Two days after voting for independence in Philadelphia, on July 4, , John Adams celebrated with a bowl of turtle soup; when the war was over, George Washington met with his officers at Fraunces Tavern in lower Manhattan for a farewell frolic; and Lincoln celebrated his second inaugural with terrapin stew. Across the pond, the Brits also revered turtle soup. Serving turtle in three different dishes at a frolic was not only common, it was, according to 's Experienced English House-Keeper , standard operating procedure. Today, the memory of this dish has withdrawn into the fossil record of place names—Turtle Bay in midtown Manhattan centuries ago was a literal description of the area, same as Cooterville, Louisiana, and Turtlepoint, Pennsylvania.
According to Paul Freedman, a food historian at Yale, the great fashion for turtle soup peters out in the midth century. But probably the easiest way to taste fresh-cooked turtle these days is to pull on some rubber boots and meet up with Ricky. Early the morning of the hunt, after a platter of sausage, grits, and cornbread, we headed to the western end of the area known as Big Stone Gap, which has a notable lack of poisonous snakes, an abundance of turtles, and a holler full of welcoming farmers whose chickens get eaten by big snapping turtles and whose cows get tormented.
When we arrived, about eight of us decided to work the creek.
The rest, mostly kids, prowled the banks, shouting jokes and offering play-by-play cooter commentary. We waded into a surging river up to our waists, pushing into a muscular flow strong enough to carry off a boy. Bud handed me a metal rod with a shepherd's crook at the end and showed me how to poke into the mud bank. The dens are essentially air pockets carved into the river bank with easy access to the creek.
We were after big turtles with shells the size of dinner plates or steering wheels, heads the size of a man's fist, and a mouth big enough, Ricky told me, to guillotine a finger in one swift motion. I poked into the mud with the rod, trying to sense an easy give that suggested a den.
I slowly put my hand through some roots and dirt and could feel the creepy sensation of open air inside. I pushed my forearm into the dark wetness, my brain suddenly showcasing a cartoon cavalcade of nightmare visions. My body instinctively delivered one of those full-length bedtime jerks. I was comforted only by the fact that here in the water, no one could see that I was breaking out in the yellow sweat of a coward.
We slow-motioned upstream with Ricky and Bud eagerly pushing their hands into the scariest-looking places imaginable—stump holes, thick briars, hanging tree roots. I asked one of the boys for a gunnysack to carry so that I would at least appear to be doing something other than taking a very hard walk upstream because there was no way I was putting my arm in another den.
I took some solace in that. Just then, Ronnie, a hunter, caught one swimming by. It bumped his leg and with lightning reflexes, he grabbed the tail, thick as a forearm, and held it up. It was big and his fierce head angled straight at me as I approached, a sharp beaky mouth opened in fury, hoping for a finger as he got lowered into a sack.
That's the other thing. Snapping turtles are powerful in the water and Ricky told the story, from a few hunts ago, when Bud caught one the size of a manhole cover swimming away: Ricky broke off talking as he'd spotted a nice thicket of loose roots, mud, and darkness, the kind of place that million years of evolution had schooled the Golgi bodies in my every cell to walk widely around. Ricky trudged over, his arm now speckled with red dots of blood from poking past dozens of brambles and thorny bank growth. He plunged in, up to the elbow and then to the ball of his shoulder, the side of his face pressed into the muddy side of the creek bank, his feet taking the stabilizing stance of a linebacker.
There were grunts and twists of his shoulder, and then he started to pull out his arm and suddenly, like some birth scene in Greek mythology, the river mud slurped open, and, before everyone's eyes, Ricky was gripping the tail of a dangling turtle, another big one, the size of a hubcap. Cheers went up, praise was generous, and one of the boys with a gunnysack ran over for the honor of toting the prize.
After two days of hunting, we all headed to Ricky's house in Chester, South Carolina, to clean his share, ten good-sized ones. Cleaning a turtle is not easy. First, there is the killing, and there is nothing to say here except you need a really sharp knife and a swift hand.
I lopped the head off, drained the blood, and commenced with the hard part: Cutting out the bottom of the shell, the plastron, separating it from the carapace. Inside are the organs and an ample amount of yellow fat, which is not at all desirable. One of Ricky's friends, Bubba, who was helping out this afternoon, told me he accidentally got a mouthful of that fat in some badly prepared cooter and couldn't eat it for a decade. The tough outer reptilian skin can be removed after a quick scalding, and then what's left are two large pieces of good meat, the back quarters including the tail and the front legs along with the neck.
In the shell those two parts are nearly separate, barely connected by a double strip of loin nestled into its own bony cage in the center well. The thing about an average turtle is that once cleaned, it will yield about three or four pounds of meat, so it's easy to see why it was once the workingman's meal.
