What began as a fairly low key and casual birthday celebration ended up as a bartending tour de force.
A friend was celebrating her birthday at Balliceaux so her paramour sent out invitations to the select few, tempting all with, "Mr. Bobby Kruger will be manning the bar that night just in case you want a tasty cocktail."
I didn't but I did want to see my friends, so I RSVP'd yes.
The reply? "Please try and refrain from planning 3 events that night so you can actually spend some time. Worst case, arrive a bit late but don't leave at like 8:30 p.m. and give me some lame excuse."
This is one bossy host.
So I cleared the decks, not difficult on Christmas Eve eve, and showed up promptly at 7:10 to celebrate.
Bobby was prepared for our party, having devised several cocktails for the evening using the birthday girl's favorite flavors, but he'd also kept me in mind knowing that I'm not a cocktail drinker.
Thus tonight became my introduction to mezcal with Del Maguey Chichicapa mezcal, enjoyed neat and recommended by Bobby as vegetal and slightly sweet.
For a woman whose only spirit is tequila, mezcal is not much of a leap and yet I found it to be a spicier flavor profile than tequila and more complex.
My friend the host reminded me that we'd met at this very bar and, being a numbers guy, even know when - three years, six months and eleven days ago.
Yea, he's that guy.
At the party were several of the couple's friends whom I'd met at his birthday party a couple of years ago, along with a mutual bartender friend who very recently moved back from Colorado.
Early on in the evening, there was a lot of drink tasting as Bobby made new cocktails for someone in our group and they were passed around for consideration and comment.
It was a recipe for sharing germs, not that anyone cared.
Bobby admitted most were so new they hadn't been named, but a blueberry miso got a lot of thumbs up and a frothy cardamon cocktail with balsamic had the birthday girl licking the bottom of her coupe, always a good sign.
Me, I just stuck with more Chichicapa, sharing sips with those interested.
The birthday girl took some ribbing about her new haircut, a proud father talked about how different his small children were, another bartender friend showed up and a couple announced that they intended to finish three bottles of champagne by noon on Christmas day.
Before long, members of the RVA big band began showing up and setting up in the back while our party mowed through multiple plates of finger foods like charcuterie and cheese, tandoori fried cauliflower, truffle fries, garlic edamame hummus with pita and fried oysters.
Next thing we knew, Balliceaux was packed and while we were taking up the front bar and the area right around it, soon Bobby was inundated with people wanting to drink.
The funniest moment came when a duo asked for a cocktail and a certain beer. "You know that beer is smokey, right?" he asked. "Judging by the look on your face, that's not going to work for you."
It didn't and she got a National Bohemian instead.
From the back, the strains of "Santa Baby" could be heard over the roar of people talking and asking for drinks.
The beauty in having arrived so early was that we'd established a beach head and enjoyed our space at the bar even while all hell was breaking loose around us as people continued to stream in.
It was like the holiday floodgates had opened and everyone had made a beeline for Balliceaux.
Since I knew from previous holidays that things get crazy at Balliceaux, I wasn't the least shocked at the mob scene that was developing, but my friends were amazed by it.
Considering how many places are closed tonight, where do you expect the pretty people to go and be seen before the drudgery of forced family fun begins?
Things finally got so crazy that Bobby had to stop making craft cocktails, limiting his service to beer, wine and basics like highballs and shots.
Finally, my friend, a former bartender at Amuse, couldn't stand it any longer and asked Bobby if he needed help.
The grateful look on his face said it all.
With two people back there, they plowed through the crowd more quickly than before, although people kept arriving at an alarming rate.
When it became clear that more help was needed, we lost another in our party, this time a former bartender from Acacia, who rolled up his sleeves and started washing and polishing glasses between pouring beers like the Sweet Baby Jesus chocolate peanut butter porter.
Granted, one of the earlier cocktails had been referred to as "banana nut bread in a glass," but isn't that a bit much for a beer?
