Seeking the “Holy Grail”

The device of the quest is one of the oldest and most durable in literature. Indeed the annals of fantasy and entertainment are replete with great examples of searching/seeking/craving the hopefully-not-unattainable. Everything from Camelot to Dan Brown, Charlie Brown and the Little Red-Haired Girl, from Ross on Friends to the venerable Don Quixote have dreamed the impossible dream and set out to find whatever the holy grail is to them.

Yesterday did not start out to be a quest per se; yesterday was to be the 2nd annual Christmas Visit to Cincinnati by platinum friend Tracy. Obviously it is not as revered a tradition yet since it is only the second annual, but still, it was an exciting day on that, my second full day in Cincinnati for Christmas vacation. Last year Tracy drove the 150 miles and we attended Jack and Emma’s school Christmas concert, enjoyed lunch at the Art Museum, and then on a tip from Cincinnati magazine, tried a place downtown, “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul,” that promised heavenly pies and cobblers. Oh, oh, let me tell you. This is the Cobbler of Your Dreams. We ordered the peach cobbler, and since Flo’s had no seats in it, we decided to take the serving for four back to my house to share with my father. When we got in the car, I decided we should at least taste the cobbler, you know, make sure it was okay. You. Can’t. Believe. How. Good. That. Cobbler. Tasted! Sadly, only one or two bites remained for my father.

When this year’s newly christened annual rite was planned, we definitely sought a return trip to “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul” for the best peach cobbler I could remember.

Tracy arrived around 10:00 a.m. yesterday for some visits to a handful of my Cincinnati family and friends. We got caught up in the visiting, so when it was nearing 2:00 p.m. I steered her car toward the downtown Cincinnati area so that we might eat cobbler and lunch and cobbler and soon as possible. We didn’t remember the exact address, but we vaguely recalled seeing the courthouse out of one eye and a statue of President James Garfield out of the other eye.

The plan was to wolf down the cobbler/lunch/cobbler and head to some festive Christmas-y Cincinnati things, sights like Krohn Conservatory with the largest poinsettia display in the Midwest, the iconic train display downtown (another “largest in the Midwest” boast attached to the promotions), the Nativity scene at the dubious Creationism Museum, the Hilton Hotel gingerbread display (guess how The Cincinnati Enquirer trumpeted this one…wait for it…yes, “the largest in the Midwest” claim!).

We park the car near the courthouse, near where we remember the scene of great wolfing in the First Annual Christmas Visit to Cincinnati from Tracy. We find the storefront, and oh, okay, there is a sign in the window announcing that “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul” has moved two blocks away to Vine Street. We run down the street (umm, before we actually got the address, our craze for the cobbler so great I just saw the words ‘Vine Street’ and whisked Tracy down the street headed for the scent of perfect cobbler.

It was getting colder but we knew that the mouthwatering cobbler was near so we could fight the wind and cold. We turned onto Vine Street, walked a little ways, and didn’t see any sign brandishing the name of Flo. Where are you “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul”????

I realize that we walked away so fast from the sign announcing the move that we didn’t even check the street address on Vine Street—we just made an about-face and headed the two blocks away to Vine Street. After several blocks of wandering on Vine Street (by the way passing at least a dozen respectable places for lunch!) we headed back to that sign near the courthouse.

I add more money to the parking meter and we get the address as 915 Vine Street. Back down the street we go…

We get to the corner and start to go right instead of the left that had yielded no “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul.” We see that we are in the 1000 block of Vine Street. Wait…that should mean we passed “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul.” But…we didn’t see it. We retrace our footsteps back to the promised land of 915 Vine Street but it is not called “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul.” No matter. This must be the place of the Holy Grail of Cobblers. We go into the place called “Mayberry,” and it smells great. The menu up on the wall looks great and it seems to be a bohemian, gourmet sandwich kinda place. Hmmmm…

Flo of the “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul” was definitely not a “Mayberry” kind of denizen nor would she look right in a bohemian, upscale-y sandwich shop. (This place probably even added the –pe to up the ante in prestige and be a “shoppe” instead of just a shop.) I see some great lunch items, and by this time the little hand was firmly lodged on the 3. But Tracy said, “Johnny, I don’t see any desserts on that menu.” Tracy is a pretty fearless woman, but I detected a note of worry in her voice. Where was the cobbler? Did they rename the place and hide the cobbler? Where is that peach cobbler???

We asked the woman with the asymmetrical hairdo about the cobbler. She didn’t know from cobbler. I said, “The sign around the corner, near the courthouse, it said that ‘Flo’s Plate Full of Soul’ had relocated here.” I shot her a pleading look that certainly indicated a pressing need for the cobbler from Flo’s.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Well, they moved from here. We’ve been here for about two months.” Surely we would give up the quest and plop down for a fancy smoked or peppered something with roasted something on ciabatta. “Do you know where Flo’s moved?” I pressed for the information.

“I think they moved out on Reading Road or somewhere,” she answered, not understanding the gravity of this twist in our journey.

We hightailed it out of the I’m-sure-it’s-nice-Mayberry-café. Someone else would have to take the menus in her outstretched hand.

Tracy was right on it. She called Information in Cincinnati. There was no listing in the Cincinnati directory for “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul.” We fast-walked back to the car and she got ahold of her GPS and punched in the information we had about “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul.” Nothing matched the data.

What should we do?

I remembered that Flo had started out at the grand, old Findlay Market downtown a few years back. We maneuvered the car through the downtown streets racing over to the old market stand (the Findlay Market dates back to 1844 for you history-curious people out there). We almost collided with a mini-van in the parking lot, but I don’t think it was out of my mad dash for the cobbler—I think it really was the other’s guy fault.

We search throughout the Market (I do take a break to buy a couple of pounds of ground chuck—Tracy laughed at this—but hey, a bargain is a bargain, even when you searching for the Midwest Grail, you gotta be aware of the bargains around you) and there is no stand. Every trace of “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul” seems to have vanished. We give up the search. Reluctantly. But we are really hungry for lunch now.

I decide that we should treat ourselves to the delectable chicken salad croissants at Servattii Pastry Shop on the west side. This is a mini-quest, not as dramatic, crucial, or heavenly as The Cobbler, but it will be good.

Of course when we arrive at Servattii’s, as the clock yawns toward 4:00 the petulant child behind the cashier whines, “Look at the sign on the window. The deli stops serving at 2:00.” Enough! Enough! We need lunch. Tracy confesses she didn’t eat breakfast before she hit the road that morning for the 2nd annual Christmas Visit to Cincinnati. We race around the corner to perfectly fine, perfectly mundane Chipotle and finally eat lunch.

Instead of that long-awaited Cobbler we head over to Graeter’s—the best ice cream in the world for their Swiss Chocolate sundae. We exchange Christmas gifts and hugs. Each of us receives a cell phone call—at about the same exact time—about some pesky problem from the real world. Our bubble is burst that it is only about the Impossible Dream.

If any of you have any news about “Flo’s Plate Full of Soul,” please pass it along. The marriage of sugar and butter and peaches and flour has never been so good. I swear angels would sing over this cobbler.

I suppose there are many grails we seek in our world. Tickets and trips and promotions and titles and bling and little red-haired girls. Perhaps most of life is spent pursuing signs and scents and hopes and dreams.

Tonight I will be playing the piano for my sister as she sings a solo in our family’s church. We have been doing this rite for some 35 years ever since as little children we braved the congregation to go and sing on Christmas Eve. We will light candles at the end of the service and ponder the real people who longago chased after a strange thing announced by angels and stars. I don’t deign to presume that that cobbler is holy—but these quests, these mad journeys, remind us of other seekers.