A close friend who's in the service industry once suggested that the ideal business for me would be entertaining out-of-towners.
Her reasoning was that I'm familiar with the local restaurant scene, I always know the interesting cultural stuff that's going on and I can find common conversational ground with anyone.
She was sure that local businesses would hire me to entertain their out-of-town clients in the evening so they wouldn't have to; she was equally as sure that I'd be a natural at it.
So what did I do tonight?
How about spend an evening with an out-of-towner I'd met recently, here, introducing him to places he'd never been and talking about his former hometown Dallas, a city I've visited repeatedly, and his current one, RVA, about which I have a thing or two to say.
I hadn't been hired, but I think that if it had been a job interview, I'd have been offered the position by now.
We began at Mezzanine, a place I hadn't been to since before the Mission of Burma show in February.
That night, there'd been snow on the ground and the girls and I had sat on the heated patio shivering as we gorged.
Tonight, it was so muggy that an inside bar table seemed infinitely more appealing.
Twin Vines Vino Verdhe also helped me forget the heat, while he went with the Villa Pozzi Pinot Grigio.
He started with the fried Washington oyster special (five for $10 and a "steal," according to our server) and I had the tomato stack layered with goat and Feta cheeses.
He hates raw tomatoes and loves red sauce. I love raw tomatoes and can live without red sauce. Between us, we had all the bases covered.
Despite the hot and humid evening, I opted for the braised short ribs with local grits and hoison, mainly because it came in an appetizer-sized portion, although it necessitated I switch to the Alegoria Malbec.
He had another special, the seared sashimi-grade tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes and a stir-fried veggie medley.
Both portions were overly-generous and neither of us cleaned our plates.
Although I had not finished my dinner, I did order dessert (chocolate Kahlua mousse with toffee bits), breaking my mother's cardinal rule that you had to eat everything on your plate or you didn't get dessert.
I think I'm entitled; I choked down more than a few gray green beans in my childhood for the sake of some chocolate pudding.
Afterwards, the man from Dallas suggested a walk down Cary Street and we ended up at Bin 22 for a couple of glasses of Bigi est Montefiascone (he attributed his affinity for Pinot Grigio to his family's roots in the region) and a discussion of the nature of South Africans (his employer has an office there) and people-watching in NYC.
Walking back up Cary Street, I felt optimistic that I had been both informational and good company.
As a result of the evening, he now knew of two new restaurants.
He'd also added the First Fridays Artwalk to his calendar and had the scoop on the Richmond Forum, both new bits of information to him and gleaned from me tonight.
I'll tell you what, as far-fetched as it sounds, my friend may have been on to something.
Showing posts with label bin 22. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bin 22. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Reservation for Two at the Bar
I knew that Condaleeza Rice was in town tonight, which had the potential to interfere with my dining plans and I wasn't having any of it.
A friend and I had planned to meet at Bonvenu at 6:15 and this afternoon it occurred to me that restaurants were going to be slammed early tonight because of the Forum.
What to do, what to do?
To me, the simple solution was to call Bonvenu and ask for a reservation for two at the bar for 6:15.
The woman who answered the phone sounded a bit perplexed since they'd never taken a bar reservation before, but I assured her it was done in other cities.
Since it would be before the official dinner rush, she agreed.
When we arrived, the hostess said several couples had tried to cop our stools and looked disgruntled when told they were reserved.
Sorry about your bad luck, folks, but it pays to plan ahead.
Since this was our first time hanging out together, we started slowly with drinks; I had Vino Verde and he had a martini (which led to me belatedly learning the term "bruised" as it applies to one).
He's a regular blog reader so he took some time to explain how resentful he feels that I don't blog ahead of time about what I'm going to do, the better to alert people like him who can't keep up with the goings-on but want to.
It's not often that a guy wants you to tell him what to do, and it's not like I'm any sort of expert anyway.
We ordered with sharing in mind, the better to taste around the menu; we got the special of escargots in puff pastry, a mixed green salad with blood oranges, Manhattan clam salad and beggars' purses.
The clam salad with caramelized onions was a standout, with its simple but unusual pairing of the two stars of the dish.
