Traveling back in time over the short distance from Old Town Alexandria to Mount Vernon for America’s 250th

Inside a dim cellar at Mount Vernon, beneath a brick floor laid more than two centuries ago, workers made an unexpected discovery while restoring George and Martha Washington’s historic home: 36 large glass bottles, carefully buried and long forgotten. Inside were cherries, gooseberries, and other fruits, preserved at the height of their season.

They had been placed there in the spring of 1775, part of a common practice for storing fresh fruit for the months ahead. But that summer, George Washington left for Philadelphia as the Revolutionary War took hold. He would not return for years.

“In the meantime, there’s no entertaining happening here,” says Jeremy Ray, senior director of interpretation at Mount Vernon. “Mrs. Washington is in and out, and the estate is being managed by Washington’s nephew, who ultimately decides to brick over the cellar. Those bottles were sealed in and lost to history.”

They remained untouched for nearly 250 years, unearthed during a comprehensive, multiyear revitalization project to shore up the mansion’s foundation and return Mount Vernon to its 18th-century integrity that’s only recently been completed.

“To have something older than the country itself—fruit that’s still intact—is remarkable,” says Julie Almacy, vice president of media and communications. “This fruit is older than the nation—and cherries, on top of that.”

“Of course, it had to be cherries,” Ray adds.

The story of young George Washington and the cherry tree, first popularized in a biography published shortly after his death, is as unlikely as it is enduring. Yet its staying power says something about the 250th anniversary year now unfolding across the country: The stories we tell about our past are rarely fixed. Details may be preserved, but context is continually reinterpret- ed, gaining new layers as the culture around them changes and our understanding expands.

That’s part of what drew me to Mount Vernon and Alexandria, Virginia. This stretch along the Potomac River is steeped in history. Founded in 1749 and long tied to Washington, who surveyed its streets as a teenager, worshiped at Christ Church, and conducted business in Market Square, Alexandria’s Old Town neighborhood is among the nation’s first historic districts. Its colonial past is preserved at places like Gadsby’s Tavern Museum, Carlyle House Historic Park, and the cobblestone stretch of Prince Street known as Captain’s Row.

But Old Town is not frozen in time. It’s a vibrant, multifaceted neighborhood and a culinary crossroads, where Southern traditions converge with the bounty of Chesapeake Bay, layered with multicultural influences. For today’s traveler, it also offers a strategic and inviting home base within easy reach of Washington, DC, which lies just across the river, to observe America’s 250th in a highly walkable, richly diverse community that’s distinctly its own.

Day One:

I check into The Alexandrian, a polished, contemporary hotel located in the heart of Old Town on King Street, a mile-long corridor that runs from the Metro station at the east end to the riverwalk at the west. King Street and its offshoots offer easy access to the more than 200 independently owned restaurants and boutiques that thrive in Old Town.

My first stop is Virtue Feed & Grain, where I meet director of operations Tom Gale and local writer Tim Long. The restaurant sits in an old hay, grain, and flour warehouse, and the offices just across the courtyard once served as a storage facility for local goods headed to market, including George Washington’s rye whiskey. It’s now a bustling, modern dining room.

A server brings Freddie’s old fashioneds, made with Blanton’s Gold bourbon and bitters crafted especially for Virtue by Charleston-based Bittermilk. We clink our glasses, and almost reflexively, Gale and Long tap theirs against the table.

“We do that here to honor those who have gone before us,” Long says. As we tuck into Old Town crab dip, heavily flecked with lump crabmeat, and plates of locally caught rockfish with a lemon caper butter sauce, I ask what distinguishes Old Town from the rest of the region.

“We are our own community,” Gale says. “So many people come over here as a respite from the district.”

“Alexandria is a city. Old Town is a town—that’s really the big difference,” Long adds. “It has a totally different feel.”

I get a sense of that myself wander- ing through the streets and along the waterfront after lunch. What were once warehouses used for colonial trade, and later as storage and offices into the 20th century, have since been adapted into a lively mix of restaurants, shops, and residences.

That creatively driven, adaptive reuse is especially visible at the Torpedo Factory Art Center. The cavernous three-story building was once used to manufacture Mark III torpedoes. During the Korean War, the Pentagon stored sensitive documents there, including transcripts of the Nuremberg trials. Today, it is filled with artists’ studios and galleries, their open doors inviting passersby to step inside, look around, and talk.

Later, I head to dinner at 1799 Prime Steak & Seafood, around the corner from The Alexandrian, where I meet owner Jay Quander. He tells me his ancestors are among the oldest documented African American families in the country, with roots tracing to the 1600s in colonial Maryland. A branch of the family was enslaved at Mount Vernon, and Quander named his restaurant for the year Washington directed the emancipation of the remaining enslaved people in his will. A great-aunt was the first African American tour guide at Mount Vernon, and Quander himself is a former director of food and beverage operations at the estate.

“I didn’t just open a restaurant to open a restaurant. I opened a restaurant to honor my family,” he tells me.

The idea of honoring the past while building something current seems especially apt in Old Town. “It’s Old World and New World colliding,” Quander says of the area.

Quander is in the process of relocating 1799 Prime to Duke Street and opening a second location in Maryland. He is also launching a line of sauces under the 1799 brand, made in part with Fort Mosé whiskey distilled near St. Augustine, Florida, and named for the first legally sanctioned free African settlement in what’s now the United States.

The brand’s signature smoky mustard-cream sauce stars in a blackened whiskey shrimp appetizer, and I also try the steak au poivre special with a side of collard greens.