By the time the three pros were all behind the bar together, things finally began to settle down as everyone got served quickly and efficiently and our party watched our two friends (and former party guests) pick up the slack when their rightful place was on our side of the bar.
Of course, none of the customers realized what had just happened, but I'm sure to Bobby it felt like a Christmas miracle.
My slightly loopy host probably thought the miracle was that I stayed all night.
That's my guess because for the first time in three years, six months and eleven days of friendship, he kissed my cheek when I went to leave.
I can't wait to remind him that now he's that guy.
Showing posts with label bobby kruger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bobby kruger. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Overheard: "I Can't. I'm Already Lit."
"I'm having a housewarming party on Sunday 3:00-3:00. You should come, I'll have some decent tequila for ya..."
That kind of invitation is impossible to resist, especially when it comes from Julep's star mixologist, Bobby. His roommate is part of the food talent at Olio, so I knew they'd have victuals and drink of the highest order. And did they ever.
When I got there, I was introduced to all kinds of new people doing everything from having political discussions to playing beer pong to debating the merits of a vintage Stallone movie (I was plenty lost on this one). As part of the tour of the house (it was, after all, a housewarming) that I was given, I was shown the extensive bar on the back porch.
Bobby made it quite clear that he would not be bartending tonight, but the bar he had assembled offered such a variety of alcohol, homemade mixers, herbs and obscure liqueurs as to make it overkill for anyone except the most ambitious party guest. I did see one amateur mixologist friend spend a good long while doing his best Bobby imitation, mixing and muddling.
And the food was just as impressive. Kielbasa, bangers and sauerkraut. Black bean cakes. The most divine mango and avocado guacamole. Blue cheese and walnut stuffed celery. Collard greens perfectly cooked and with just the right amount of fat and vinegar. Watermelon in balsamic. Burgers. Roasted corn. There may have been more, but I gave up after that much.
One of the biggest hits of the evening was the sweet potato salad, a pastel orange concoction that looked like something fruity and full of preservatives. Instead, it won over person after person who reluctantly put some on their plate saying, "I really don't like sweet potatoes." Ah, but what if you made a potato salad and used sweet rather than white or red potatoes? I watched as it made converts out of haters.
Desserts were plentiful, too. An array of cupcakes from the new Baby Cakes Bakery, assorted cakes from an Indian bakery (my favorite by far), fresh strawberries and tiny strawberry tarts in what tasted like a sugar cookie crust.
And because there's always room for Jello, there were Jello shots. As I told my host, I hadn't done Jello shots since the 90s, a fact which caused him to laugh out loud. On the other hand, no one had ever before offered me one made with tequila, much less offered me several. There were different flavors made with other things like rum and vodka, but a girl's got to stick with what she knows.
One of my absolute favorite couple dates was also invited, so I had the pleasure of their company as well as that of some favorite restaurant folks from Julep and Olio. After a discussion of the hazards of teaching public school these days (political correctness rules), we somehow degenerated into a discussion of what makes a difficult or even bad restaurant patron.
It was a timely conversation given that last night was apparently ridiculously busy due to it being UR and VCU move-in weekend. According to those who know, there were a lot of amateurs out, which meant a lot of impatient customers in completely full restaurants. With all the discussion, it soon became clear that restaurant people are so grateful for understanding customers.
When I finally decided to leave, some friends joined me in saying goodnight to our hosts. "Did you have a good time?" Bobby asked us repeatedly. Had we ever, and that was in just six hours. I can't imagine if we'd stayed the whole twelve.
That kind of invitation is impossible to resist, especially when it comes from Julep's star mixologist, Bobby. His roommate is part of the food talent at Olio, so I knew they'd have victuals and drink of the highest order. And did they ever.
When I got there, I was introduced to all kinds of new people doing everything from having political discussions to playing beer pong to debating the merits of a vintage Stallone movie (I was plenty lost on this one). As part of the tour of the house (it was, after all, a housewarming) that I was given, I was shown the extensive bar on the back porch.
