Hollister Lindley on her wedding day, April 24, 2010 (Photo courtesy Richard Kern)
Editor’s note: Hollister J. Lindley, a longtime food writer for Richmond magazine, died Nov. 3, 2017, after years of battling amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a progressive disease affecting nerve cells that control voluntary muscle movement.
“I know you feel like shit, but you need to put on some lipstick. I promise it’ll help.”
I was having a rough year. My best friend was dying of a brain tumor, and I was in the middle of a divorce. Since I owned a small business, there weren’t any personal days off or places to hide during regular Friday-night wine tastings. But here was this 6-foot-tall redhead (in heels) hassling me about makeup.
Lindley with (from top): restaurateur Brittanny Anderson at the 2017 Elby Awards; her husband, Richard Kern; restaurant industry friends during a 2014 fundraiser for the University of Virginia's ALS Clinic (Photos courtesy Richard Kern and Brittanny Anderson)
Hollister admonished me while towering over the cheese counter, warmly lit by the glow of the deli case. Yes, “warmly,” because years earlier she had steered me toward expensive but long-lasting specialty bulbs to make the cheese and charcuterie look inviting, not anemic like zombie-pale grocery store chicken under fluorescents. Usually one to bristle at unsolicited advice, I nodded, set down my double-handled knife, and went in the back to put on the prescribed war paint. When Hollister Lindley advised, I listened.
Speaking with so many dear friends and fascinating acquaintances of Hollister’s recently at her Celebration of Life and later at the after-party — because of course there was an “after-party,” not a wake — I learned that most of us fell into two camps. Many folks remembered vividly their first interaction with her. The common theme was terror mixed with awe, then relief to find out they were in her good graces. But there were many of us who couldn’t recall our initial meeting, as if she had always been a powerful part of our lives.
I assume I met her at my first retail wine job in Carytown in the mid-’90s, or soon after I’d opened River City Cellars in 1998. I used to call her “my own personal Julia Child.” She was physically huge and captivating and worldly and informed and opinionated, and she had a commanding presence like no one I’d ever met besides my mother. Her dinner parties were on par with Gertrude Stein’s salons. She knew her cheese and wine, and she sent me people who loved cheese and wine. She totally “got” what we were trying to do, and she fiercely championed me and my little 800-square-foot gourmet shop.
What I didn’t know then but do now is that, like so many other Richmond food people — chefs, writers, restaurateurs, retailers, sausage makers, bakers, wine pushers — Hollister had me in her sights. She was the original #rvadine talent scout, the proto-enabler. She zoomed in on certain people and focused her considerable talent, connections, insight and oftentimes her financial support on helping them succeed.
Holly wasn’t always monolithic. She strode into River City Cellars’ back office area one day and launched into a description of this new man she was dating, Richard Kern. She occasionally told me about her post-divorce dating trials/adventures, and I wish I’d had the chutzpah and forethought to write down these sessions because they were comedy gold. But this was more akin to the legend of Excalibur. I’d forgotten the account of their first date until I was reminded of it at her memorial. Don Dransfield of Dransfield Jewelers in Shockoe Slip recounted how Hollister, with Rich on their first date, crashed a staff party — at a custom-design jewelry store. Rich took it in stride, a theme that continued throughout their beautifully strong and impressive partnership. A couple of years later, Don was designing their wedding rings.
Hollister also told me about taking a riverboat trip on the Danube with her aged, ailing mother. They all came down with norovirus. After the clever scatological puns had run their course and the laughing had subsided, Hollister made this particular gesture with her head, a quick quarter-roll to her right with her chin leading, eyes up right and eyebrows raised as if to say, “There it is.” “It” being things one can’t control. I saw that gesture again when Hollister’s weird symptoms and only temporarily successful surgeries became more vexing. And again when my own mom died unexpectedly, and I sought empathy and guidance from Hollister — the leading authority on dealing with difficult things in a forthright manner. Even though she was sick herself at this point, she counseled me. And we shared stories of mesmerizing, strong-willed, complicated mothers. Oh, and we shared plenty of wine. So much wine.
When the finality of her ALS diagnosis manifested, Hollister did what she did best. She dealt — with eyes wide open, a glass more than half full of rosé, a beautiful, loving man by her side and a posse of true friends, supporters and caregivers forming the second line. Hollister faced her finality as she had faced her future: informed, in control, in the moment, in good company. In the words of another female restaurateur, she was our Celtic warrior queen — our Boudicca.
Julia Battaglini, owner of Secco Wine Bar in The Fan, and previously River City Cellars in Carytown, has been pushing wine and cheese in Richmond for 20 years. She believes drinking the good stuff is a natural right and that breaking bread with loved ones is the true path to salvation.