As for the special of escargots, they were excellent. We were both expecting them to be surrounded by pastry, but in fact they were sitting atop a small ring of it.
All except one, which had escaped its pastry ring.
I commented to our charming bartender Paul (whom I know from previous conversation has a classic rock bent) that we had a rebel snail.
"Yea, but that'll turn out to be the tastiest one, " he assured me. "The rebels are always the most interesting ones."
At this point, I think we were talking about escargots, but I'm not entirely certain.
During a visit to the subterranean bathroom, one of the owners put her hand on my shoulder and asked if I was the one who had reserved the bar seats.
Affirming that, she complimented my smarts in doing so.
I thanked her for her wisdom in accepting the reservation; I can only hope it's the beginning of a trend.
In the past, they've offered to do it for me at Bistro 27 if I call ahead, so maybe there is a growing acknowledgement for those who prefer eating barside to tableside.
Bonvenu continued to fill up and it got noisy to the point that my friend and I were practically shouting to share stories with each other.
After a few hours of that, we headed down Cary Street to Bin 22 for a glass of after-dinner wine, where the music was stellar (Spoon, Cat Power, Neko Case) and the noise level far more conducive to conversation.
He's an interesting guy whom I met through his work in a local restaurant's kitchen, so he knows all the characters and had loads of good restaurant stories.
But it was talking about the quantum changes in our lifetime that really got us going; I've definitely found another great conversationalist, even if he did have to check in with his wife at 10 p.m. (which was actually kind of charming).
Leaving after our waitress gave us the hint that they were closing, he turned to me and said, "You win."
It seems that every time I went to the bathroom, he'd tried to find a way to engage her in conversation, never getting more than the briefest response.
But toward the end, I'd commented on her iPod's music, which led us to talk of shows we'd both seen and a burst of chatter from her.
"I tried every way to get her to talk, but you got her by talking music," he marveled.
Yea, I do that a lot.
A friend and I had planned to meet at Bonvenu at 6:15 and this afternoon it occurred to me that restaurants were going to be slammed early tonight because of the Forum.
What to do, what to do?
To me, the simple solution was to call Bonvenu and ask for a reservation for two at the bar for 6:15.
The woman who answered the phone sounded a bit perplexed since they'd never taken a bar reservation before, but I assured her it was done in other cities.
Since it would be before the official dinner rush, she agreed.
When we arrived, the hostess said several couples had tried to cop our stools and looked disgruntled when told they were reserved.
Sorry about your bad luck, folks, but it pays to plan ahead.
Since this was our first time hanging out together, we started slowly with drinks; I had Vino Verde and he had a martini (which led to me belatedly learning the term "bruised" as it applies to one).
He's a regular blog reader so he took some time to explain how resentful he feels that I don't blog ahead of time about what I'm going to do, the better to alert people like him who can't keep up with the goings-on but want to.
It's not often that a guy wants you to tell him what to do, and it's not like I'm any sort of expert anyway.
We ordered with sharing in mind, the better to taste around the menu; we got the special of escargots in puff pastry, a mixed green salad with blood oranges, Manhattan clam salad and beggars' purses.
The clam salad with caramelized onions was a standout, with its simple but unusual pairing of the two stars of the dish.
As for the special of escargots, they were excellent. We were both expecting them to be surrounded by pastry, but in fact they were sitting atop a small ring of it.
All except one, which had escaped its pastry ring.
I commented to our charming bartender Paul (whom I know from previous conversation has a classic rock bent) that we had a rebel snail.
"Yea, but that'll turn out to be the tastiest one, " he assured me. "The rebels are always the most interesting ones."
At this point, I think we were talking about escargots, but I'm not entirely certain.
During a visit to the subterranean bathroom, one of the owners put her hand on my shoulder and asked if I was the one who had reserved the bar seats.
Affirming that, she complimented my smarts in doing so.
I thanked her for her wisdom in accepting the reservation; I can only hope it's the beginning of a trend.
In the past, they've offered to do it for me at Bistro 27 if I call ahead, so maybe there is a growing acknowledgement for those who prefer eating barside to tableside.
