The Lobscouser, Portsmouth, VA

I wanted to eat there. I really did. The menu looked good. The interior was cozy and little Savannah shabby chick and my Dad loves the place. The waiter and the hostess were both friendly and so we sat down, but the smell… Dear God, the smell.
My husband, daughter and I were seated quickly, brought water and our drinks and when my husband noticed that I had pulled my somewhat low-cut shirt over my nose he figured something must be wrong. I mean, I can be odd but I have decent table manners. Sitting with my nose between my breasts just doesn’t play in under normal circumstance. I tried to last it out figuring I would stop noticing the strong smell of old building must and rot overpowered by the odor of urine so strong that I think someone must routinely use the carpet instead of the bathroom. I couldn’t even choke down my Pinot Noir.
Hubby paid while daughter and I waited outside. She couldn’t take the smell either.
(A small aside: Hubby smokes. He can’t detect many odors but is good for sniffing out bacon and grilling steaks.)

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