Begin dream sequence. A soft haze sweeps into view and it’s difficult to make out what’s just ahead. The twill of a harp can be heard in the distance.

As the fog clears we are greeted by The Majestic and the silhouetted backs of three companions. The restaurant’s nostalgic deco facade gives way to an inviting diningroom. Following the enticing homestyle smells of fried green tomatoes, whipped potatoes, and pork shoulder confit with caramelized onions, the three still-unknown diners glide into the room ahead as if carried by the flavorful fragrances themselves–we, too, sweep into the room. We are soon enveloped in golden walls, the gentle clattering of forks and knives and warm laughter from other guests sets the mood. Seated at the table, we peer across the top of a menu at our companions, deeply engrossed in the rich list of homestyle dishes. Strategizing as if somewhere in the belly of the White House itself (or perhaps just infront of a game of battleship), dinner is ordered.

Pleasant conversation and full-bodied wine flow freely around the table. And then, the food appears: wild mushroom soup with red pepper relish and crème fraîche; chicken liver mousse accompanied by toast points and fruit compote; a light autumn salad of radicchio and frisee topped with buttermilk-blue dressing and brightened by pomegranate; and, of course, a potato croquette with fried green tomato, fried egg, and melted onions. A sweet hush falls across the table as the diners indulge in their first bites.

The subtle memories of the first course still lingering on thoughts and tongues are quickly forgotten as the second course arrives: butternut squash ravioli delicately set in a butter-sage sauce; seared scallops framed by celery root puree, sauteed spinach, mushrooms, and decadent black truffle sauce; rockfish portuguese style, paired with hearty cannellini beans, roasted red pepper, linguica, potatoes, roasted onions, and sauteed arugula in a warmly magical broth; and finally, a compilation of fresh vegetables of different shapes, colors, and textures straight from the farm with a side of yukon gold potatoes whipped with butter and cream.

Nearing the end of the meal, we push on–there’s still room for dessert. The scents of cinnamon, chocolate, pumpkin and maple rushing from table to nose to rapidly-firing neurons are irresistible, exciting in an almost deviant maner. Mouthfulls of piping hot churros dipped in Kahlua and pumpkin cake covered in pecan streusel and maple cream arouse the senses from head to toe. Finishing on a savory note, an assortment of artisanal and farmstead cheeses with housemade accompaniments are delivered and devoured in time–thoughtfully, carefully enjoyed.

The lights begin to dim, the view once again becoming hazy, and we hear gentle harp strings in the distance. Angelic notes abruptly dissolve into a throaty, monotonous beeee, beeee, beee. I roll over and snooze my alarm.