Party, Pie and Pathos

No doubt about it, restaurant owners sure know how to throw a party, even when it's not at their restaurant. Or maybe especially when it's not at their restaurant.

Best of all, the party was right in the neighborhood, affording me an opportunity to see the inside of their 1846 J-Ward house. And while my house is old (1876), it couldn't compare to this stately three-story house with servants' rooms and separate staircase in the back.

The party was a great mix of people from the neighborhood, the restaurant and their work, so I saw plenty of familiar faces and met lots of new ones. A Fan restaurant owner recognized me from his restaurant, he said, and my days walking in the Museum District and that's been over four years now.

The food spread was notable for its abundance and the fact that it had not been prepared by the restaurant staff. Instead, our hostess had spent the day slaving in the kitchen, wowing her staff with the results and the fact that they didn't have to do anything.

Knowing I am a red wine lover, the hostess offered to open a bottle of Unco Cabernet Sauvignon from Chile, saying that she wanted to offer it to someone who would savor it. I was more than happy to be that volunteer and was rewarded with a beautiful, full-bodied wine.

The house was full of local art and I did a full tour in order to see who they had collected since I do the same; we overlapped only on Adam Juresko.

There was a pool table in one of the front parlors, so there was always a game in progress, not that I can play anything that requires hand/eye coordination, but it was fun to watch as people got loopier and less concerned abut where their cues were going.

After a couple of most enjoyable hours taking to new people and eating myself silly, I had to leave to make a dinner double date (my role being that of unnecessary extra).

When I got to Ipanema, I told bartender Brandon that I was there for fifth wheel duty and he said, "They're waiting for you in the back." At least everyone's clear on my role here.

Because I had already eaten so much at the party, my dinner consisted of blueberry pie a la mode while they ate entrees. My mother would not have approved.

It was my first time seeing all the photos I had taken at the Thanksgiving party using someone else's camera and I have to agree with those I photographed that I did a damn fine job of capturing that party. I'm just not sure how I ended up in any of the pictures.

We were an odd group; four of the five of us are bloggers and another four of the five on Twitter, necessarily making for conversation about some of the other players in those fields. I just can't keep my thoughts to 140 characters.

Since we had a teacher in our midst, I brought up the Virginia textbook debacle to hear his opinion on it and share mine. I'm fascinated about how stuff like that happens.

We talked about the Live at Ipanema series, but they stayed put when I went to claim a bar stool so I could have a good view of the Itchy Hearts when they started playing. Best of all, once there I found several friends in the vicinity and ready to provide company until the music began.

A musician friend had given me a mix tape file for Christmas and his first question after I thanked him for it was whether or not I had rearranged the order of the songs (I hadn't). He's the only person I know of besides myself who actually rearranges CDs to achieve the perfect order and I guess he'd been worried I might.

Even more flattering, he said he wants me to listen to his own CD when recording is finished to give him my opinion of its order. I consider that request quite an honor and told him so. What do I know, besides what my ear likes?

Tonight the Itchy Hearts was just Andy Cobb because the other two band members couldn't make it. A friend told me that as often as not, Andy is the Itchy Hearts. While it would have been nice to have the full effect, his songs are so heartfelt that everything is conveyed with just his guitar and voice.

He commented on how odd it is that people are willing to come listen to him sing about his emotional anguish, downplaying how satisfying it is to hear a musician express what we non-musical types cannot. Sure, I've got heartbreak, but I can't make it sound nearly as soulful as Andy can.

It was a noisy crowd tonight with lots of high-pitched laughter mid-set, but it was worth it to be back in the little basement restaurant for an evening of folk music and friends, many of whom I hadn't seen since before the holidays.

And every time I was asked how my holidays were, I answered, "Great. Glad they're over."