Pilgrimage to Virtue and Back

"Much virtue in herbs, Little in men."~ kitchen trivet in my childhood home

No camera, no fanny pack, but still playing tourist today.

The afternoon began with our Richmond visitors helping support the educational mission of the Smithsonian Institution.

Translation: we started with lunch in the courtyard cafe of the National Portrait Gallery/Museum of American Art and that's what our receipt said we were doing.

It wasn't about the food; we availed ourselves of an extensive salad bar, loading on every marinated combination we could find (peppers, Mozzarella, tomatoes, artichokes).

It was a little about the tradition; childhood trips to the National Gallery often involved lunch in their museum cafe, unappealing as it was. In the best childhood tradition, we also finished with chocolate pudding today, a museum cafeteria standard if ever there was one.

It was mostly about the Kogod Courtyard that connects the two museums with its soaring elegant glass canopy.

Sitting in that huge courtyard under sunlight filtered through a curved glass roof is a unique pleasure. Nearby less than an inch of water runs over a slate section of the floor, making for a delightful sound and the world's shallowest public fountain.

At least until a nearby diner's phone rang.

"We're in Washington," the very portly and conservative man in the red sweater explained. "We spent the morning at the Spy Museum. Ask me anything."

Okay, how come you think it's polite to have a loud conversation one table from us while we're trying to enjoy our midday meal?

From there we went to see "Annie Leibovitz: Pilgrimage,' a departure from her usual photographs of people.

Instead she had captured the essence of famous dead people through their things.

Things like photos of Freud's couch. Emily Dickinson's herb pressings and stuffed birds (a little distasteful honestly).

Virginia Woolf's stained desk (her husband Leonard having said it was "not merely untidy but squalid"). Thoreau's bed frame. Emerson's books.

Not dead exactly, but positively riveting were photographs of "Spiral Jetty: Great Salt Lake," an earthwork created by Smithson.

The curlicue of earthworks was a thing of beauty and even more notable because shortly after he finished it in 1970, the water rose and covered it for thirty years.

When it re-emerged, Leibovitz took pictures of it but now it's completely submerged again.

The wonder of that has returned to me any number of times since we left that gallery.

Leaving the show, I considered what objects might make good photographic subjects to depict a departed one's life.

"In Vibrant Color: Vintage Celebrity Portraits from the Warnecke Studio" had early color photographs of military, sports, music and Hollywood stars.

Probably the most beautiful was one of Lucille Ball at age 33; she is lovely, colorful and impossibly young.

Orson Welles, Roy Rogers (with his pants pulled up practically to his armpits) and Louis Armstrong all looked to be in their prime.

The overly saturated colors were a testament to the multi-step process before color film was in common use and gave a vintage "Life" Magazine quality to them.

We breezed through the  Presidents exhibit, stopping long enough to appreciate some particularly outstanding Presidential portraits.

Abstract expressionist Elaine (not Willem) de Kooning's depiction of JFK is full of chaotic green brushstrokes and a face that couldn't be more handsome (leave it to a woman).

Norman Rockwell's "Nixon" somehow makes him look like a laid-back and congenial Chief of Staff. It was no surprise to read that the artist intentionally flattered the beleaguered President in the work.

Clinton had been done by Chuck Close, so I had last year's VMFA show of Close works as a familiar reference for the many-faceted face of Bill.

I was especially taken by Oliphant's bronze of "George H.W. Bush as a Horseshoe Player." With its attenuated limbs, hapless look and obvious modeling, it could have been a Giacometti.

And who knew the world's biggest political cartoonist was also a sculptor? Not this art geek.

Last but not least was the morbidly fascinating "Memories Arrested in Space, a Centennial tribute to Jackson Pollock."

Gathered together were letters to the artists, a telegrams telling him he'd sold his first painting, a program from his first exhibition and loads of black and white pictures.

Considering the name recognition of Pollock, it's easy to forget his career from first to last exhibition was a mere twelve years.

I'm just not sure it's worth it to burn so brightly for such a short time. I think I'll take less talent over a longer less turbulent period.

To avoid the turbulence of 95-South, we opted for dinner at Alexandria s Virtue Feed & Grain ("A loud fun bar" the menu calls itself) in the old Olsson's Books and Music.

I'd chosen it for its Restaurant Eve connection as well as the menu section devoted to "Weird Stuff."

Naturally weird stuff was the first thing I ordered.

Crubeens, the Irish street food made of boiled down pig's feet with mirepoix, was crispy on the outside and full of gummy pig goodness inside.

Set on top of a house made whole grain creamy mustard, the rich trotter meat benefited from its contrasting condiment.

The Irish-themed menu next delivered Irish pigs in a blanket, meaning bangers in a pastry crust ("About  the size of a Hotpocket," our friendly bartender informed us and he looked like he knew Hotpockets well).

One bite of the crust's buttery flakiness and I had to think there was a pastry chef involved.

Don't get me wrong, I love all sausage and that includes bangers, but that crust was a work of art.

Cockels and mussels ("Alive, alive-o!") arrived in a butter sauce so rich it was obscene.

It also required a bread basket to absorb it with once all the fruit de mer disappeared.

Besides, the O'Donnell half of me was reveling in being in a place with Irish-style food of the highest order.

Everyone in my party was thoroughly impressed with the music at Virtue, too; Pinback, Band of Horses, the XX and even a Dr. Dog cover of an Architecture in Helsinki song made for a stellar soundtrack atypical for a restaurant.

The Sweet Fix of the day was a chocolate creme pie with strawberry Chantilly and jam, sort of a an upscale cousin to our lunch's trailer trash chocolate pudding.

The enormous and thick slice of pie contained a creme filling with so much butterfat that it bordered on non-frozen gelato.

The Chantilly's flavored creaminess was the only delicate part of this dense and dark dessert. And we were fine with that.

 "Goodness and mercy will follow," the menu said at the bottom and what I think they meant was goodness will be served and mercy on your arteries will follow if you don't eat at Virtue too often.

I think mine are safe; it's a little out of my usual dining territory.

When we finally waddled out, we were feeling highly satisfied if not overly virtuous.

Maybe it's time for a trivet more relevant than my Mom's.

"Much virtue in butter, Irish food and some men. Little in moderation or restraint."

There's the object that can be photographed to represent me when I'm gone.