Swinging in the Rain

Never let it be said that rain keeps me at home.

Or anything else for that matter.

The soggy night began at Stuzzi with a seat at the bar in front of the pizza oven.

Playing on the nearby screen was "Marriage, Italian Style," and as much as I hate screens in restaurants, watching the magnificent Sophia Loren and the handsome Marcello Mastroianni romp through '60s-era Italy was surprisingly appealing.

The plan was to have a glass of Chianti and a margherita pizza and be done with it.

But things seldom work out the way you expect them to and my fellow pizza lover and I ended up with pasta fagioli, especially satisfying for the prosciutto and mussels.

I had to admit, I was also curious about the Steven Spielberg Zoone, a spicy Asian-based sauce (I know, right?) served over fried calamari.

After a taste, I could see why the director had ordered it delivered to him so many times while he was filming in Richmond.

The owner came over to check if we were putting grated Parmesan on our pizza (we had) and to remind us that that wasn't the Neapolitan way.

I felt no shame since I have not a drop of Italian blood, but he laughed and admitted to doing the same.

"Don't worry, my father puts cheese on his linguine and clam sauce," he said, eyebrows raised in horror. "They shoot you for that in Italy."

Seems a little harsh.

Next we tried what he called cheese triangles, but what were really Mozzarella in Carrozza, little grilled sandwiches of Mozzarella, prosciutto and basil and tasty on their own or with a touch of Spielberg's sauce on them.

So much for sticking to a simple little supper of pizza and grape.

Next up was my first Limoncello cream, which seemed more like a dessert with its sweet creaminess than a digestivo like regular Limoncello, but I managed to down it nonetheless.

That didn't prevent having dessert, something the chalkboard called "strawberry tiramisu in a glass."

It was sort of a deconstructed tiramisu with Grappa-soaked ladyfingers and strawberry cream with whipped cream on top.

Surprisingly, the Grappa was an ideal counterpoint to the sweetness of the strawberries, and obscenely alcoholic.

Note to self: refrain from over-indulging while watching a gorgeous 30-year old physical specimen like Sophia Loren while gorging to avoid self-flagellation.

So, yes, I was in a food coma by the time I got to Balliceaux.

The 17-piece RVA Big Band, with two members in knit caps and on in a trucker cap, was still getting situated when we slid into a booth.

"Thanks for bearing the rain," the bandleader said in greeting. "You're a small but mighty audience."

And we were, all eighteen of us, but the number grew as they began to play.

The usual cadre of young girls in sexy dresses was notably absent tonight, no doubt unwilling to risk their cute shoes or straightened hair, even for the sake of swinging music.

The first set was dedicated to more classic stuff, pieces like "My One and Only Love," while the second set jumped forward in time and momentum.

I suspected as much when, after the break, the bass player benched his upright and strapped on his electric bass, the better to make contorted bass player faces.

If you've ever paid attention to bass players, you know the ones I'm talking about.

It was during that set that the keyboard player and drummer got a workout, to songs like Steely Dan's "Kid Charlemagne."

Before we knew it, the bandleader announced the last song, "so we can all get out of here."

Which wasn't really necessary because it was pouring even harder by that point.

Truth is, the small and mighty among us could have sat there indefinitely had they been willing to play on.

But never let it be said that the rain keeps me from leaving, either.

No weather wimp here.