FILO and Funk

All I can say is thank goodness I have friends who stay in town for Thanksgiving so they can go out with me on Thanksgiving Eve when RVA is all but deserted.

Our adventure began at Bonvenu, and we were the first customers to arrive around 7ish.

The three of us staked out one end of the bar and saved a chair for the latecomer.

Knowing her inability to be punctual, we also went ahead and ordered wine.

Described as "aromas of red berries followed by notes of bell peppers," the 2007 Saint-Vincent Baron Bordeaux had a nice, long finish and gave us something with which to kick off our pre-holiday evening.

Just in case the tardy one was further delayed, we asked for the Fried Oysters Rockefeller over smoked bacon creamed spinach with lemon cream sauce and the sausage plate, featuring spicy andouille sausage, boudin blanc and sweet Italian sausage, served with Vermont white cheddar, mini buttermilk biscuits and fig jam.

I loved the variation on Oysters Rockefeller, deconstructed as it was, and all three of us found satisfaction in the sausage varieties.

I spread the little biscuits with jam to provide the sweet complement to my salty sausage.

Meanwhile, a woman came in for dinner, explaining that she was waiting for her husband to arrive. They had met at The Track eleven years ago and transferred their dinner dates to Bonvenu once it replaced that venerable institution.

Actually, I had a memorable first date at The Track, but it didn't result in an eleven-year relationship.

We had demolished that course and were finishing up the wine when a second bottle was ordered and our friend finally put in an appearance.

She was sorry to have missed the sausage, but we explained that people need sustenance waiting 50 minutes for a friend to show.

Just saying.

The music was interesting and, because it was the bartender's iPod, reflected quite the variety in music.

It's not often you hear The Archies on the same mix as Gorillaz (although an argument could be made for the comic/cartoon band connection).

When I teased her about how so much of her music was way older than she was, she skipped to Broken Bells and Andrew Bird to defend herself.

Hey, I'm not here to judge, just to comment (go ahead, Andrew, say it).

For dinner I had the French onion soup baked with garlic croutons (no kissing tonight) and Provolone, a satisfying and warm course after the oysters and sausage.

It was the first time I'd seen the one friend since deciding to take on the dating world, but unlike others with whom I'd shared this momentous and slow-arriving decision, he barely reacted.

No high-fiving, no "Finally!" comments, no nothing.

It was only after the tardy one prodded him to comment about the big news that he expressed his opinion.

Making an analogy about himself and his slow return to dating, he told me, "Eventually you have to stop howling at the moon."

Eventually I do.

We had just ordered dessert (one chocolate torte with ice cream, one chocolate pate with whipped cream, four forks) when in walked the Native Virginian, the man who had met me not long ago and tried to sweep me off my feet by inviting me to 1) Dublin and 2) church.

I will say it was a novel approach at attempting to woo a stranger.

When the third bottle of wine was empty and the chocolate plates licked clean, we realized we'd been the first customers in and the last out; just calls us FILOs.

At that point, we said goodnight to the attempted wooer and beat feet to Cary Street Cafe for music.

Playing tonight were the New Belgians, a collective of Richmond musicians (including Scott Clark, probably my favorite local jazz drummer) playing a funky, soulful, jazzy pastiche that hearkens back to a 70s groove.

Brass, thumping bass, lots of percussion, guitars (sometimes even lap steel) and occasional vocals had the crowd dancing around the stage; I saw several guys walk in the front door, pause momentarily and immediately begin bopping their heads to the music.

Sucked in upon entry they were.

In the middle of one song, an annoying and shrill sound began to compete with the music, but clearly not in time to it.

Apparently the smoke machine had set off the smoke detector; the door guy tried fanning it but finally realized that the smoke machine would just have to go. Bummer.

What's neo-70s funk without smokey effects?

It's damn good music on a night when there could easily have been no music at all given the scarcity of people still in town.

They were calling tonight their "Boom Thanksgiving" show.

Note to those not there tonight: band was booming.