Normally I prefer self-guided tours of historical buildings and museums, but after my guided tour of the Wornall House 
last week, I’m rethinking that attitude. My guide, who is an intern at Wornall House, told me many wonderful stories.
John Wornall, one of the founders of Westport (the original town in the area, founded in 1833, and now part of Kansas City north of the Plaza), built Wornall House in 1858. In 1864, during the Battle of Westport, the Wornalls had to surrender to the Confederates and then to the Union Army in one day.
My guide showed me a balcony on the top floor from which John Wornall was almost hanged twice in those 24 hours. But all ended well: the family survived and surrendered their house for use as a Union hospital. The “informal parlor” (papered because that was cheaper than painting in those days) served as the surgery ward because it had a window through which resected body parts could be tossed onto a wagon. Isn’t that lovely?
My favorite thing about the formal parlor was not the old Steinway in the corner but the gendered chairs. 
Men’s chairs had arms and leaned back farther because men worked harder and therefore deserved to recline more. Do you suppose that’s why recliners and men go together in my mind?
When I saw this kitchen, however, I wondered if men had earned those chairs. 
That blue cone of sugar had to be broken up and then guarded in a locked sugar cabinet. This brick was tea, 
which was ground and then poured into the bottom of a cup to steep. (The original Boston tea-partiers threw such bricks into the harbor.) Everything (rotisserie, toast, soup) was placed on an open hearth, which must have been blazingly hot to cook meat without the benefit of full enclosure. Some meals could be prepared by piling coals onto these Dutch ovens; 
maybe you’ve cooked that way on a camping trip?
Slaves and children worked in this space. At the age of two on a farm, one’s childhood ended and work began. The youngest children had the worst jobs: emptying the chamber pots or doing repetitive work in the kitchen. As my guide said, making children turn the noodle-maker for hours was a good way to keep them from running around and breaking things.
My favorite item in the kitchen was the flytrap (honey goes around the opening in the bottom), 
followed closely by the rattrap.
In this house, I saw a wreath woven from the hair of 60 women. I learned that the word “sink” comes from the zinc used to line the recessed counters that held bowls of water for use in the kitchen. I also learned that Jayhawkers were free state warriors from Kansas and that Bushwhackers were slave state warriors from Missouri. Or perhaps both groups should be called terrorists.
and the filet tips and the mushroom Cabreles. The ceviche was fish-forward: I couldn’t taste lime or cilantro, which were supposed to be seasoning the lobster, shrimp, crab, and tomatoes. But it was refreshing against the marvelous grilled ciabatta. The filet was wonderful;
I loved the blue cheese taste of the sauce and the silkiness of the meat.
It made me feel like the queen of bacon-gooeyness. When I had the leftovers for lunch today, they were still good. But I would not call this dish subtle. Is there such a thing as a subtle schnitzel?
and the German apple cake, similar to carrot cake. 
As we drove home, I wondered if it were responsible of me to feed my elderly father so much food. But other than an occasional complaint about how full he was, he didn’t seem to mind.
when it should have been more like the ceviche mentioned above. And the roasted tomato and chicken risotto with prosciutto and asparagus was to risotto
what this blurry picture is to photography. It lacked the density of risottos I’ve had, in which the rice was a match for the sauce rather than drowning in it. I did enjoy the fluffy crab and shrimp cakes
but not their too-sweet sauce, which my friend said tasted like Miracle Whip. I’ve never had that (at least, not willingly), so I don’t know how it tastes.
Bella Bridesmaid, the Clock Shop, Ward and Ward Custom Picture Framing, Brookside Antiques, and J’Adore (European antiques and interiors). Of all those, the framing store was open and, happily, the Oak Street Coffee Shop.
The barista, who said she was new, made me a hot chocolate with Hershey’s syrup and then said I should tell her if I wanted more chocolate. Since it tasted like hot, weak chocolate milk, I did. (Hot chocolate varies so much in quality from one coffeehouse to another that I’m thinking of going back to coffee.) After I ensconced myself with Marie Claire in a corner to read all about Hilary Swank, a woman came in to buy the rest of their rich, dark, chocolate cake.
On the way out, I was still stopping to look at jackets and scarves and purses. Shop Girls is a great place.
When I ordered the Alexander Valley Chardonnay and lobster ravioli with brandy and lobster butter cream, the bartender brought me a white napkin, folded into a triangle, to use as a placemat. “Everyone gets one,” she said, assuring me that she didn’t think I was a slob. The wine glowed yellow-gray and tasted of citrus followed by something softer and smoother, perhaps the vanilla and caramel mentioned on the menu. I liked the irregular shape of the ravioli and the delicate flavor of lobster. The ravioli were firm, but I would have appreciated more, perhaps even crunchiness.
On my first trip with my sister, I ordered a beautiful latte and a red velvet cupcake. 
This time, it was an Americano and a chocolate mini-cupcake.
in which to indulge his coffee-jones, and people seem to like it.
I walked through the doorway, which I think is a crocodile, 
and immediately wanted to take pictures.