Day Two:

The next morning, I walk up King Street and find another tangible example of an old-world tradition that invites new conversations and connection. Turkish Coffee Lady is a coffee shop and cultural gathering space founded by Gizem Şalcıgil White, whose nickname comes from a Washington Post article. White, originally from Ankara, Turkey, has lived in the United States for 20 years, where she’s also raised her family. In 2022, with support from the SBA Restaurant Revitalization Fund and a Rebuild Virginia grant, she opened a Turkish coffee and culture house in the heart of Old Town.

“We have this incredible 500-year- old coffee culture, and I realized nobody knows about it,” she says, as I sip a strong brew served in a delicate porcelain cup and spiced with minty Cappadocian cardamom, accompanied by a small domed platter of Turkish Delight and small glass of water, “to cleanse the palate,” she says.

White excuses herself to greet a group of out-of-town visitors. “Welcome to the culture house,” she says. A woman in the group also speaks Turkish, and they fluidly slip between languages. White soon returns with an ornate platter of cheeses, olives, and meats.

“I always say it’s a culinary art—from brewing to presenting to drinking. It teaches you patience,” she says of the ritual of Turkish coffee. “It starts with the aroma, the fragrance, and from that moment to the end, the whole thing is an experience that brings people together,” she says. “We slow down and enjoy life. We socialize, connect, and reflect.” Although a free DASH bus and

trolley run the length of King Street, I choose to walk the several blocks to the Old Town Metro station, headed into Washington, DC. My pace seems slower and my senses more receptive as I pass boutique windows and sidewalk cafés.

I depart the Metro at the Smithsonian station, which opens directly onto the National Mall, and spend the afternoon making a wide, meandering loop among the monuments—the Lincoln Memorial, Vietnam Veterans Memorial, around the Tidal Basin to the Jefferson Memorial. Of course, the towering Washington Monument is never far from view.

I stop into the Smithsonian Museum of American History to see the original Old Glory—much larger and more battle-tattered than I’d imagined. I peruse hundreds of disparate yet historically significant objects that signify past places and times, including a re-creation of Julia Childs’ kitchen, frozen in the mid-20th century, and the wooden stir spoon Charlie Papazian used to perfect recipes for his Joy of Homebrewing book, which helped launch the modern craft beer movement.

In “The American Presidency: A Glorious Burden” exhibit, I notice the disputed placard detailing Donald Trump’s two impeachments, freshly edited and moved to the bottom of a display like a footnote. I watch a team of conservationists painstakingly work to preserve the Gunboat Philadelphia, which sank to the bottom of Lake Champlain as part of a ragtag American fleet that helped stall invading British forces during the American Revolution.

As inspiring as it is, I’m just as happy to be on a Metro heading back to Alexandria after an afternoon of walking. I stop in the Potomac Yards development and head to Founding Farmers’ newest location. The regional chain, which start- ed in DC, is owned by the North Dakota Farmers Union and Farmers Restaurant Group and has several locations in the region. All ingredients are sourced from family farmers and small producers, and everything is made in-house, including spirits made by their sister distillery, Founding Spirits. I opt for an Old Cuban mojito paired with shrimp ceviche with jalapeño and coconut—the most flavorful dish from my trip—followed by seared mahi mahi with an apricot mustard sauce. I mop up every bite.

Day Three:

The next morning, I rideshare the short drive to the main estate and the Mount Vernon Inn, where I meet Ray and Almacy for lunch—a bowl of savory peanut soup and stuffed chicken roulade crusted with grain milled on the property. After the meal, Isaac Makos, a senior interpretive supervisor at Mount Vernon, gives me a tour of the mansion, grounds, and newly reopened Museum and Educational Center, which now features immersive projections and digital instillations that help bring Washington’s story to life.

Standing in front of the mansion, Makos explains that the restoration work was necessitated by a structural problem. The mansion’s foundational sill had degraded, leaving the building structurally sound but vulnerable to strong lateral forces. Crews had to brace the structure section by section, remove 20th-century repairs made with poured concrete, rebuild the sill, and then put everything back in place. They also brought in artisans skilled in 18th-century techniques to repair wallpaper, millwork, and restore other details using period-correct methods.

The mansion is impressively preserved and filled with significant artifacts, including the bed on which Washington drew his last breath on December 14, 1799, at age 67. With its “public” wing for entertaining and a pri- vate wing isolated from the rest of the home, it also offers a glimpse into the stresses of the war and the presidency and how the Washingtons sought respite at their beloved estate.

This comes into broader focus while touring the gardens and farm. Makos describes Washington’s vision to position America as “the granary to the world” and how he sought for Mount Vernon’s farms to function as an agricultural model and a place for experimentation. “He’s innovating on a level you’re not seeing on a lot of similar-sized plantations,” Makos says, detailing elaborate crop rotation methods and strategic planting schemes.

We pass a reconstruction of a unique 16-sided treading barn, a design Washington conceived himself in which the hooves of trotting horses separated wheat berries from stalk, allowing the seeds to fall through gaps in the floor, where they were collected for processing.

Even during the war and later, as president, he kept up a steady stream of letters to Mount Vernon with detailed instructions on crops, labor, and designs for buildings. Like the jars of preserved fruit, these preparations offer a fitting lesson as America looks toward its 250th year and beyond: The past is not something we seal away and forget. Even in the midst of war and in establishing a new country, Washington concerned himself with what came next. What are we fighting for and what will we build? Whether in the rooms of Mount Vernon, at the Smithsonian, on the plate, or in the stories we tell, preservation is an active process—one that asks us to learn from, adapt, and reinterpret what came before in order to cultivate a fruitful future.

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