Bonvenu continued to fill up and it got noisy to the point that my friend and I were practically shouting to share stories with each other.
After a few hours of that, we headed down Cary Street to Bin 22 for a glass of after-dinner wine, where the music was stellar (Spoon, Cat Power, Neko Case) and the noise level far more conducive to conversation.
He's an interesting guy whom I met through his work in a local restaurant's kitchen, so he knows all the characters and had loads of good restaurant stories.
But it was talking about the quantum changes in our lifetime that really got us going; I've definitely found another great conversationalist, even if he did have to check in with his wife at 10 p.m. (which was actually kind of charming).
Leaving after our waitress gave us the hint that they were closing, he turned to me and said, "You win."
It seems that every time I went to the bathroom, he'd tried to find a way to engage her in conversation, never getting more than the briefest response.
But toward the end, I'd commented on her iPod's music, which led us to talk of shows we'd both seen and a burst of chatter from her.
"I tried every way to get her to talk, but you got her by talking music," he marveled.
Yea, I do that a lot.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
First Kiss and a Blind Date at Bin 22
Modern Love: A Romance in Four Parts about sums up my evening.
Passion! Beauty! Betrayal! Architecture!
Tonight was the first night of a four-week class at the Virginia Center for Architecture on the topic of 20th century architecture.
I wasn't sure what to expect from the other attendees; how many other people could there be like me who would be willing to commit to four Thursday nights in dreary February, albeit for just an hour, just to look at building slides and learn something?
Well, at tonight's installment, First Kiss: 1900-1930, there were easily two dozen or more, pretty evenly split between men and women of all ages.
The lecturer, Roberto Ventura, had broken down the series by the stages of a romance.
Tonight he said it was all about the early stages of love, characterized by twitterpation, that giddy state of being entirely infatuated with someone.
Bambi fans, you know what I'm talking about, but it was a new word to me.
It was an analogy for the changes in architecture brought about by the Industrial Revolution and centered largely on Chicago because of the massive rebuilding that went on there after the great fire.
That, and Mr. Otis' invention.
While he didn't invent the elevator, he did invent the safety elevator, which allowed the elevator to brake if the hoisting ropes failed, which meant buildings could be designed to be much taller.
Believe me, this was fascinating stuff to the group of us in the room.
After class, I moved on to Bin 22 for an after-school snack and ran into Austin, a friend and talented artist, who'd just had a table accepted into a prestigious show to be held at MIT this summer.
While I enjoyed my Pratsch Gruner Vetliner and a Soppressetta, Fontina and arugula Panini, we discussed the music being played (British Sea Power, the National, Talking Heads) as well as the music on his computer, which was equal parts stuff I like and then a whole lot of classic rock.
I no longer shake my head when I see this combination, but I'll never understand it.
Iron and Wine and the Rolling Stones?
Ugly Casanova and Led Zeppelin?
Postal Service and the Kinks?
Sigh.
Greg the owner, was telling me about the waiter race held in Carytown on Bastille day two years ago, in which he'd been a participant.
I'm familiar with a similar annual event in D.C., but didn't recall the one here.
He cracked us up with the dramatic story of victory being snatched from his hands (or more accurately, him almost running into a trashcan and overcompensating, causing the wine bottle to fall off his tray); it's apparently still fairly fresh in his mind.
He was robbed.
Interestingly, considering the romance theme of the evening, there was a couple there on a blind date and the staff was enjoying making observations about how much they were drinking and how it was going.
The couple looked a bit nervous, but also into each other, causing the staff to assume that it was going to end with (insert pounding sound and crude gesture).
I preferred to focus on their body language, which did point to romantic possibilities.
And now, for the finale to my evening, I once again have a new mix tape and specific instructions on how I am to listen to it.
It is a sequel to my all-time favorite mix, Naive Melodies/Waiting and is simply titled Still Naive.
After an evening of twitterpation at the Branch House, it already sounds to be just what I want to hear.
Passion! Beauty! Betrayal! Architecture!
Tonight was the first night of a four-week class at the Virginia Center for Architecture on the topic of 20th century architecture.
