Female Bonding

Tonight was all about the girlfriends.

The first was a fellow Gemini who just this week celebrated a birthday, which we used as an excuse to meet up for happy hour.

She chose Bistro 27 and I happily agreed because they offer such a good deal on food and drink post-office hours.

Not that either of us keeps office hours.

And although we weren't planning to start with a red, much lees a Portuguese red, we began drinking with the dry and refreshing 100 Marias while we caught up.

Seems we'd missed last night's flight night featuring three Portuguese reds, so we did our best to compensate.

She had stellar stories to share, including one about spider bites and private parts. Fortunately, she didn't bring pictures, because who needs to see the intersection of the two?

Snacking on mussels in white pepper and garlic cream sauce, we switched to Briccodi-dei-Tati rose and chatted with the chef about outdoor oyster eating.

Conclusion: a group field trip is in the offing. And, yes, there will be bubbles.

When I presented her with my gift, musician Patti Smith's new book "Woolgathering," she was thrilled and the bartender was perplexed.

Hello, godmother of punk?

We had great fun chatting with some nearby bar sitters from the near west end who were outspoken about their friends and family's fear of coming into the city to eat.

She told a story of her sister taking her little boy to the Short Pump theaters and when he saw the neon of the multiplex, saying, "Look, it's the lights of the city, Mom!"

"They live in Wellsley, where they have everything they need for life," the man said. "Chain restaurants, Food Lion and, if they want to go to college, Strayer University."

It would have been tragic if it hadn't been so hilarious.

After the second glass of rose, my friend was picked up by her dinner date while I remained in my stool waiting for mine.

No sooner was one girlfriend gone than the next appeared.

Our Portuguese starter was Quinta de Cabriz Reserva, unique and tasting like nothing else I knew.

Damn, why did I miss flight night? Oh, yes, Shakespeare and birthday bands.

It had been close to a year since my friend and I had last met so naturally we had loads to discuss.

She's a year and a half into a new relationship so she had tales of buying a house together, dealing with former (and unhappy) girlfriends and trying to adjust everyone's sex drive to coincide.

Now there's a first world problem.

To sustain me, I chose the lamb kabob over Arabic antipasti (chickpeas, walnuts, red pepper and eggplant) while she dove into the shrimp bobo.

The mayor arrived and took a discreet table in a corner.

One of the city's premiere tattoo artists came in for a bite at the bar.

A bartending friend appeared and joined our conversation as he waited for his friends to arrive.

Unsurprisingly, we got off on a tangent about the craft cocktail trend in Richmond and, conversely, the vital role of simply slinging shots.

My friend, a former restaurant manager, mentioned how different the bar world was before the mixology movement.

"People used to just ask what color the drink would be." she laughed.

Gosh, Grandpa, when was that?

Sonny, that was back in the days when new couples didn't talk about how much sex each one wanted, much less share that information with a girlfriend they hadn't seen in months.

My goodness, what did they talk about then?

Oh, right. Well, we talked about that, too.

I'm on Fire

Growing up, my birthday meant cheeseburgers.

My five sisters weren't thrilled about it, but that's what I picked for my birthday dinner year after year.

So naturally when I drove out to the Northern Neck today to have lunch with the people who spawned me, my Mom served cheeseburgers.

And in lieu of birthday cake, hot fudge sundaes for dessert.

Is it any wonder I try to celebrate my birthday with as many people as possible with options like that?

After an afternoon at the river, I came home to get cleaned up and meet a friend for a birthday drink.

He was having a screwy day (his words) and couldn't choose where to take me, so I defaulted to Bistro 27 so I could walk over after so much car time earlier.

We toasted my beginning with Briccodi-dei-Tati Rose and talk of the difference in Frenchmen and Italians (attitude).

Although I wasn't terribly hungry after my burger bash, we noshed anyway on small plates.

Fried calamari, tomato bruschetta and a delightful Asian-inspired dish of Chinese broccoli, onion and duck confit kept us busy until a visiting Philadelphian joined our conversation.

We switched to Chester Gap's 2009  Merlot ("when it was 2009, it was a very good year"), but only after all of us tasted it and none of us guessed that it was Merlot.