Bobby made it quite clear that he would not be bartending tonight, but the bar he had assembled offered such a variety of alcohol, homemade mixers, herbs and obscure liqueurs as to make it overkill for anyone except the most ambitious party guest. I did see one amateur mixologist friend spend a good long while doing his best Bobby imitation, mixing and muddling.
And the food was just as impressive. Kielbasa, bangers and sauerkraut. Black bean cakes. The most divine mango and avocado guacamole. Blue cheese and walnut stuffed celery. Collard greens perfectly cooked and with just the right amount of fat and vinegar. Watermelon in balsamic. Burgers. Roasted corn. There may have been more, but I gave up after that much.
One of the biggest hits of the evening was the sweet potato salad, a pastel orange concoction that looked like something fruity and full of preservatives. Instead, it won over person after person who reluctantly put some on their plate saying, "I really don't like sweet potatoes." Ah, but what if you made a potato salad and used sweet rather than white or red potatoes? I watched as it made converts out of haters.
Desserts were plentiful, too. An array of cupcakes from the new Baby Cakes Bakery, assorted cakes from an Indian bakery (my favorite by far), fresh strawberries and tiny strawberry tarts in what tasted like a sugar cookie crust.
And because there's always room for Jello, there were Jello shots. As I told my host, I hadn't done Jello shots since the 90s, a fact which caused him to laugh out loud. On the other hand, no one had ever before offered me one made with tequila, much less offered me several. There were different flavors made with other things like rum and vodka, but a girl's got to stick with what she knows.
One of my absolute favorite couple dates was also invited, so I had the pleasure of their company as well as that of some favorite restaurant folks from Julep and Olio. After a discussion of the hazards of teaching public school these days (political correctness rules), we somehow degenerated into a discussion of what makes a difficult or even bad restaurant patron.
It was a timely conversation given that last night was apparently ridiculously busy due to it being UR and VCU move-in weekend. According to those who know, there were a lot of amateurs out, which meant a lot of impatient customers in completely full restaurants. With all the discussion, it soon became clear that restaurant people are so grateful for understanding customers.
When I finally decided to leave, some friends joined me in saying goodnight to our hosts. "Did you have a good time?" Bobby asked us repeatedly. Had we ever, and that was in just six hours. I can't imagine if we'd stayed the whole twelve.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
It's the Making Drinks That'll Be Tough
There are shooters and then there are shooters. This one began with the jamminess of fresh blackberries and pink peppercorns on the nose, ending with a lingering basil finish. It was as far removed from a Jager Bomb as can be imagined (not that I've ever done a Jager Bomb).
And of course, it came courtesy of master mixologist Bobby of Julep, except that tonight he was mixing and pouring at Fanhouse, his new Wednesday night gig. As much as I hate the TVs there, I was curious about what the night might hold.
Bobby's inaugural night at Fanhouse was as good an excuse as any to meet up with a friend recently returned from Paris whom I hadn't seen since my birthday festivities at Ipanema, here (he made sure to remind me of my loopiness that night, but qualified it with, "It's really hard to tell if you're drunk."). I dubbed tonight "The Summer Drink."
For a change, I had better stories to share than he did, although he disagreed on my handling of a couple of recent situations, insisting I should have just gone for it. "Are you crazy? What are you waiting for?" he asked (true love?).
I got a huge kick out of hearing about him and his friends doing re-enactments of a couple scenes from Godard's Band of Outsiders, one in the Louvre and the other dancing at a cafe. Best of all, a cafe patron actually realized what they were doing and said something to them. Talk about satisfaction!
An unexpected girlfriend spotted me from the far end of the bar and sent a few non-spitballs flying in my direction to catch my attention, but her aim was off and one hit a nearby beer drinker looking for a refill. She was not amused, even after my friend apologized and assured her that no actual spit was used in the making of the wads. No sourpusses at the bar, please.
A guy asked my friend and I if we'd move down a stool and as soon as he and I looked at each other, we knew we'd met before. And when I spoke, he said, "I recognize that inflection. We've definitely talked before." His brain made the connection faster than mine; he was a photographer I'd met when his show opened at the Belvidere.