I wasn't sure what to expect from the other attendees; how many other people could there be like me who would be willing to commit to four Thursday nights in dreary February, albeit for just an hour, just to look at building slides and learn something?
Well, at tonight's installment, First Kiss: 1900-1930, there were easily two dozen or more, pretty evenly split between men and women of all ages.
The lecturer, Roberto Ventura, had broken down the series by the stages of a romance.
Tonight he said it was all about the early stages of love, characterized by twitterpation, that giddy state of being entirely infatuated with someone.
Bambi fans, you know what I'm talking about, but it was a new word to me.
It was an analogy for the changes in architecture brought about by the Industrial Revolution and centered largely on Chicago because of the massive rebuilding that went on there after the great fire.
That, and Mr. Otis' invention.
While he didn't invent the elevator, he did invent the safety elevator, which allowed the elevator to brake if the hoisting ropes failed, which meant buildings could be designed to be much taller.
Believe me, this was fascinating stuff to the group of us in the room.
After class, I moved on to Bin 22 for an after-school snack and ran into Austin, a friend and talented artist, who'd just had a table accepted into a prestigious show to be held at MIT this summer.
While I enjoyed my Pratsch Gruner Vetliner and a Soppressetta, Fontina and arugula Panini, we discussed the music being played (British Sea Power, the National, Talking Heads) as well as the music on his computer, which was equal parts stuff I like and then a whole lot of classic rock.
I no longer shake my head when I see this combination, but I'll never understand it.
Iron and Wine and the Rolling Stones?
Ugly Casanova and Led Zeppelin?
Postal Service and the Kinks?
Sigh.
Greg the owner, was telling me about the waiter race held in Carytown on Bastille day two years ago, in which he'd been a participant.
I'm familiar with a similar annual event in D.C., but didn't recall the one here.
He cracked us up with the dramatic story of victory being snatched from his hands (or more accurately, him almost running into a trashcan and overcompensating, causing the wine bottle to fall off his tray); it's apparently still fairly fresh in his mind.
He was robbed.
Interestingly, considering the romance theme of the evening, there was a couple there on a blind date and the staff was enjoying making observations about how much they were drinking and how it was going.
The couple looked a bit nervous, but also into each other, causing the staff to assume that it was going to end with (insert pounding sound and crude gesture).
I preferred to focus on their body language, which did point to romantic possibilities.
And now, for the finale to my evening, I once again have a new mix tape and specific instructions on how I am to listen to it.
It is a sequel to my all-time favorite mix, Naive Melodies/Waiting and is simply titled Still Naive.
After an evening of twitterpation at the Branch House, it already sounds to be just what I want to hear.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Recession Dinner at Bin 22
There are many things one can do to assuage loss; eating and drinking have got to be two of the most common. That may explain how my recently laid-off friend and I found ourselves at Bin 22 this evening for their cheap date night. We even held hands while we placed our order to convince our waitress we were in the mood for a romantic dinner for two; okay, we cracked up all the while, but we made the attempt.
I'm sure you know the deal; for $40 you get a bottle of wine (Entrada Cabernet Sauvignon), a choice of soup or salad (we took the mixed green salad), pasta (we had the penne with chunky house made tomato sauce, basil , Pecorino and thick-sliced Belmont Butchery pork sausage. Oh, my god, such amazing pig!) and, for dessert, the ice cream sandwich made with brownies. The meal was truly lovely from start to finish, but that sausage was to die for and we found our Argentinian wine to be exactly what our red wine-starved hearts were calling for.
As a veteran of laid off longevity, it was my mission to convince my recently unemployed friend that life will go on despite her current feelings to the contrary. She's still working through anger and fear of the future, two obstacles I worked through months ago. She's got plenty of marketable skills, so I have high hopes for her re-employment, but she's understandably a bit less confident.
On top of all that, there are, of course, male issues so I offered my take on that side of her life, as she did mine. I'm a great example of "come on, how much worse can things get?" so reminding her to keep a stiff upper lip was second nature. On the plus side, discussing the mess that our lives are provided the evening's entertainment and there's a lot to be said for laughing in the face of adversity while Elvis Costello plays in the background.
