Pescado's: Just Call Me Lady

Rainy days and Mondays mean I want to be out around people.

Mondays and holidays mean my choices are limited. My mood means I want someplace I haven't been in a while.

Next stop, Oregon Hill.

Pescado's China Street was doing a booming Monday night business when I got there, but the bar was quiet enough that I had my pick of stools, although I always sit in the same one, the one with the straight-shot view of the busy kitchen.

I like to watch.

The bartender greeted me with ma'am, which I told him was unacceptable.

He asked for a better term and I suggested lady; he was appalled.

We settled on Karen.

Looking to decide what to drink, I asked about the Calina Carmenere, not recognizing the grape.

He warned me that it was a big wine, bigger than a Cab and rich and spicy.

I placed my ice-cold hands on his arm, saying I needed something to thicken my blood in this cold dampness.

He immediately began pouring me a glass.

Looking around, I noticed a pair of vintage water-skis had found their way onto the wall across from me; they looked perfect next to the mermaid.

Also new was a classic neon-ringed clock, shining a soft pink glow over the booths.

Everyone knows Pescado's is a fish place and I've had some excellent fish and seafood there, but the moment I saw oxtail, my fate was decided.

But I started with a dinner salad, mainly because the local field greens come from Powhatan County and the lemon/rosemary vinaigrette sounded appealing.

It was a fine, fresh-tasting start to my meal.

Dinner was three generous-sized mounds of braised oxtail over crispy tostones, with oxtail jus and corn nuts scattered about.

And while it looked like a lot of other oxtail I've had, one taste revealed its secret; habanero in the pot during the seven hours of braising.

Its subtle heat was sublime.

The tostones were that fabulous combination of crispy on the outside and creamy inside and were the perfect vehicle for bites of the succulent oxtail.

Bits of red onion provided just the right sweetness and the corn nuts were an inspired addition.

While I was reveling in my oxtail, a guy came up to the bar and we began chatting.

I learned that he and a friend were on a progressive dining evening.

They'd begun at Can-Can for a cocktail and mussels.

As they left, they noticed that skate wing was on the menu for tonight only, catching their attention.

Next up they went to Acacia for a drink and ceviche.

At Pescado's, like me, they had been unable to resist the allure of the oxtail, even though it didn't fit in with the theme of their evening.

Now he was finishing up his drink with me before they returned to Can-Can for the skate wing.

I told him that they'd come up with the best way to pass a rainy Monday evening that I'd heard in a long time.

He agreed before introducing himself as Hal and saying goodnight.

The door had barely closed on Hal when I had the pleasure of chatting with Chef Todd and co-owner Bob while enjoying my chocolate flan with cashews.

We were talking about the Richmond obsession with brunch and how people will wait ridiculous amounts of time to eat eggs on the weekend.

So the reality is, there can never be too many brunch spots in this town because if you make eggs, they will come.

The chef reminded me that they relish the chance to get wildly creative for daring customers and taunted me with stories of recently having served jellyfish ("If you like the texture of calamari, you'd like jellyfish," he promised) to some adventurous eaters.

Just call ahead, he said.

Oh, I will, I answered.

By the time the servers started putting the chairs up on the tables, the big neon clock was telling me that I'd been there for over three hours and it was probably time to go.

My blood sufficiently warmed by the Carmenere and the habenero-infused oxtail, I felt awfully satisfied with my rainy Monday evening.

It wasn't quite as cool a plan as Hal's had been, but it delivered on the meal and the company I was seeking.

And now I know.

Oregon Hill is for jellyfish.