It kind of reminded me of my days in the Army, when drill sergeants at various camps would always ask the question, "How many men can you fit on a Deuce-and-a-half?" The answer: "One more." (A Deuce-and-a-half is a standard military truck that can carry a two-and-a-half-ton payload.)

Seeing as I was still in the middle of my walk through town, I didn't stop to eat; but that didn't mean I stopped thinking about food. Everywhere I'd dined the past two days had served excellent fare, with every meal outdoing the one before. My first meal had been two nights before, when I'd first arrived, and plopped down at a roadside diner called Alison’s Restaurant—Thai chicken, mixed grilled veggies and “world famous” potato soup. The chicken and veggies were standard fare for most restaurants, which is to say good but not great. The potato soup was very good. I don’t know if I’d go as far as labeling it “world famous,” but “this-region-of-Virginia-famous,” sure!

Then, of course, I followed that with the Hi-Lo dog, the delicious flounder at the State Line Bar and Grille, and then the decadently sumptuous meal at the Peppermill. I was hopeful that my last meal in Abingdon would be the pièce de résistance, but I had reservations (the other kind). The bar, it seemed, had just been set too high. Even so, as I hiked back to my hotel, I stopped at each restaurant to read menus posted in their windows. When I came upon Withers Hardware Restaurant and saw that they served a dish called Salmon Rockefeller, my fears were allayed. My jaw might have actually fallen agape.

Needless to say, there was no doubt where I'd be eating lunch. I hurried back to the hotel, cleaned up, stuffed my belongings into my carryall, and returned to Withers just as they were opening their doors. I was not disappointed.

Salmon Rockefeller was a dinner item, but the kind lunch chef acquiesced to my wild-eyed demand and made a special order for me. While she cooked it up, I wandered the ornate and eclectic interior, admiring Christmas lights and old metal gas signs juxtaposed with oak paneling and brass rails. For a little over a hundred years, this spot had been home to an actual hardware store. Then in 1993 it was converted into a restaurant. No wonder the decor couldn't make up its mind.

When lunch arrived, I could barely contain myself. The pan-seared salmon was tender and smothered in sautéed spinach, mushrooms and caramelized onions, complemented by side servings of sautéed vegetables and jasmine rice. Yum.

So, yes, Withers was up to the challenge, providing the proverbial cherry to top my cake. Unfortunately, my two days in Abingdon ended too soon, but I left feeling sated and uplifted. The town will forever hold a dear place in my heart and in my head. And, of course, in my stomach.