Not to mention, a great deal of a meal for those of us on laid-off budgets. Bin 22 provided a hearty dinner we could afford without feeling like we were settling for the sake of saving. I would think even the employed could get into that.
I'm sure you know the deal; for $40 you get a bottle of wine (Entrada Cabernet Sauvignon), a choice of soup or salad (we took the mixed green salad), pasta (we had the penne with chunky house made tomato sauce, basil , Pecorino and thick-sliced Belmont Butchery pork sausage. Oh, my god, such amazing pig!) and, for dessert, the ice cream sandwich made with brownies. The meal was truly lovely from start to finish, but that sausage was to die for and we found our Argentinian wine to be exactly what our red wine-starved hearts were calling for.
As a veteran of laid off longevity, it was my mission to convince my recently unemployed friend that life will go on despite her current feelings to the contrary. She's still working through anger and fear of the future, two obstacles I worked through months ago. She's got plenty of marketable skills, so I have high hopes for her re-employment, but she's understandably a bit less confident.
On top of all that, there are, of course, male issues so I offered my take on that side of her life, as she did mine. I'm a great example of "come on, how much worse can things get?" so reminding her to keep a stiff upper lip was second nature. On the plus side, discussing the mess that our lives are provided the evening's entertainment and there's a lot to be said for laughing in the face of adversity while Elvis Costello plays in the background.
Not to mention, a great deal of a meal for those of us on laid-off budgets. Bin 22 provided a hearty dinner we could afford without feeling like we were settling for the sake of saving. I would think even the employed could get into that.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Bin 22 on a Saturday Night
My evening was spent at Bin 22 in Carytown, drinking, grazing and enjoying the never-ending promenade of people outside. I hadn't bothered to make plans with anyone for my Saturday night and by about 8:30, I was starting to think it was time to eat. I had missed the recent Matthew Broadbent wine dinner at Bin 22 because of a music show, so I decided that it should be my destination.
When I arrived, the place was empty, but the music was good and Interpol was blaring. I was pleased to see that owner Greg now offers wine by the quartino and settled in with a South African Cabernet Sauvignon. My intent was to to eat a little something, but my taste buds weren't screaming for anything in particular, so I began with the roasted red pepper and tomato soup.
For me, tomato soup means Halloween because, growing up, my mom always made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for our pre-trick or treating meal. I suppose she purposely planned a light meal knowing we'd over indulge on candy later. Tonight's soup bore no resemblance to the can of Campbell's we ate dressed in costume. This was a thick and rich soup initially tasting of pure fresh tomato and ending with that lovely roasted red pepper taste on the end. The basil and Parmesan on top were a nice touch.
I followed that with the Pepper and Sea Salt Toasts with Artichoke Hearts and Goat Cheese Spread. The oil-brushed bread had just enough salt and pepper on its crust to complement the savory spread. I finished just over half of the creamy goodness and had to quit.
Taking a break to enjoy more wine, I noticed a couple come in and lay claim to the couch. They were being very cozy, lots of PDAs, so I focused on my wine and my reading. Not long after, another couple arrived and asked to sit on the patio. The waitress and I agreed that temperatures in the mid-fifties would be a tad brisk for us, but she let them sit outside anyway. Turns out he was wearing a leather jacket and she was wearing a ski jacket, thus making outdoor sitting more tolerable, if a bit awkward for the business of drinking and eating.
I decided that I was too full for dessert but couldn't resist ordering the Ginger Snap Cookies with Butter Pecan Ice Cream. The bowl was over-sized, the ice cream was full of big chunks of pecan and the cookies, well, they were ginger snaps. I'm one of those people who could eat half a bag of ginger snaps without even thinking about it; that ginger taste is addictive and always leaves me reaching for another. I did what I could with the dessert and finally threw in the towel. I had more than taken care of my hunger.
Greg and I chatted for a while and then it was time to leave the affectionate couple to each other and the outside couple to their shivering and walk Carytown. I saw people I knew, but no one I wanted PDAs from or to shiver with, but I had sated my hunger and enjoyed watching the parade of humanity outside the restaurant, so Bin 22 had scored on both counts.