I saw the WRIR DJ who seems to be at every single event I attend; we'd just seen each other at the Interpol show Thursday. I think we may be leading parallel lives in different bodies.
A friend who couldn't make it tonight had told me to have a Crazy Dumpling for him, but I had more like six of them and more for me than for anyone else (okay, S., one was for you). It was clearly the appetizer of the evening and we saw easily a dozen plates of dumplings go by as we sipped our drinks and chatted.
It was when we asked for our bill that Bobby lured us into staying for the purple shooters with the secret alcohol component. When we finished those and really got up to leave, I made it barely three steps before hearing my name called. It was Jason from Olio and he invited me to join him and his cohort Ricky for some wide-ranging conversation, beginning with a compliment on my (90s!) dress and including a dissection of Richmond Mag's Best of foolishness.
It led to a discussion of the personal qualities of a great bartender, especially the ability to engage and to amuse. After one of my many smart-assed remarks, Jason said, "You have a quick wit, Karen. You'd make a great bartender." All except that I don't know a thing about bartending except tequila + ice= Karen's drink. But I thanked him anyway for the compliment he intended it to be.
I was reminded of what Angus Winchester, a global bar consultant, had to say about how so many bartenders today have lost their sense of fun and that it's important to remember why people go to bars to start with.
"Bartenders get paid to flirt with girls and boys all evening. It's about hosting."
Come to think of it, I can host and I can certainly flirt. Maybe it's time to consider a new career path...
And of course, it came courtesy of master mixologist Bobby of Julep, except that tonight he was mixing and pouring at Fanhouse, his new Wednesday night gig. As much as I hate the TVs there, I was curious about what the night might hold.
Bobby's inaugural night at Fanhouse was as good an excuse as any to meet up with a friend recently returned from Paris whom I hadn't seen since my birthday festivities at Ipanema, here (he made sure to remind me of my loopiness that night, but qualified it with, "It's really hard to tell if you're drunk."). I dubbed tonight "The Summer Drink."
For a change, I had better stories to share than he did, although he disagreed on my handling of a couple of recent situations, insisting I should have just gone for it. "Are you crazy? What are you waiting for?" he asked (true love?).
I got a huge kick out of hearing about him and his friends doing re-enactments of a couple scenes from Godard's Band of Outsiders, one in the Louvre and the other dancing at a cafe. Best of all, a cafe patron actually realized what they were doing and said something to them. Talk about satisfaction!
An unexpected girlfriend spotted me from the far end of the bar and sent a few non-spitballs flying in my direction to catch my attention, but her aim was off and one hit a nearby beer drinker looking for a refill. She was not amused, even after my friend apologized and assured her that no actual spit was used in the making of the wads. No sourpusses at the bar, please.
A guy asked my friend and I if we'd move down a stool and as soon as he and I looked at each other, we knew we'd met before. And when I spoke, he said, "I recognize that inflection. We've definitely talked before." His brain made the connection faster than mine; he was a photographer I'd met when his show opened at the Belvidere.
I saw the WRIR DJ who seems to be at every single event I attend; we'd just seen each other at the Interpol show Thursday. I think we may be leading parallel lives in different bodies.
A friend who couldn't make it tonight had told me to have a Crazy Dumpling for him, but I had more like six of them and more for me than for anyone else (okay, S., one was for you). It was clearly the appetizer of the evening and we saw easily a dozen plates of dumplings go by as we sipped our drinks and chatted.
It was when we asked for our bill that Bobby lured us into staying for the purple shooters with the secret alcohol component. When we finished those and really got up to leave, I made it barely three steps before hearing my name called. It was Jason from Olio and he invited me to join him and his cohort Ricky for some wide-ranging conversation, beginning with a compliment on my (90s!) dress and including a dissection of Richmond Mag's Best of foolishness.
