Good Tongue = Optimization

"You're Chat Central tonight."

In the scheme of things, my evening's activities could be described in far worse ways.

All I did was sit down to have a little dinner. The luck of the draw was that I happened into three conversations that bridged the three and a half-hour evening from start to finish.

The first of them was chatting with the bartender's girlfriend when I arrived, so I didn't interrupt.

After observing some interaction between her and him, the barsitter got suspicious. "Are you two sweeties or pals?" he asked of them.

"Sweeties and pals," the good girlfriend responded.

Immediately making eye contact with me, he introduced himself from across the bar.

We began a conversation over her head, but it wasn't long before he asked if he could move to my side of the bar.

"I was wondering how long that would take," the barkeep noted wryly.

He turned out to be a fascinating guy with a history working in theater, opera and advertising.

When my Beef Two Ways arrived, he told me to go ahead and eat and I did but the conversation was too enjoyable to only eat, so there may have been some chewing and talking.

My mother would not approve of my bad manners, although she'd be thrilled I was talking to a guy.

And the slow-cooked Angus beef short ribs and braised beef tongue over local grits were really worthy of my full attention. The beef tongue especially was probably the best I've ever had.

Meanwhile, back at the conversational ranch, multiple points went to this guy for talk of Frank Loesser, Polonious, and Norman Mclean. 'Nuff said.

Let's just say I was willing to share my meat and he was willing to eat it. And he'd already had the lamb.

Once he vacated the stool, I turned to my left to join the two art lovers next to me

They're part of the inspired group planning the upcoming Art Karma, one of my favorite fundraising events. Besides being a great party, for me it's an excellent way to pick up local art.

But the best part of the conversation was about walking. We got on the subject of where they lived and he said he lived in Hanover.

Which is scary enough, but he'd just moved from London to Hanover. It boggles the mind.

How does one adjust to a move from a bustling urban locale like that to the sticks? Not well, he said.

And mainly because he missed the walking. He missed the convenience of places to go on every corner. He'd gained weight since he got here and started driving everywhere.

Not surprisingly, I made it my mission to suggest a few more centrally-located possibilities for him to consider (J-Ward, perhaps?) I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't.

Non-profit types only stay up so late, so they left to go to bed so as to make an early-morning meeting; I was without talkers for about 30 seconds before two guys sat down on my right.

They're in town working on a  project indefinitely. Oh, boy, RVA virgins who needed guidance! I could do this.

All they had heard of our fair city was Carytown and the Fan. The one said he hadn't even noticed our historic architecture.

My work was cut out for me.

Hailing from Minneapolis and Philly, they were at least both urban dwellers in their respective cities, so they could appreciate the local scene I described to them.

Since they were both drinking suds, I told them about next week being Richmond Beer Week and all that's going on with that.

I corrected their misconception that all the fun stuff was over on Main Street in the Fan. As if.

They'd heard of First Fridays and wanted to know the essential galleries. Tha's an easy one. Let me give you directions, guys.

It was not long after our conversation began that the bartender had walked by me and made the smart-assed "Chat Central" remark.

It wasn't my fault that people kept sitting down next to me.

And for that matter, I was entertaining his customers, freeing him up for other chores. Hell, he ought to tip me out.

Except that I was the one having all the fun. And making new, ahem, friends.