When I arrived, the place was empty, but the music was good and Interpol was blaring. I was pleased to see that owner Greg now offers wine by the quartino and settled in with a South African Cabernet Sauvignon. My intent was to to eat a little something, but my taste buds weren't screaming for anything in particular, so I began with the roasted red pepper and tomato soup.
For me, tomato soup means Halloween because, growing up, my mom always made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for our pre-trick or treating meal. I suppose she purposely planned a light meal knowing we'd over indulge on candy later. Tonight's soup bore no resemblance to the can of Campbell's we ate dressed in costume. This was a thick and rich soup initially tasting of pure fresh tomato and ending with that lovely roasted red pepper taste on the end. The basil and Parmesan on top were a nice touch.
I followed that with the Pepper and Sea Salt Toasts with Artichoke Hearts and Goat Cheese Spread. The oil-brushed bread had just enough salt and pepper on its crust to complement the savory spread. I finished just over half of the creamy goodness and had to quit.
Taking a break to enjoy more wine, I noticed a couple come in and lay claim to the couch. They were being very cozy, lots of PDAs, so I focused on my wine and my reading. Not long after, another couple arrived and asked to sit on the patio. The waitress and I agreed that temperatures in the mid-fifties would be a tad brisk for us, but she let them sit outside anyway. Turns out he was wearing a leather jacket and she was wearing a ski jacket, thus making outdoor sitting more tolerable, if a bit awkward for the business of drinking and eating.
I decided that I was too full for dessert but couldn't resist ordering the Ginger Snap Cookies with Butter Pecan Ice Cream. The bowl was over-sized, the ice cream was full of big chunks of pecan and the cookies, well, they were ginger snaps. I'm one of those people who could eat half a bag of ginger snaps without even thinking about it; that ginger taste is addictive and always leaves me reaching for another. I did what I could with the dessert and finally threw in the towel. I had more than taken care of my hunger.
Greg and I chatted for a while and then it was time to leave the affectionate couple to each other and the outside couple to their shivering and walk Carytown. I saw people I knew, but no one I wanted PDAs from or to shiver with, but I had sated my hunger and enjoyed watching the parade of humanity outside the restaurant, so Bin 22 had scored on both counts.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Heaven on a Plate
I'm not a big fan of dried fruit, but I sure do love some bacon-wrapped dates like the ones I had last night at Bin 22.
Just about every tapas and small plate restaurant has some version of dates on its menu these days.
Some are fried, some are stuffed with cheese, but, as well know, bacon makes everything better, and that includes dates.
Moments after I ordered them, the restaurant began to smell divine as the bacon was being fried up.
The owner even tried to entice a girl on the patio to come in, saying, "Mmmm, bacon. Don't you want to come inside?"
I just sipped my Cabernet and waited patiently.
And I was not disappointed.
When the plate arrived, there were at least half a dozen dates, each wrapped in a full rasher of bacon (which meant repeated wrappings), and arranged atop and beside a lovely salad of mixed greens with balsamic vinaigrette.
So I got sweet, salty and bitter and thoroughly enjoyed every bite.
Okay, so maybe I do like dried fruit more than I give myself credit for.
Mmm, bacon is always worth coming inside for.
Just about every tapas and small plate restaurant has some version of dates on its menu these days.
Some are fried, some are stuffed with cheese, but, as well know, bacon makes everything better, and that includes dates.
Moments after I ordered them, the restaurant began to smell divine as the bacon was being fried up.
The owner even tried to entice a girl on the patio to come in, saying, "Mmmm, bacon. Don't you want to come inside?"
I just sipped my Cabernet and waited patiently.
And I was not disappointed.
When the plate arrived, there were at least half a dozen dates, each wrapped in a full rasher of bacon (which meant repeated wrappings), and arranged atop and beside a lovely salad of mixed greens with balsamic vinaigrette.
So I got sweet, salty and bitter and thoroughly enjoyed every bite.
Okay, so maybe I do like dried fruit more than I give myself credit for.
Mmm, bacon is always worth coming inside for.
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