It led to a discussion of the personal qualities of a great bartender, especially the ability to engage and to amuse. After one of my many smart-assed remarks, Jason said, "You have a quick wit, Karen. You'd make a great bartender." All except that I don't know a thing about bartending except tequila + ice= Karen's drink. But I thanked him anyway for the compliment he intended it to be.
I was reminded of what Angus Winchester, a global bar consultant, had to say about how so many bartenders today have lost their sense of fun and that it's important to remember why people go to bars to start with.
"Bartenders get paid to flirt with girls and boys all evening. It's about hosting."
Come to think of it, I can host and I can certainly flirt. Maybe it's time to consider a new career path...
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Pescado's in High Summer Mode
One of the husbands I borrow on occasion lives south of the river.
I don't hold this against him because he eats everything and likes coming in to the city to eat.
It also means that although he's been telling me good things about Pescado's for a while, he sensed that there was not much likelihood I'd end up there.
Which probably explains why he seized the moment and suggested we try Pescado's China Street tonight.
While it hasn't taken quite as long as Center Stage or the VMFA to complete, it does seem like it's been a work-in-progress for some time now.
Since I hadn't been to the original, I was unprepared for how colorful it was, with its blue walls, yellow and orange woodwork and mottled green bar.
Even underfoot, it was a floor of many colors. The bar was smaller than I would have expected, especially given the limited bar options in Oregon Hill.
One neighborhood guy at the bar observed that he was seeing "a lot of regulars. I completely support that in the neighborhood." I could see his point.
Our end bar stools had a straight shot view to the kitchen and the abundance of staff.
My friend knows restaurant kitchens intimately and he found several things to praise about the design of Pescado's kitchen; the overhead sauce caddy alone put him in a reverie.
But that aside, it was clear the kitchen was on point all evening (or at least the three hours we were there).
We began with white sangria (vino verdhe, triple sec and gobs of fruit and their juices squeezed into it) because my friend wanted to and I hadn't had it in years.
It certainly seemed appropriate given the decor and the menu.
To munch as we sipped, we got the conch fritters and I have to say that they were the best I've had since discovering them in Guadaloupe when I was 21.
Instead of oily, heavy balls of dough, they were full of clearly discernible ingredients with a light, crispy outer shell.
They were served with micro-greens and an aioli, an updated take on a classic island appetizer. We were definitely into the beach vibe by this point (although Guadeloupe still would have been preferable).
Because he's the Pescado's expert, he insisted we get the voodoo shrimp (shrimp, habanero, banana, chorizo, allspice/rum/garlic sauce over bread with a fried egg on top) and I had to admit that its depth of flavor and intense heat were perfectly balanced. T
he dripping yolk didn't hurt the overall effect, either.
I wanted the arepas (South American corn cakes with pork and a pobalano/corn salsa with a jalapeno sauce) and, hands down, I picked a winner.
The pork was tender and plentiful, the little corn cakes perfect with pig and that corn and poblano salsa positively made the dish, with its freshness and subtle flavors.
I shared but not as much as I should have.
We lingered over our pitcher, talking to a couple of guys trying to rationalize not going to Friday Cheers.
I told them not to beat themselves up too much cause there'll always be good music in Richmond on another night.
One guy looked amazed. "I've been here six months and I didn't realize there was a good live music scene here."
Well then, you've come to the right person, my new friend.
Band of Horses, Manchester Orchestra and we were off and running.
Also offering conversation was a couple who lives in the neighborhood and had walked over; of course they are thrilled to have a new spot in O-Hill.
He was telling us he'd just gone to his 40 year reunion, so naturally I asked, "Anyone dead yet?"
They thought that was hilarious, but actually several people had died, so there you have it.
Not so funny after all.
Afterwards, I met friends for a drink at Mint and got to praise Bobby in person for his superb watermelon soda offering at Broad Appetit.
He showed his gratitude by making a watermelon and vodka drink for me so I could have a grown-up watermelon soda.
As I pointed out to my friends as I tasted it, though, I'm the boring customer mixologists dread.
