Pride and Gluttony

Believe it or not, I'll be in the Smithsonian.

Of course, I didn't know that when the evening began.

Yes, I knew I was one of the lucky ticket-holders to see "Herb and Dorothy 50 x 50" at the VMFA.

I even knew that Dorothy Vogel, half of the legendary couple whose art collection has now been consigned to the National Gallery and a museum in every state, would be taking questions afterwards.

My excitement went with me to Bistro 27 beforehand to enjoy a glass of Mekan Molisse Rosso and a stellar bowl of watermelon gazpacho to make up for the Watermelon Festival I'm not going to Sunday.

A nearby bar sitter asked what my evening held and I shared that I was going to see a film about this amazing couple who'd collected art for decades and then donated it to the world.

""That sounds fabulous. I'm jealous," he admitted after he heard their back story.

You should be, friend.

Picking up the tickets I'd ordered weeks ago at the VMFA, I was surprised to hear that people had shown up tonight expecting to be able to still get tickets.

We settled into the fifth row.

There was never any doubt in my mind that Dorothy would get a standing ovation when she walked out and she did.

"The last time we packed the house like this was for the Elvis Presley exhibit," our host Trent said. "I think it's safe to say Dorothy Vogel is our new Elvis."

But she was way better than Elvis because he's dead.

Plus here we were getting to see the film about her and her late husband a full month before it goes to the Big Apple, making the VMFA even cooler than it already is.

The film picked up where the first documentary left off and I'd fallen in love with that one two years ago, here, unashamedly admitting I wanted a man just like Herb (devoted and art-loving).

No surprise that these unlikely Medicis, supporting artists and purchasing their work when no one else was, had had a hand in choosing some of the museums who were to receive their gift.

We saw artists like Chuck Close talking about the Vogels' collecting habit in their tiny one-bedroom apartment.

"The bed got higher with their accumulation of art," he said, remembering their overstuffed apartment.

Herb himself said, "Knowing the artists was as, if not more, important than the art itself," a testament to the long friendships that developed during the Vogels' collecting years.

Because Dorothy spent her career as a librarian, she had been meticulous about keeping files about their art collecting.

Saving postcards about gallery openings, newspaper articles about their collection, letters to and from artists, she'd amassed 42 boxes of paper related to their collection, all of it now stored at the archive of American art.

By the time this film was made, Herb was in a wheelchair and not terribly talkative, although when he did have something to say, it was always pithy and spot-on.

"What we did then is now art history," he observed in the understatement of the year.

Herb died last year and Dorothy is shown a month after his death, clearly still grieving, but beginning to organize the apartment and take down the art that will be distributed.

She makes it clear that her collecting days are over because, "That's something I did with Herbie."

During the Q & A, filmmaker Megumi Sasaki surprised a lot of people by saying that before the Vogel films, she had never made a film.

Nor did she know much about art.

You wouldn't know either from watching the film.

When Dorothy was asked about the VMFA's 50 works, she thrilled the audience by saying, "I'm very happy the collection came here. The installation upstairs looks great."

She was asked about her husband's fish tank ("I appreciated it, but I had nothing to do with it"), how she'd met him (at a camp reunion although he'd never gone to the camp) and asked if she missed the art.

"I don't feel like I gave it away," she said in her well-spoken and low-key humorous way. "It's still mine, it's just not in my apartment."

You had to love her spunk.

When asked if she and Herbie ever disagreed about buying a piece of art, she was quick to say, "We might have had a few disagreements about other things, but never about art."

Theirs was a match made in heaven.

We gave her another standing ovation when the talk ended and slowly began filing out, everyone chattering about their excitement at having heard Dorothy share her thoughts.

Then just when I thought it couldn't get any better, it did.

Walking out, the VMFA's director of communications saw me and held up a manila envelope labeled "Dorothy Vogel"

Telling me that my Style Weekly article on the Vogel exhibit was inside the package destined for Dorothy meant that my words are headed for the Smithsonian's archive of American art.

Sure, it'll just be another piece of paper in the 42 boxes, but it will also be my words on that paper in the Smithsonian's archives.

There was nothing to do but go celebrate my accomplishment.

I chose Secco for its recently-appointed chef (who'd been a personal favorite when he was the sous chef), Mike, and walked into a teeming throng of Friday night revelers.

Two barstools had just emptied and we appropriated them.

My celebratory libation was Aloque Rosato, a lovely rose of Tempranillo with the color of strawberry Kool-aid.

My friend went with a Nebbiolo rose, hers a pale salmon color.

To each, her own.

Our meal began with seared padron peppers with Manchego, brown butter and sherry vinegar, in my opinion, the perfect accompaniment to my Spanish wine.

Our handsome server put them down, saying, "They're Russian roulette peppers. Most are sweet but you might hit a spicy one."

I had seven or eight and never a one that wasn't satisfyingly sweet but my friend (who calls herself "a baby" about spicy things) got the one wild card hot padron.

Isn't that always the way?

On the other hand, as I told her, the decadent brown butter and Manchego more than made up for the heat, at least after a minute or so.

Next came the prettiest dish I've seen in a while, an heirloom tomato salad with (insert sound of moan) housemade mascarpone, radishes, capers and herbs.

I could write a sonnet to those 'maters- the stunning array of colors, the impossible juiciness and the incredible sweetness that only comes at this time of year- which almost, but not quite, but almost made the to-die-for mascarpone superfluous.

Almost.

Run, do not walk, to eat this salad.

Next came hanger steak. sliced against the grain and beautifully medium rare, with snap peas and ribbons of summer squash.

The fact is, meat like this is exactly why I will never be a vegetarian.

Langa la Tur, a cheese made with goat, sheep and cow's milk delivered a triple threat with every earthy, redolent bite.

"That's about the best meal I've had in a while," my friend said, looking as pleased about the eats as I felt about my article heading to the archives (and the eats).

With attitudes like those, there was nowhere to go but straight to hazelnut gelato with cocoa nibs.

Not one, but two scoops of mouth-coating indulgence had me rhapsodizing to my friend about the pleasures of ice cream in summer.

Not to mention my sentences in archives...no matter what the season.