I enter The Huntōn at Hotel Burg as a solo diner and leave a regular—though it’s only my first visit to this historic landmark in Leesburg. The warmth and intuitive nature of the staff make me feel right at home—it seems that the waiters already know my tastes, anticipate my desires like a romantic partner of years. They read my mind before I even know there’s a thought bouncing in there.
Beyond offering truly fine American cuisine, The Huntōn is an answer to the question, “Whatever happened to Southern hospitality?” The Leesburg newcomer replies with a resounding flourish. Does one pull out their own chair? Never. Place their own napkin? Please. Even the diners at the next table behave as if they’ve known you forever, fast friends forged over good food and a flowing glass.
The dining room is pure hunting lodge—complete with a roaring fire and wood paneling—this one glowing from the open kitchen on view for diners. Plaid chairs, framed ducks and deer, even ancient hunters look on from the walls. But there’s also a crucial feminine touch: bag hooks on every table. Any woman knows what this means—women designed this space. In fact, there were two, from the local design firm WLDWST, just down the street. The result is hunt-country cozy, softened with thoughtfulness.
The Market Toast with Farm Cheese, Lavender, Hovey, Carrot, and Salsa Macha
Solo diners, take note: Huntōn checks all the boxes. One, it’s sociable enough that you never feel alone. Two, it’s relaxed enough that you can savor being alone. And three, the wine flows generously, as if it were poured with you in mind. That first sip—a crisp, bright albariño—felt like a welcome to a long-lost cabin home.
My starter arrives first—fat, happy shrimp cozy in lettuce boats, all the happier to make me. It’s a satisfying, meaty munch, balanced by the cool crunch of the greens. A warm, damp napkin appears the instant the dish is done, the sort of service touch that lingers as much as the flavor. Brandon, my waiter, is part server, part concierge: where to stroll in Middleburg, where to pick up wine down the street, and even a tip for what he swears is the best Mexican restaurant within 500 miles (for the record, Taqueria Guadalajara in Winchester).
Then comes a surprise—mint sorbet as a palate cleanser. As oddly simplistic as it may seem, this is what really leaves a mark on me. This is what food should be: a reignition of a memory, childhood revisited, but this time lush. I am back on the beach of the lake I grew up on, plucking wild mint leaves to make my mother “tea” she’d inhale before tossing back into the water. And here it is again, crystalline, precise, carried by the chill of the sorbet itself. It’s a fleeting moment, gone in a few spoonfuls, but it sets the stage for everything else to come.
Drinks Director Joseph Wysocki makes a martini in the downstairs speakeasy.
Confession: When I went to Europe, I secretly hoped to be served a fish with the head still on, as so many promised I would. No luck there. And then, in Leesburg of all places, my wish is answered. Perhaps it makes sense—this town has more wine bars and outdoor patios than anywhere I’ve seen in the U.S. since Europe.
The menu offers a five-course prix fixe option as well as single orders of creative takes on American cuisine entrées, including game, seafood, and dry-aged beef. My rainbow trout is a creation so artistic that one hardly wants to stick a fork into it, lest the beauty be marred. But it’s all the better to give in, for the fish flakes away in tender decadence, melting into its carrot curry. The heat of the curry dances with the trout’s delicacy, and for someone who swears they hate carrots, I find myself sinking into the richness of the purée. As a side, the chicken fat rice proves the timeless marriage of chicken and rice is hard to beat. By the end, my trout is a fond memory, seas of sauce blended into one glorious potion of delectation. It’s the kind of dish that makes you wish plate-licking were socially acceptable.
Dessert lands with a gentle exclamation point: Canadian cabernet franc ice wine paired with strawberry sorbet. It hits all the right notes of sweet, with just the right hints of tart.
The Hunton Half Chicken
Huntōn offers layers beyond the main dining room. A private space peeks into the kitchen, flames licking the fire where meats roast. Down in The Chase, Hotel Burg’s club, a members-only speakeasy, no one bothers asking for a menu—a relief to the bartender, who prefers riffs, inventions, and next-level mixology. At Hotel Burg, there’s always another corner, another discovery waiting.
Chef Vincent Badiee, a Virginia native with Persian heritage that influences his menu, presides with a sure hand and a sense of play.
His dishes land with precision and grace, but never pretense.
Harvesting ingredients from the Hotel Burg’s Manor 1858, an 11-acre farm nearby, Badiee says, “We’re continuously looking for the best we can find.” Thus, the name Huntōn, which is old English for “on the chase.”
Blessedly, The Huntōn also bears the rarest mark of modern fine dining: not a single patron wears a North Face puffer vest.
In the end, The Huntōn is hunt country, pure and simple: just like the food—pure (every ingredient real, rich, present) and simple (good food, good experience, good-looking place). In Leesburg, hospitality hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s just waiting for you here.
Photography by Scott Schuman. This article originally appeared in the June 2026 issue.
Dining and Cooking