Trying on a New Sun Bonnet

Like a giant magnet, the museum was Saturday-sucking me in.

A new Degas on exhibition? I'll be right there! A cook-in at Amuse, a way to have summer food in the sunniest dining room in Richmond? On my way!

But one doesn't just jump into an afternoon such as that. No, no, one prepares for it, as if one were bound for a hat shop appointment to be fitted for a new chapeaux.

Which meant I stopped by a friend's house for a glass or two of pink - Domaine du Pere Caboche - to cool down with a dressing drink to prepare for the pleasures ahead.

When I inquired about her fabulous art collection - hung salon style (my fave), no less - she was gracious enough to walk me through it, sharing artists' names and the dates of the works.

Then we finished off our wine and moved on.

It only took a short walk and two security guards to steer us to the European galleries and the French room.

There it was, newly on exhibit, Degas' "At the Milliner," a sublime, little oil painting from the Paul Mellon collection, showing a woman trying on a hat with the shop's clerk already offering another in case the first didn't satisfy.

We admired it from close up, far away and with an eye to the singular pleasures of hat shopping.

As a bonus, I heard how my friend's mother had worked at the millinery shop at Thalhimer's and she shared that in most cases, women chose the hat first and matched the ensemble to go with it afterwards.

Such is the power of just the right head dressing.

Most of my hat memories come from childhood and hats chosen for occasions like Easter and summer vacation.

These days, my hat wearing is almost exclusively based on sun.

When we left the French gallery, it was for Amuse and their first ever cook-in. As excited as I was about the idea of cookout fare at Amuse, I have to admit that I was just as thrilled about being in the museum after hours.

You see, the cook-in was from 5-8 and usually the VMFA closes at 5. Tonight, while a lavish wedding went on in the marble hall, we were celebrating summer with an ants-free indoor picnic.

When we arrived, hostess Sam informed us that every seat was booked and led us to the green lounge chairs until some bar stools opened up.

Continuing the pink theme, we enjoyed Rose and spicy pork rinds which arrived still crackling from the fryer.

A couple joined us - she worked at the museum and lived with her handsome husband of 17 years (in Goochland where they kept horses), a charming man who'd once played football and had recently had a knee replaced - leading to unexpected discussion of later life relationships (they'd met at a co-ed sports league in 1990) and why subsequent marriages fare better than first ones (oops, don't tell that to the newlyweds in the marble hall).

Possibly the best part of the conversation was on the subject of horses and their small brains and huge emotions. We heard about what an extended period it is that horses grieve, something I had never considered, but they had witnessed firsthand.

Once their friends arrived, our bar stools opened up and we moved over to eat.

It was a cook-in, so the menu was decidedly casual and we chose accordingly. A yellow cheese dog (American cheese, bacon and grilled onions), a corn dog coated in French fries (as obscene as it sounds) and the housemade cheeseburger on a homemade buttermilk and pork fat bun, with bacon jam and bleu cheese made up our meal.

A ridiculous amount of food for two women and yet we finished every bite.

My friend followed that with a watermelon collins made with gin (the pitchers of fresh watermelon juice were the most fetching brilliant pink) while I had a glass of the Renegade Rose.

That's when we began slinging the dirt, talking about men and what they need to be told (everything from what flowers not to bring to what, ahem, practices we appreciate), with our lovely bartender joining in on the opining.

We were too full for the boozy popsicles, although a woman at the bar raved about hers. Next time.

Needless to say, the crowd kept growing, many people attracted, like us, to the idea of being in the museum on a Saturday night. That just doesn't happen.

Except that it does.

While some people were celebrating their nuptials, we were kicking back with a summer meal with strangers.

Not to sound like old folks, but I think we got the better deal.

Plein Air Richmond

My pink tank top gave me away.

I wore pink because it was "highly encouraged" for the annual Carytown rose crawl, always a highlight of June.

Festivities began at C Street where I found a pierced and bearded friend serving and opted for the Muga Rose, which tasted of strawberry and rhubarb, much like the pie I'd had on Father's Day.

