Goodbye, Horses

Nothing like happening unexpectedly into a celebration.

Since it had been too long since I'd been to L'Opossum, I figured I'd start there. Imagine my surprise to walk in and discover that today was their one year anniversary.

They grow up so fast, don't they?

That's one year of the best-written menu in town ("Sweet and innocent North Atlantic salmon beguiled by comrade Dave's enigmatic embrace of..." you get the idea), easily the finest soundtrack ("Love is a Many Splendored Thing" to "Goodbye Horses," the '80s gem used in "Silence of the Lambs") and the wildly eclectic crowd.

I walked in behind a solo guy arriving early for his dinner meeting with friends. Waiting for them, he shared that he was from New Jersey (by way of India) but had spent ten years visiting Richmond. His first time at L'Opossum, he watched eager to pick up tips as I ordered.

There wasn't much to it.

I listened as the unfamiliar bartender detailed two specials and wanted both of them. Plum tomato gazpacho with black bean salsa, tequila- marinated shrimp and sliced avocado was the ideal marriage of flavors while foie gras with summer succotash of corn and lima beans in ringlets of charred red onion got a kick from smoked peach sauce, blackberry balsamic and Sauterne-soaked blackberries.

Fat + the flavors of summer made for an exquisite combination.

As I was swooning over my dinner accompanied by a glass of Domaine Bellevue Rose, this guy's posse showed up and instinctively reverted to shop talk.

They've reassigned him to special projects.
What does that even mean?
It means he has one foot out the door.

Apparently, this is how business people talk even when they're out on a social occasion.

Okay, now let's get to gossip.
You mean internal matters?
Yes!

Even once they moved to a booth, every time I looked over, they were loudly talking corporate politics and technology.

Yawn.

Once they vacated the bar, I spotted a cute couple, coincidentally the same one who'd sat next to me at the Club Saison wine dinner 48 hours ago. Richmond is a small, small town sometimes.

Filling in the stools between them and me arrived a trio of parents and grown son, with the matriarch looking around. "It's (long pause) cute?" she announced uncertainly.

Meanwhile out of the back comes owner David Shannon, making a bee line for the lights and adjusting them lower to better suit the waning outdoor light. "I do this five times a night," he says, stating what has become obvious over my many visits.

Brilliant. I'm the first one to admit that I appreciate a restaurant that progressively lowers its lights so that the patrons look progressively better as the night goes on.

Everyone is prettier in David Shannon's lighting.

But the fact is, the man also is known to come out and quietly tweak the music, much like the DJ at a party always looking to give the crowd what it wants before it knows it needs it.

Things getting too settled? Let's make your backsides wanna move.

The woman who'd been unsure about the place is soon won over when she spots the shiny, orange globe light fixture over a nearby booth. "I had that orange ball light over my dining room table in the '70s!" she squeals with delight.

Overhead, Lefty Frizzel's song "If You've Got the Money, Honey, I've Got the Time" comes on and her husband gets excited. "This was my favorite song!" Now we know he dates to the early '50s.

Half of the couple at the end of the bar comes over to chat about David's passion for details and how it's the reason for their frequent visits. "And the people-watching is amazing!" he says.

Well, it's certainly all over the map. There are sedate-looking couples and parties of four (known each other for years, probably), a dumpy guy in backwards sunglasses and flip-flops with two young women (daughters? for hires?), a large non-communicative couple who look like they wish they were at Olive Garden and plenty of regular-looking people.

The norm is anything goes.

Cute couple comes over to say farewell, hoping that we will run into each other again in another 48 hours. Given both our devotion to meals out, it's certainly a possibility.

It's while I'm getting rhapsodic about my black bottom pie that I spy a familiar restaurant couple through the masses. Once they spot me, as if on cue, the four people next to me at the bar decide to move to a table. I now have company.

When they ask what I've eaten (during a Dolly Parton song I didn't recognize but did enjoy), I rave about the gazpacho and foie gras, resulting in them ordering both. What surprises me is that he, a long-time restaurant employee, has never had foie gras. Turns out he didn't eat meat for 20 years (for which I offer my condolences) so he's still playing catch-up.

I'd play it a little faster if I were you, friend.

In that vein, he orders the ultra-luscious duet of veal sweetbreads and butter-poached lobster with a backbeat (I told you David was a wordsmith) of lavender grits and English peas climaxing into a blissful crescendo of sherried sauce Americaine.

Miraculously, it is the first time this 46-year old has had sweetbreads or lobster and I am a witness.

It's a wondrous thing to watch the first time someone's eyes roll back in their head because something so sensual has gone in their mouth.

We get to talking about career servers (this needs to be appreciated in this country), meddling spouses (not everyone is cut out for the restaurant business) and flirtatious customers while they ply me with more Bellevue Rose and pointed conversation about the local scene.

We marvel how it's like a train wreck when people get called out publicly on Facebook. No one can look away.

When the chef comes out in street clothes, I raise my glass momentarily to his monumentally successful first year. Everyone I've talked to tonight had mentioned how removed from Richmond you feel when you're inside this funky interior eating fabulous food.

You want to talk best new restaurants? Try climaxing into a blissful crescendo. I got your best new restaurant right here, buddy.