Poetry and Grits

I have had poetry written for me by exactly four guys in the course of my lifetime.

I still have copies of them all (the most talented wrote me more than one).

And while this has nothing to do with my love of poetry readings, perhaps it does show that I'm inclined toward the poetic.

Tonight's Poetic Principles reading at the Virginia Museum featured Betty Adcock, a Texas-born North Carolinian with a southern drawl and a beautiful way with words.

Her mission statement ("So many things happen. I just write them all down.") was so simple and true, but it's the way she writes things down.

After reading a recent poem, she explained, "I interrupted that poem with some post-modernist pondering...but I think it survived intact," the entire audience was eating out of the palm of her hand and justifiably so.

A southern poet should be followed with a southern meal, so I had mine at Julep, where I get to enjoy the company of my good friend Holly (it's even more fun when we're both on the same side of the bar, but that'll happen next week).

I began with a salad that included grilled peaches and loads of bacon, followed by a bowl of Grilled Andouille Sausage and Grits too big to finish (I came close, though).

Multiple glasses of Barboursville Rose kept the southern theme going and I was almost ready to call it a night when new chef Brandon Levine came out and insisted I try his Bittersweet Chocolate Marquise Torte.

He didn't have to twist my arm too hard, but I did have to leave the south and switch to a heartier red wine for the dessert course and afterwards.

The torte was unlike any chocolate dessert I've had; it was incredibly dark chocolate and as light as a feather, even with the almond whipped cream and raspberry coulis.

I was southern stuffed and feeling just great about it.

Given, poetry isn't everyone's cup of tea, but tonight it was mine, even if it wasn't written for me specifically.

Dead end after dead end
is the only way into the high places.