Sitting on the patio, my friend and I were a tad warm, but the rose went down easily and we chatted up strangers for entertainment.

Before we knew it, we were herded to Amour for stop number two. Wisely, my friend and I were in the first wave, ensuring that we got prime bar seats at Amour.

It was a wise decision. Not only did they have pink menus (nice touch!) but flights and "perfect food pairings."

That would be business as usual at Amour.

Why settle for single pours when you can get three pours, we wondered, ordering two flights and two pairings.

Bieler Pere et Fills had pale color and a crisp finish, Domaine du Pere Caboche was bigger with flavors of strawberry (my friend's favorite of the flight) and Chateau de Valcombe was a beautifully balanced pink.

While we shared stories of high school and mothers, we noshed on bleu cheese melted on baguettes with apple slices (divine) and smoked salmon mousse on cucumber (silky, smokey mouthfeel).

When we finally moved on from Amour to head to Secco, we were delayed by artists painting en plein air along Cary Street.

I'd seen several more on Monument Avenue yesterday and I'm excited to see painters working outdoors everywhere I go.

Walking into Secco, we were easily the last rose crawlers to arrive.

Slow and steady wins the race, my friends.

No matter because we found a spot near the back door and ordered Domaine Brazilier Coteaux du Ventomois, a lovely orange wine which my friend nailed as smelling like peanuts.

There were so many people to talk to: the friend who'd recently seen the Lumineres, the one who'd challenged the guard at the Naval Observatory, the couple who gave me top prize for wearing pink top to bottom.

I'm not certain if it was the array of conversational partners or the endless rose, but all of a sudden I asked the time and realized I had places to be.

An hour ago.

Good thing Richmond's a small town.

Moments later, I was at the Firehouse for the Listening Room, sliding into my seat in time to hear Up the Chain.

Cupid, don't lay down your weary bones.

"This song is called "Something New" and it's just that," the lead singer told us.

We'll stick around and see it through.

I especially liked what the keyboard added to their Philly folk sound.

After their set, I made the rounds to say hello, taking a few moments to score some Dixie Donuts since there were so many laid out for the crowd.

That German chocolate doughnut is worth whatever it does to my body for the dense, rich chocolate cake and icing under the coconut and nut topping.

I teased the photographer, usually late to any music event, who reminded me that he has to be on time for the Listening Room, unlike some of us.

My Old Ways was a Richmond super group of sorts, comprised of member of various bands I've seen.

I need a sign.

Pedal steel looked to be from David Schultz and the Skyline, the singer from Palominos and the drummer, well, I'll just quote the singer about Will, the drummer.

"Raise your hand if you've ever played in a band with Willis," he laughed.

Hands were raised. Lots of hands.

So far, the band had played only one show, at the Ghost of Pop back in December, but tonight was their CD release show.

"This is a song about Jesus," the singer said. "The cool one, not the one who makes everyone feel shitty."

Ohhh, that Jesus.

We got love, but you got logic.

The lead singer was waxing poetic about Richmond, saying, "I recently moved from here," resulting in a few boos for his questionable choice.

"What a wonderful city this is. I hope you're enjoying It, riding your bike in the Fan and drinking a beer on someone's porch. And make sure you go out and see some live music."

It's always satisfying to hear someone remind us how good we've got it. I never forget, but I know some people lose sight of that fact.

I just want to dance.

After their brief set, a girlfriend came over with an "a-ha!" look on her face.

"I know where you've been!" she said, pointing. "You were at the rose crawl!"

Drat! How had she known?

"Your pink top," she said with the satisfaction of a super sleuth.

I admitted as much and asked what especially great things I'd missed with my tardiness.

"Brad Hinton yodeled," she said, knowing how jealous I'd be. "Twice! It was so awesome."

So that about summed it up.

I sold out yodeling for rose.

On the plus side, the pinks were outstanding, the company clever and companionable and the painting en plein air an unexpected pleasure.

But as advised, I always make sure I go out and see some live music.

It's just my (old) way.