It was big with notes of cherry and herbs and a lingering finish, all of which made my companion insist I order dessert to accompany it and further celebrate my upcoming big day.

You don't have to twist my arm.

The chocolate fondant cake arrived with a pink birthday candle alight and everyone at the bar joined in singing happy birthday to me.

The only way to follow such a fine birthday second installment was with, what else, live music.

A two-block walk deposited me at Gallery 5, where I walked in to hear, "Karen's here," from the back of the room.

I found some friends, although not as many as I would expected given the stellar bill.

First up was Dogs on Main Street, whom I've seen before, so I could appreciate his humor three songs in.

"I forgot to introduce myself," Mac said. "I'm Dogs on Main Street. Yea, I know. Don't grammar me!"

I enjoy Mac's earnest sound and everyman lyrics, but especially his self-deprecation.

He explained how thrilled he'd been when River Whyless had contacted him to play the show, saying they'd found him online.

"I didn't know I could be found," he deadpanned. "So I've been practicing for three days straight and this afternoon I blew out my voice. Now I sound like a thirteen-year old girl."

Which he did not. His melodic growl of a voice was just fine for songs like "Home" and "Williamstown, Massachusetts" and he closed with a killer version of Florence and the Machine's "Shake it Out," done doggy (on Main Street) style.

My favorite thing about Low Branches' set was getting to hear new songs ("Love happens naturally, There's no use in trying") in addition to some from their last record, which I have and love.

They were short a member tonight with cellist Josh not in attendance, although lead singer Christina not only pointed to where he'd be on stage, but when he would be playing.

Although usually shy on stage, tonight she shared how she'd done the Church Hill yard sale yesterday only to watch all the customers flock to the "salmon cornbread guy" next to her, although she didn't understand what salmon cornbread was.

That makes two of us.

And lo and behold, she said the salmon cornbread guy was in the audience tonight.

No doubt he was as tickled as I was when, for the last song, Christina called Mac onstage and said, "Turns out Mac and I share a beautiful thing called a love of Bruce Springsteen."

Launching into "I'm On Fire," I can't quite express the satisfaction of hearing the demure Christina singing, "Only you can cool my desire. I'm on fire."

It isn't quite up there with hearing her cover Nine Inch Nails' "Closer," which one of my favorite couples had  said they'd give anything to hear her do, but it was still stellar.

Asheville's River Whyless was up next and they caught my ear right off the bat.

During sound check, violinist/vocalist Halli sang, "Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz? My friends all have fifteen-passenger vans, cause they're all in bands."

She also took an audience poll to decide what color wine to drink during their set (red won).

The band had a baroque pop sound with lush vocals, lush instrumentation and literate lyrics ("I'm not searching for perfect, I'm perfecting my search").

Aren't we all?

We heard the three (four?) part suite "Stone," which could only be described as epic with its plucked violin, hand clapping and three-part harmonies.

Okay, so I was completely taken with their sound.

They played almost all of their CD and in order, too, because, as guitarist and songwriter Ryan said, "We figured we put them in this order for a reason."

As they layered voices and instruments for soundscapes that filled every inch of Gallery 5, the audience was as quiet and attentive as if it were the Listening Room.

Well, except for one couple in the back and who talked and laughed loudly through their set, but the loss was theirs.

By the time their set ended, many in the audience stood to applaud because of how impressive they'd been.

I was one of them; as the musical component of tonight's birthday bash, they were superb in delivering a kind of music of which the birthday girl-to-be is very fond.

Wow, if I'm already having cheeseburgers and chamber pop two days in advance, this looks to be a pretty amazing birthday celebration before it all winds down.

Which, according to my friend Gregg, should be sometime around mid-summer.

And the problem with that is...?

I'm just perfecting my search for the perfect series of birthday celebrations.

To paraphrase Christina, there's no use in not trying.

Soundtrack 23

Every life needs a soundtrack.

Whatever mine was tonight, it got kind of quirky at the end.

It would have begun with a lively tune when I met a friend and two of his project partners at Bistro 27.

We got there mad early in order to talk about their project and do some brainstorming.

My pink drinking habit was quite happy with a glass of Briccodi-dei-Tati Rose, which while it resembled strawberry Kool-aid in color, was actually 100% Barbera Rose.

