Keep Your Fantasy to Yourself

For the second time in three days, a stranger picked up my left hand looking for a ring. Twice tonight I was told that I'd make a great PR person, once by a musician and once by a restaurateur. I met a guy originally from Philly who wanted to tell me his chopsticks fantasy (he had a pair in hand) and asked if I had ever been involved with an Asian man (he was not Asian). Just another night out and about in the city.

Still battling the testosterone overload of the weekend, I'd made plans with a girlfriend to eat at Sprout and stay for music. Instead of the chalkboard menu, though, we were presented with old album covers, the folder type, with Sprout's local purveyors listed on one side and the menu on the facing side.

I love the idea of seeing the Virginia suppliers acknowledged; I'd recently seen the same thing on the Ashby Inn's menu. And in one of those odd coincidences, my album cover was Judith by Judy Collins, significant because I'm in the process of reading her autobiography at the moment. What are the chances?

My friend was bowled over by the menu, being a Sprout virgin and mistakenly expecting a limited menu. We couldn't resist starting with the Sprout cheese hushpuppies with spicy ailoi. It's hard not to love perfectly fried dough and we made short work of them. As we munched, the lead drummer stopped by to talk to us. He asked why I was there and I said, "for the music," to which he replied, "I love this woman." He was also the first to suggest I'd make a great PR person.

My friend was sucked in by the roasted corn Cobb salad with bright red tomatoes, egg, bacon, chicken, corn (duh), cheese and the most amazing tasting polenta squares. She said it was one of the best salads she's ever had. Of particular note were the especially fresh-tasting greens, but the whole thing was a study in summer flavors.

I went with the Sprout sliders made of Polyface Farms free range beef, again with the fresh greens and aioli and tasting like beef should, fresh and pure. We both commented on what a difference there is in the taste of beef raised right. I gave her one and I scarfed down the other three. Had we not both been so full at that point, we'd have ordered another course just to taste more of Sprout's local goodness.

Shortly thereafter, the five-piece Alkebalan Percussion Ensemble started playing, filling the room with the sounds of African instruments. The music was both simple and complex, all based on traditional African rhythms and music. For a musical no-nothing like myself, it was fun just to keep up with where all the various sounds were coming from. If it could be struck and make a melodic sound, it was. At one point, the audience was even asked to provide some vocal enhancement; I did my best, which is not saying much.

It was my second live music show at Spout and it won't be my last. The space has great acoustics and its laid back vibe is ideal for a casual evening of local talent. I applaud Sprout for offering free shows on a regular basis. Great food and live music is an unbeatable combination.

Afterwards, we went down to the Bottom to enjoy cocktails at Rosie O'Connelly's. When my friend had heard that I'd been there last week, she'd remarked that, "I love that bar!" We found two tucked away stools and started doing the girl talk thing in earnest.

Two drinks in, we decided to move to the patio but I'd left my bag inside, mistakenly assuming we'd go back in. Later, on a trip to the ladies' room, I stopped to grab my bag, but our stools had been overtaken by a large group. It was there that the guy with the chopsticks and the fantasy, the one who checked my hand for signs of possession, saw me and struck up that odd conversation. Who leads with fantasies?

Safely back outside, the large group soon left for Havana, asking us to join them there as they walked by. Not 15 minutes later, Philly showed up with two roses, hoping to entice us to join them next door. He promised to elaborate on the fantasy if I came over. My friend and I discussed this unusual method of making a move and decided it wasn't for us. Our roses stayed with the bartender.

Where the chopsticks end up, I don't really need to know.