Tending and Stoking

I am the daughter of a master fire-maker.

Growing up in what is now reverently called "mid-century modern" and what we then referred to as a three-bedroom rancher, I remember how my parents were always adding something to the little house.

First it was more bedrooms, a necessity given six children. Then a bay window with window seat in the dining room overlooking the backyard. A pool, but not until all six of us were old enough to swim so as to assuage my mother's fear for our safety.

But the most dramatic change began with a giant hole.

I came home from elementary school to find a gaping opening where one of the living room walls had been when I'd left that morning and as we ate an after-school snack of warm-from-the-oven cookies and milk (yes, really), Mom explained that we were having a fireplace put in.

And not just a standard fireplace, but a white brick one with a raised hearth and built in seats on either side with areas for log storage underneath that would take up the entire wall.

It was about as mid-century modern groovy a fireplace as could be imagined and once completed, my father took it upon himself to school all six daughters on fire-making.

We were taught the difference between tinder and kindling, how to properly use bellows and when to add logs to an existing fire.

As we grew up, I can guarantee you that every one of used our fire skills to impress a guy at some point or another.

But mainly, Dad instilled in us an appreciation for a well-made fire and the pleasures one brings in cold weather.

This is a roundabout way of saying what an unexpectedly wonderful time I had with a date in front of a fire last night.

Our destination was far beyond the city, not usually my first choice, but a leisurely drive out River Road landed us at Portico, a place I knew of, but hadn't been.

He'd been for lunch a couple of times so dinner-wise, it was a first for us both.

Honestly, considering it seemed like we were out in the sticks, I was surprised at how busy it was for a Monday evening.

There was a large, older group with loud voices and napkins tucked under chins. Beside us was a young couple, also on a date, although she was very dressed up in a one-sleeved red cocktail dress. Near them was another couple looking at a map and discussing going to Bowling Green via Route 301. Several couples arrived after we did.

We took a table with a view of the garden patio with its big stone fireplace full of logs burning briskly beneath a candlelit mantle.

Over a bottle of Pinot Noir, we considered the all-purpose menu (burger, sandwiches, pizza, pasta, entrees) while doing the early-stage date chatter about what each of us had been up to lately.

I told him I'd been reading in the Washington Post about how so many restaurants up there keep their patios open year-round, adding fire pits and heaters and serving toddies and hot buttered rum to enhance the experience...and their bottom line.

We agreed that a heated rooftop bar with a view of the monuments and a drink sounded right up our alley. The date was going well.

But for now, food was the priority, so beginning with simple green salads, we moved on to penne bolognese and pizza rustica, more notable for its Italian sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms and pepperoncini oil flavor than for its flacid crust.

The music, when we could hear it over the noisier customers, was safe and soft, artists like Willie Nelson and James Taylor.

It was while we were sharing a creme caramel that my date suggested we finish the evening outside by the fireplace with some other sort of warming beverage and our server said he'd go throw some additional logs on the fire for us.

We wouldn't be able to see any monuments, but the tables on the slate-floored patio were twinkling with tea lights and that fire had a nice glow to it.

Carpe diem and all that.

Not surprisingly for Goochland, the tequila choices were limited, but my date encouraged me to give Cabo Wabo a try and if not Sammy Hagar tonight, if not in front of a roaring fire, if not with a date thoughtful enough to suggest such a thing, then when?

In a bonus bit of forethought, he asked for his bourbon and my tequila in snifters, the better to warm them.

We had the patio to ourselves and with snifters in hand, stood in front of the raised fireplace (shades of childhood) laughing, drinking and enjoying the kind of late-stage date banter that feels like it could go on all night.

I'll even admit things got pleasantly warm out there with him and maybe a small part of that was my occasional stoking of the fire.

There is nothing like being wooed well and making Dad proud at the same time.