I actually “dressed” for dinner this past weekend. And for once that didn’t mean “I’ll wear my good jeans.”

We stayed at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, where, in fact, you’re encouraged not to wear jeans at all (though we did of course). If I hadn’t packed the jeans, my suitcase would’ve been nearly empty, since my foodiemom wardrobe pretty much consists of jeans and whatever goes with the sauce that’s splattered on them. (Okay, so it’s not splattered–I admit it–the sauce is on my jeans because I wipe my hands on them.) And the occasional blazer when I need to be a Serious Journalist.

Though the hotel is indeed grand, with a dining room that goes on forever, what I wanted to do was put on the jeans and blazer and go poking around in the kitchen to see how it’s run.

Actually, I wanted to see the whole set up–kitchen, pantry, laundry. How long does it take to peel, slice and chop all those vegetables? How many pieces of silverware do they have? How long does it take to wash all those tablecloths? Are the fresh flowers shipped over by ferry daily?

I saw someone polishing handrails at 6 a.m. while we were out for a walk on the still-dark grounds. But when did someone stamp the “G” into the sand in all the ashtrays outside the doors?

Like I said, I’d love to see the inner workings of such a classic, old hotel, where part of the appeal is the whole experience. Because it’s not like each individual thing is incredible–I mean, the food was great, but not out of this world; the room was plenty comfortable, but not what you’d call lavish. (I did prefer the Grand Hotel’s fudge over a couple of others we tried, but that’s a whole other posting.)

There’s just something about soaking up the ambience of such a place. It’s nice to know, for some reason, that the hotel is there, that people are dressing for dinner, enjoying drinks in the Cupola Bar afterward or strolling on the lawn where people have strolled since the late 1800s.

Mackinac Island, which doesn’t allow cars (everyone gets around via bicycles or horse-drawn carriages), contributes to the graciousness of the whole Grand Hotel experience. And it doesn’t hurt that the Christopher Reeve movie “Somewhere in Time” was filmed there. But there really is something about the hotel, a sort of faded grandeur, as we heard it described, that I’m happy to have experienced.

Even though for most of my dinners I’ll still be in jeans.