3 Blokes and a Bird

To dare is to do. At any rate, so says the Tottenham Hotspur Football Club.

I know this solely because of a promise made to James, an English stranger I met tonight at Dutch & Co., which is where I ended up for dinner. It was so civilized when I arrived, only a half dozen tables occupied, although the bar was full except for two stools. I only needed one.

It took me until after a glass of the house Rose arrived (all the way from Languedoc) and my salmon rilletes with salmon skin blinis and chive yogurt were set down in front of me to meet the adjacent Brit couple.

I'd already compared day trips with one of the servers, hearing a glowing report of Yorktown beach (although I can do without a stop at the outlets) and a so-so one of Buckroe Beach, a place she hadn't been since she was four.

Coincidentally, one of the first pictures of me after birth is my Dad holding me at Buckroe Beach, him clad in only a bathing suit, me in nothing but a pink and white checked diaper and I haven't been back, either.

Another of Dutch's lovelies and I began with summer hair challenges - we both see humidity as our enemy but for different reasons- and moved on to the need to make over our living space occasionally.

After ten years with chartreuse walls, she'd switched to a far more neutral color recently and was reveling in the change. I'd done some rearranging myself a few months ago and still delight in the new look nearly every day.

But now the dining room was filling up and my conversational partners had work to do, so I turned to the Brits, who were curious if I lived in the neighborhood. When I mentioned Jackson Ward, they admitted to no knowledge of it.

"I'm not even going to pretend like I know where that is," he told me charmingly.

Turns out they'd only been residents for six weeks after moving from Williamsburg, although they'd already established Dutch & Co. as their go-to restaurant because it was across the street. The one place they had ventured out for had disappointed (had I known them then, I'd have saved them the trip), so they wanted a recommendation.

Needless to say, they're thrilled with Richmond's dining scene, and, in fact, Richmond in general compared to W-burg. "Everyone there is sedate and dull, even the University students," James said, speaking the unspoken about William and Mary students.

It was while we were talking about all the things they needed to check out here that he shared that they were about to go on holiday to...wait for it...England. On the itinerary for their trip was a visit to White Hart Lane stadium (a 19th century stadium, he bragged) so James could see his long-time favorite team, the Hotspurs, play a home game.

Despite being a fan since the Spurs won the championship in 1961, he'd yet to see them play. "It's on my bucket list to see them win the championship again," he said, beaming.

I explained that you don't get to make other people do what you want on your bucket list.

"Oh, no, probably not, right?' he said matter-of-factly in his clipped British accent. Since I had no idea where Tottenham was beyond his description of north London, I was told to look at a map when I got home. Done.

He could tell me that because he's a Virginia historian who used to be director of Jefferson studies at Monticello, which I found hilarious, necessitating me pointing out that we 'd needed to import an Englishman to help us understand TJ, yet another in a long string of embarrassments for the Yanks.

But now he works with the Jamestown Rediscovery Foundation, so he's currently over the moon about the four bodies discovered under the ruins of a historic Jamestown church. And it wasn't just the bodies that got him excited, but a small silver box they also found that looks to have been a Catholic reliquary (but not like with a  thumb in it because I asked) belonging to one of the dead men.

Hmm, what are good god-fearing Episcopalian colonials doing with a Catholic object? You can just imagine the issues that brings up.

After they left for their house almost diagonally across from the restaurant, I ordered the crispy fried trotter pate with tomato confit and arugula, which arrived just as the two guys did who filled the Brits' stools.

With no trouble, I quickly established that the duo were IT nerds ("But cool nerds," the one wearing the high top Chuck Taylors said) who work for MCV four days a week and then go back to their real lives in small town Georgia and Houston respectively.

It was their first time at Dutch & Co. and the one next to me, we'll call him Georgia, wanted to know what I was eating with such pleasure. Figuring him for a pig lover after he said he was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, I raved about the dish, omitting that it was made from pigs' feet.

He not only ordered it, but loved it. Score one for me.

Because they live at the Hilton Garden which is half a mile from my house, I was curious about which neighborhood restaurants they frequented Monday through Thursday. Of course they'd hit the overpriced average ones, so I reassured them about a few places they'd heard about but not been.

Just call me a servant to the cause.

When they asked if there was trivia anywhere tonight, the barkeep (wearing the cutest red print vintage dress and weeks away from moving to J-Ward) piped up suggesting New York Deli. Houston looked at me quizzically as if I were the fun expert. "Will we have fun drinking and hanging out there?"

There was a 20-year age difference between the two. Um, you will but Georgia is going to tire of that scene pretty quickly.

Then again, to dare is to do, my friend. Cool nerds should take a Tuesday trivia night out over going back to the hotel any time. I'm not even cool and I know I would.