All I want is my single spirit on ice.
So dull.
Seeing the rate at which I was drinking my pretty in pink drink, Bobby poured me his new favorite tequila, Cazadores Reposado.
He'd fallen for its delicate flavor, lush finish and, most importantly, because it has a picture of a deer on the label. I understand completely being captivated by something so random and odd.
And the connection between tequila and deer is...what?
It didn't matter because I liked it as much as he did.
These friends eat out as much as I do, so when they asked where I'd had dinner and I told them, their response came as if rehearsed. "Pescado's CHINA STREET?"
It was pretty funny to hear their shock in unison.
Needless to say, they'll be there tomorrow night and, like my friend, make comparisons since they've eaten at the original too.
Tonight they were heading to White Dog for one last helping of the bread pudding so many people swear by.
I wished them well and moved on to Poe's Pub for music by The Wiremen, followed by Marionette.
I arrived shortly after the Wiremen started and they were making almost too much sound for the room to hold.
I've seen them several times at Ghostprint Gallery, but you really can't compare a show there to a Poe's show, if you know what I'm saying.
Poe's is a noisy place, a fact suffered only because it used to be a loud AND smoky place and now it has only half the annoying factor.
They were incredibly tight and I love what that trumpet brings to their sound.
The lead singer had a bit of a warble which made me think Brian Ferry; my musician friend Adam heard Jeff Buckley doing Billie Holiday.
Either way, it was a great voice.
The crowd filled the room, so clearly others knew these NYC guys are worth a trip up the hill.
I rave about Marionette every time I see them, so instead of repeating myself, how about I just suggest that you make a point to hear them live?
You won't be disappointed and you may begin to understand why I see so many of their shows.
The only problem tonight was the band's starting time.
Fortunately for me, the late start gave me a chance to do a song-by-song analysis of The National's High Violet with guitarist Adam, something I'd been jonesing to do since becoming infatuated with it last month.
It was gratifying to hear that he'd fallen in love with the same songs I had (but then we have a history of mutual National attraction).
I had tried to get some of the friends I'd seen earlier in the evening to join me for music, but they all had issues with the late starting time.
Sort of like I have issues with going to the other side of the river if I don't have to.
Happily for me, sometimes those places cross the river for me, like Pescado's did.
If I'm patient enough, perhaps everything I want will come.
I can wait.
I don't hold this against him because he eats everything and likes coming in to the city to eat.
It also means that although he's been telling me good things about Pescado's for a while, he sensed that there was not much likelihood I'd end up there.
Which probably explains why he seized the moment and suggested we try Pescado's China Street tonight.
While it hasn't taken quite as long as Center Stage or the VMFA to complete, it does seem like it's been a work-in-progress for some time now.
Since I hadn't been to the original, I was unprepared for how colorful it was, with its blue walls, yellow and orange woodwork and mottled green bar.
Even underfoot, it was a floor of many colors. The bar was smaller than I would have expected, especially given the limited bar options in Oregon Hill.
One neighborhood guy at the bar observed that he was seeing "a lot of regulars. I completely support that in the neighborhood." I could see his point.
Our end bar stools had a straight shot view to the kitchen and the abundance of staff.
My friend knows restaurant kitchens intimately and he found several things to praise about the design of Pescado's kitchen; the overhead sauce caddy alone put him in a reverie.
But that aside, it was clear the kitchen was on point all evening (or at least the three hours we were there).
We began with white sangria (vino verdhe, triple sec and gobs of fruit and their juices squeezed into it) because my friend wanted to and I hadn't had it in years.
It certainly seemed appropriate given the decor and the menu.
To munch as we sipped, we got the conch fritters and I have to say that they were the best I've had since discovering them in Guadaloupe when I was 21.
Instead of oily, heavy balls of dough, they were full of clearly discernible ingredients with a light, crispy outer shell.
They were served with micro-greens and an aioli, an updated take on a classic island appetizer. We were definitely into the beach vibe by this point (although Guadeloupe still would have been preferable).
