Lickin' the Barn Floor

Because I live in a city where a trio of mounted policemen and women trot along beside me on Franklin Street.

And then there's how I teach a stranger who thought he didn't like liver to rave about duck liver mousse on thick Sub Rosa bread when I share mine. Not once, but twice: after he eats it and again as he's leaving.

For the first time in my life, a man actually says to me, "Are you double ducking tonight?" To be clear, I was not and told him so.

Playing that classic parlor game "Two Degrees of Separation in RVA" with a bearded stranger from Charlottesville (who's silly enough to describe a friend in Richmond as having a mustache as if that's a distinguishing factor), we discover that I not only know his best friend's ex who works there (and the reason he came), but I've been to the restaurant where he tends bar as well the one where I know the chef he used to work with. I've even picked up the C-Ville Weekly for which he writes.

Attempting to best my "Richmond is so small a town that..." stories, he shares how he and his wife once went to a bar in Charlottesville only to find that both of their exes were tending bar. Both also refused to serve them. He scores and wins.

That, friends, is a small town.

Because I eat this and it rocks my world, although no words will be able to convey how sublime the combination was. Imagine using earthy Meadow Creek Grayson cheese to make a silky espuma and then using it to coat buttery mixed lettuces, autumnal fruit, apple cider vinegar and for textural contrast, ginger snaps.

(Eyes roll back in her head) All I can say is, that's a hell of a cheese course.

Then there's how the beauty of going to an all-ages show is for the reminder of what today's children look like. They are adorable, each with a crude "X" on both hands and, for the most part, appear tragically awkward and aware of it. I think this makes them post-modern.

As a guy in a t-shirt reading "Drink Wisconsinbly" points out, "At least this is something for them to do."

Agreed. If there are kids who want to listen to music created by a female poet and filtered through the likes of Pavement, more power to them. It certainly suits me. Besides, I was owed.

A couple of years ago, I'd been picking up an Apology - that was ham, turkey, bacon and mayo between two grilled cheese sandwiches - at Strange Matter and while waiting for my obscene order, started talking to the musicians at the bar eating dinner.

They turned out to be Massachusetts band Speedy Ortiz, but I already had plans for the evening (hence the front-loading of the Apology) and missed their show. An album later, I catch them.

Because girl power executed intelligently and compellingly - with the front door propped wide open to the warm night air - is always a welcome start to the week.

Even when I'm not double ducking.