Two Women Cooking: The General Store

Review by Nellie Beckett
photos by Lauren Teixeira

Hey, hons! This is Miss Cornelia, Tex’s culinary partner in crime and the Paula to her Ina.

When I was a little girly girl, I ate the best shrimp po-boy of my life at a shack run by two old lesbians in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Said seafood shanty was adorned with a kitschy placard that read “Heaven is Two Women Cooking.” That phrase stuck in my mind like metallic polish to nails, and it’s a damn perfect epitaph for The General Store. But before y’all hear the ode to my favorite restaurant: it’s story time.

Once upon a time, there was a girls’ seminary in the wilds of Forest Glen. Hidden amidst the faux pagodas and temples, there was a little general store that sold shoe polish, candy, flour and other essentials. When the seminary was turned into a sanatorium for World War II veterans, the store soldiered on. Once the institution was shuttered, so was the little general store on Post Office Road. That is—until local chef star Gillian Clark, formerly of Colorado Kitchen, transformed the place into the finest—and only— proper country kitchen in MoCo.







Remember how I told you heaven was two women cooking? There’s a longstanding stereotype in the community that those ladies are making baba ghanoush and tempeh surprise for the Womyn’s potluck. Puh-lease, girlfriend. We queers would rather dig into a plate of piping hot fried chicken with moist, fluffy cornbread chased with some tangy collards washed down with sweet tea… mercy, I’m getting hungry!

And a good thing too, because out’n’proud Clark makes all of the aforementioned soul food with panache. God damn, this place is like the Whistle Stop Café—you know, “Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café,” the excellent book by Fannie Flagg (and movie with Mary Louise Parker!), wherein the plot is all about a couple of Southern gay ladies making comfort food. The General Store is like a real-life Whistle Stop Café, resplendent with train tracks next door, a player piano, back porch, stuffed bears’ head on the wall and bluegrass on the stereo. The décor passes for genuine down-home atmosphere, complete with vintage can labels on the sunny walls.

Nellie (yellow dress) with her girlfriend

This is a food blog after all, so one ought to mention the food. The best homestyle platter is the fried chicken/cornbread/collards combo, though creamy mac and cheese can be substituted for collards. The fried chicken is juicy with a crisp crust, with enough meat on the insides to be substantial and make for good leftovers. The collards have real port and bacon, and the cornbread is the perfect combination of sweet and tangy. In Silver Spring, cornbread tends toward the cakey, dry crap from Whole Foods, but Clark’s is perfect for sopping up pot liquor. And lest you think that General Store vittles are culinarily confined to the South, lightly breaded fish tacos heaped with fresh guacamole, clam po-boys and chicken pot pies are also time-tested treats. My personal favorite is the shrimp baguette, which is served with remoulade so good that you’ll want to slap your mama, or at least moan like a damn fool as you eat it. And the fried green tomatoes would make Idgie Threadgoode proud (that’s a reference for my literary ladies).

From top: Crispy shrimp on baguette; california fish tacos with guac; fried chicken, mac and cornbread

After all that, a girl needs a little something sweet. My personal favorite is the lemon chess pie. Splitting a piece after a meal is quite nice. The buttermilk chess pie is fine too, but the citrus tang of the lemon pie cuts the richness of a lard crust. Lard, you shriek? Let me fetch the smelling salts, princess. Yes, dumplin’, they use lard. I should know, I have a tub in the Frigidaire at home and it is the only acceptable fat with which one can pie crust. The General Store also makes cupcakes, which they sell two for five dollars. Tex and I made the mistake of ordering them once. Some sick fool (not Gillian Clark!)—a Yankee, probably—uses metal cupcake tin liners and Crisco in frosting, successfully ruining the most overrated dessert to ever infest DC.

fluffy buttermilk chess pie

To wash the vittles down, one can try the perfectly sweetened fresh-brewed sweet tea, or the array of artisan sodas and beers. Plus, they have regular cokes for y’all plebes. Ooh, and they serve the tea in these divine little Mason jars that make it taste better.

This food is fine and dandy, but only if you get good service. Time for tips from Miss Cornelia. First off, you want to bring a friend to The General Store. Babycakes, it’s just sad if you’re eating fried chicken alone. Second, you have to charm the counter service, which is often a tag team operation. Tex isn’t a flaming man-hater like Miss Cornelia, so she is nice to the guys behind the counter. I just go straight for Robin Smith, who is Gillian’s partner and the brusque butch counter lady/waiter. Mercy. Just thinking about that buzz cut and those Doc Martens can make a girl flustered.

Far right: Robin Smith shoots a glance at an indiscreet photographer

Pause…fan self…continue. Order very, very politely. Then, when she brings you the food, purr “thank you” and bat your eyelashes. This trick is known to charm cranky servers, especially when you ask for a special blend of sweet and unsweet tea. Thirdly, bringing a cute girl with short hair (Tex usually, bless her heart) is probably the most effective dining trick—I’ve gotten the fastest service that way. Above all, stay on Gillian Clark’s good side and you’ll be eating happier than a pig with fresh slop. Two women cooking is as close to heaven as you’ll find in Silver Spring, anyway.

I have dragged not only Tex but my father, my Southern grandparents and a butch buddy to The General Store. It may be because these are the only people I know who can tolerate a gal who acts like Blanche Dubois and eats like Stanley Kowalski. The food passes muster with all of my dining partners, even the famously particular grandparents, who adored the chicken. The regular clientele runs toward the Republican-looking end of the spectrum, though I’ve spotted the occasional queer. But whether you’re a fierce femme or a bubba, The General Store will feed you right and in a cute-ass setting, too.

Above: A possible right-leaning member of the General Store's clientele

Once you’ve eaten and sat for awhile in the back porch rocking chairs, the old seminary is a nice walking destination. One must cross the train tracks, but the rustic scenery (unfortunately in the process of becoming condos) makes a perfect complement to the food. To get home, walk down Forest Glen Road to the Metro, or bike the Capital Crescent trail. And don’t forget to come back for Sunday brunch, hons—I hear tell Gillian Clark’s chicken and waffles beat church any day.