Because he's the Pescado's expert, he insisted we get the voodoo shrimp (shrimp, habanero, banana, chorizo, allspice/rum/garlic sauce over bread with a fried egg on top) and I had to admit that its depth of flavor and intense heat were perfectly balanced. T
he dripping yolk didn't hurt the overall effect, either.
I wanted the arepas (South American corn cakes with pork and a pobalano/corn salsa with a jalapeno sauce) and, hands down, I picked a winner.
The pork was tender and plentiful, the little corn cakes perfect with pig and that corn and poblano salsa positively made the dish, with its freshness and subtle flavors.
I shared but not as much as I should have.
We lingered over our pitcher, talking to a couple of guys trying to rationalize not going to Friday Cheers.
I told them not to beat themselves up too much cause there'll always be good music in Richmond on another night.
One guy looked amazed. "I've been here six months and I didn't realize there was a good live music scene here."
Well then, you've come to the right person, my new friend.
Band of Horses, Manchester Orchestra and we were off and running.
Also offering conversation was a couple who lives in the neighborhood and had walked over; of course they are thrilled to have a new spot in O-Hill.
He was telling us he'd just gone to his 40 year reunion, so naturally I asked, "Anyone dead yet?"
They thought that was hilarious, but actually several people had died, so there you have it.
Not so funny after all.
Afterwards, I met friends for a drink at Mint and got to praise Bobby in person for his superb watermelon soda offering at Broad Appetit.
He showed his gratitude by making a watermelon and vodka drink for me so I could have a grown-up watermelon soda.
As I pointed out to my friends as I tasted it, though, I'm the boring customer mixologists dread.
All I want is my single spirit on ice.
So dull.
Seeing the rate at which I was drinking my pretty in pink drink, Bobby poured me his new favorite tequila, Cazadores Reposado.
He'd fallen for its delicate flavor, lush finish and, most importantly, because it has a picture of a deer on the label. I understand completely being captivated by something so random and odd.
And the connection between tequila and deer is...what?
It didn't matter because I liked it as much as he did.
These friends eat out as much as I do, so when they asked where I'd had dinner and I told them, their response came as if rehearsed. "Pescado's CHINA STREET?"
It was pretty funny to hear their shock in unison.
Needless to say, they'll be there tomorrow night and, like my friend, make comparisons since they've eaten at the original too.
Tonight they were heading to White Dog for one last helping of the bread pudding so many people swear by.
I wished them well and moved on to Poe's Pub for music by The Wiremen, followed by Marionette.
I arrived shortly after the Wiremen started and they were making almost too much sound for the room to hold.
I've seen them several times at Ghostprint Gallery, but you really can't compare a show there to a Poe's show, if you know what I'm saying.
Poe's is a noisy place, a fact suffered only because it used to be a loud AND smoky place and now it has only half the annoying factor.
They were incredibly tight and I love what that trumpet brings to their sound.
The lead singer had a bit of a warble which made me think Brian Ferry; my musician friend Adam heard Jeff Buckley doing Billie Holiday.
Either way, it was a great voice.
The crowd filled the room, so clearly others knew these NYC guys are worth a trip up the hill.
I rave about Marionette every time I see them, so instead of repeating myself, how about I just suggest that you make a point to hear them live?
You won't be disappointed and you may begin to understand why I see so many of their shows.
The only problem tonight was the band's starting time.
Fortunately for me, the late start gave me a chance to do a song-by-song analysis of The National's High Violet with guitarist Adam, something I'd been jonesing to do since becoming infatuated with it last month.
It was gratifying to hear that he'd fallen in love with the same songs I had (but then we have a history of mutual National attraction).
I had tried to get some of the friends I'd seen earlier in the evening to join me for music, but they all had issues with the late starting time.
Sort of like I have issues with going to the other side of the river if I don't have to.
Happily for me, sometimes those places cross the river for me, like Pescado's did.
If I'm patient enough, perhaps everything I want will come.
I can wait.
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