another cheeky feature was the inn’s “Blacklist.” It enumerated the unfortunate souls who were no-shows and therefore banned from returning. That simple binder played no favorites. Readers saw the names of their favorite “Steelers” or other local and regional celebrities who dared commit the ultimate social faux pas.
For you see, the dinner was prepared for a specific number of guests. One did not just “show up” for dinner. Reservations were made well in advance, and the menu was planned with the utmost artistry and thought. Prospective guests were made aware, so the thought of just not showing up when a reservation had been made, was downright preposterous.
Guests mingled until Pat announced everyone could be seated. Tables were assigned ahead of time naturally. Different sized tables to accommodate various-sized parties were thoughtfully set and adorned. Candles burned endlessly on the tables, mantles, windows, and in sconces.
Worried about seeing the menu? Not need, there wasn’t one. Pat would tell you about each course as it was presented. Meals were elegantly paired and curated by Ralph, and guests ate what they were served: family style, of course.
First, soup arrived, then salad, as the conversations flowed easily from every table. Guests oohed and aahed over every course, and Pat and an assistant or two kept the courses coming, perfectly timed. There was time to savor each course, allowing that perfect bit of rest between each dish.
Empty plates seemed to float away seamlessly and quietly. There was no clamoring or clattering of china. That was no small feat because pieces were mismatched and eclectic – but oh so beautiful.
As the evening wore on and the candles tapered, dessert was served. Final dishes were removed, and the kind and quiet chef finally emerged from the kitchen to say goodnight to guests: the perfect ending to an unforgettable evening. I am sure we applauded, or I could just be dreaming.
As guests said goodnights and headed to their cars, all were amazed that 3-4 hours had passed. It wasn’t just dinner. It was fine dining in a 200-year-old remote inn with family and friends creating a core memory.
I am teary-eyed just writing this as I can still see the gentlemen’s smiling faces, the mild exhaustion on Ralph’s face as he emerged from the kitchen, the delighted guests, the flickering of the candles, and the pine placed artfully over mantles. I can still taste, hear and feel every sensory aspect of those evenings.
I long to see my parents’ faces in that candlelight, enjoying and savoring every bite. I can picture the holiday attire as guests dressed in red, green, plaid, velvet, and gold. I can feel the rush of the warmth from inside as I step out of the cold from the porch.
And, I can feel the excitement of sitting down at the table, and the anticipation of returning as I leave.
I know many readers have stories, experiences, and favorite memories from The Willow Inn. There are recipes floating around the county, and hopefully some of you will share them in our Crowded Kitchen section.
This month, I am sharing one of my absolute favorite soups served at The Inn. It was even published in Bon Appetit magazine. (I want to thank Lisa Hillsman for writing it out for me many years ago.)
I may not be able to dine in The Willow Inn anymore, but I will always cherish the times I did and hold on to those memories as tightly as I can.