Can't say I'd ever had a Barbera Rose. Cue curious music.

Friend's partners arrived feeling like they knew me, mainly from having been instructed to read the blog before they met me.

Turns out one had started a list from ideas she'd gotten reading it. I saw it as a major compliment.

Over discussion of Russian resettlement, love of potatoes and the benefits of living downtown, we managed to taste a few small plates.

Beef carpaccio, fried calamari, potato croquettes and a chickpea cake made with onions, peppers and eggplant provided something for omnivores and vegetarians alike.

One girl explained that she didn't eat anything she could imagine as a cartoon, so after one bite of calamari, she pushed the plate away saying it reminded her of Ursula in "The Little Mermaid."

Luckily, I haven't seen many cartoons.

The highlight was a southern-fried quail with blackberry demi-glace over grits; the sweet and salty contrast was irresistible.

Music came later courtesy of Glows in the Dark playing at Balliceaux.

Tonight's hook, as if their movie-driven music wasn't enough (and it is), was a movie.

Behind the band was showing Werner Herzog's "Agierre: Wrath of God," a 1972 film about a crazy man leading an expedition into the Amazon.

It was only my third Herzog movie after "Heart of Glass" and "Grizzly Man" but I knew it was worth seeing because guitarist Scott Burton, a movie fanatic, was showing it.

I saw sixteenth century men in suits of armor, swollen rivers challenging them and a lone man in a field blowing a pan flute as the band played.

A man was hung and on the ground beneath his dangling legs sat a soldier rolling a cigarette.

It was especially great when the flute playing aligned with the real sax and trombone playing.

At times, I could read a subtitle on bassist Cam's forearm, but that was about it. It wasn't about following the movie exactly.

Instead we were treated to the kind of cinematic music that felt like it could describe a scene. Many scenes.

Sometimes it worked with the movie, and sometimes it was just incredibly well-played music with a movie playing behind.

I've been hearing these guys play literally for years (four, five?) and they just continue getting tighter and better.

In a perfect world, they'd be doing the soundtrack to my life, swelling here and chasing there.

During intermission, I asked Scott about the choice of movie and he told me that it was the movie that led him to Herzog.

He was young, he saw it for sale and, being a boy, was sucked in by the cool cover (men in armor fighting) and its gold box.

Guys and shiny things, a natural attraction I've been told.

The point is he'd been so impressed with the film once he saw it that it led to seeking out other Herzog films.

And kindly now showing it to people like me who probably need to see far more Herzog.

The band played songs called "Revolver" and "Gary Glitter," but for their last song reached back to 1977 for  "Strawberry Letter 23," executing terrifically.

My favorite number is 23, so I feel like this belongs on my soundtrack.

Between songs, a blond guy walks up to the band and asks their name. "Glows in the Dark," they tell him.

"Yes, you do," the guys says, pointing his finger at them as he exits stage left.

Wah-wah.

To sustain us, we got a bowl of pistachio gelato, so thick it coated our tongues like nut paste and almost more savory than sweet.

It makes me happy that ice cream season is upon us. Bring it on.

And bring on more nights with a five-piece as good as Glows in the Dark and vintage movies by vaunted directors.

So as the story of my evening winds down, the satisfied soundtrack plays over me walking out into the warm May air, full of gelato and with my ears ringing with pleasure.

Fade out...but wait.

Arriving home, I find a phone message from an old friend waiting for me.

"Sorry I missed you. I was in town. Getting ready to head out to Tillamook, Oregon. Be back in May 2013," says the man from Williamsburg with the Surry County accent.

Gulp. Music turns sad, almost maudlin.

My friend has left for a year and I missed saying goodbye.

I sit down at my computer, finding an e-mail from a Boston friend.

"St. John's bread and wine...London. Offal restaurant. It was amazing. Saw it on Anthony Bourdain. Had the bone marrow. Hope you are well and having lots of dates. You got me thinking about offal."

I can almost imagine him saying it in his distinctive Boston accent.

Wow. A friend I haven't seen in over a year is eating in London tonight and thinks of me.

Soundtrack takes on a lilting note, replacing previous minor key.

Roll credits. Karen...as herself. Wardrobe by...Diversity Thrift.

Soundtrack by...Glows in the Dark. I wish.