At any house with a well, there might be one or two turtles hanging out in the nearby puddles. I ran across accounts of people finding turtles here and there and tossing them into the water barrel at the well until there were enough to invite friends over for a frolic. So, another explanation for their disappearance from the common menu, along with Freedman's argument about degradation of habitat, might well be indoor plumbing. Easy access to turtle was eliminated when we piped water directly into the house, allowing the once-visible turtle to withdraw into the creeks and swamps, back to the muskrat dens where Ricky and Bud still look for them every year.
Ricky generously let me bag about eight pounds of neck and legs on ice, along with some of the loin still locked into the shells. Does this restaurant have waiters and waitresses? Share another experience before you go. Write a Review Reviews Show reviews that mention. All reviews brunch prime rib snapper soup au gratin potatoes veal oscar crab imperial bread basket surf and turf chilean sea bass oysters bananas foster beef cake ice cream for special occasions carving station frequent diners. Review tags are currently only available for English language reviews.
Read reviews in English Go back. Reviewed 1 week ago.
Reviewed 3 weeks ago. What happened Wm Penn Inn? Reviewed October 30, via mobile. Reviewed October 21, Reviewed October 14, Reviewed September 28, Reviewed September 16, via mobile. Reviewed September 16, Read some bad things - but was pleasantly surprised. Previous Next 1 2 3 4 5 6 … Restaurant Menu Dinner Menu. All small plates are served with country mashed potatoes and vegetable of the day. Small plates not available Friday, Saturday or during December.
On a bed of caramelized leeks with a rosette of fresh herb butter and a side of sauce bearnaise. Three petite filets mignon lightly crusted in cracked black peppercorns, pan-seared and finished with a cognac peppercorn sauce; crowned with crispy fried onions. Two jumbo lump crabcakes paired with a broiled 8 oz.
We started with the bruschetta Does this restaurant have waiters and waitresses? Tales of the Clam Club: What is a tale? Continue shopping Checkout Continue shopping. Log in Join Recently viewed Bookings Inbox. It's hard not to note the sheer variety of what was available before then, not just of turtle, but of all manner of meats.
Lobster tail carefully baked; paired with a broiled 8 oz. Marinated in olive oil with fresh herbs, baked to perfection and coated with a pommery mustard and roasted pine nut bread crumb crust; served on a pool of balsamic vinegar demi-glace. Boneless, brushed with a savory blackberry glaze and char-grilled; paired with toasted pecan stuffing.
Crusted with a pine nut and basil pesto and nestled on a bed of honey caramelized leeks; served with a savory lobster fumet. Lobster tail, pan-seared jumbo sea scallops, tangerine-grilled salmon, jumbo lump crabcake and two bacon-wrapped shrimp. Pan-seared boneless breast and a crispy-skinned, slow-roasted leg; served with a traditional sauce made with grand marnier and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Grilled asparagus spears topped with jumbo lump crabmeat and sauce hollandaise. Presented with creamed horseradish, inn-pickled red onions, fresh lemon, black pepper and grilled ciabatta.
Three jumbo shrimp, two blue point oysters and colossal crabmeat presented with cocktail sauce, sauce remoulade and a champagne mignonnette. Wafer-thin filet mignon seared rare, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and sprinkled with an artisanal sea salt; garnished with shaved reggiano parmigiano cheese and watercress. Tender snails sauteed with mushrooms and baby spinach in a fines herbes garlic butter; presented in our inn-baked sourdough roll. Five sea scallops studded with fresh ginger and wrapped in applewood-smoked bacon; baked and served with a tangy pepper vodka cocktail sauce.
Entree Plate Cup 7. Entree Plate Bowl Entree Plate Cup 5. Entree Plate Bowl 7. Entree Plate Crock 6. Crisp romaine tossed with parmesan cheese and lightly roasted garlic croutons in our tangy caesar dressing. With candied walnuts, sliced strawberries and goat cheese; tossed with field greens in an apple cider ginger vinaigrette. Topped with applewood-smoked bacon, creamy blue cheese dressing, diced tomatoes and crumbled blue cheese. Field greens, romaine, baby spinach, shredded carrots, cucumbers, red cabbage and grape tomatoes; choice of inn-made dressings.
Served with sliced kennett square mushrooms, chopped egg and grape tomatoes; topped with your choice of hot bacon or honey mustard dressing. Residence Inn Philadelphia Montgomeryville. Response from Nicholas M Reviewed this property. I suspect not, but call them to query whether they have corkage fees for wines for special occasions. Are you a BYOB? Response from Thomas M Reviewed this property. Response from Gretchen Property representative. They are given out to you when you dine in the restaurants after Thanksgiving through the month of December.
Previous Next 1 2 3. Own or manage this property? Claim your listing for free to respond to reviews, update your profile and much more. TripAdvisor LLC is not responsible for content on external web sites. Taxes, fees not included for deals content.