Love Is Careless in its Choosing

It's a swell life I have.

As I'm sitting on Hermitage Road en route to Hardywood, the evening sun inching toward setting on my left, a ridiculously long freight train crossing in front of me and Chakha Khan belting out "Through the Fire" at all-windows-open top volume, I am reminded of that fact yet again.

At the last minute I'd found out that tonight was Cover to Cover and that the Trunk Show band was doing "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" and decided it would be just disrespectful not to give the Thin White Duke my attention.

In no time, I made the acquaintance of a young women originally from Michigan after complimenting her gorgeous blond curly hair. "Yea, it's the best part of genetics," she said, both of us glowing from the warmth of the tap room.

Currently on a four-year post as a political scheduler in Richmond, she admitted to still getting to know the city, which made it all the more surprising that she'd found out about C2C.

"I was in Halcyon this afternoon and overheard someone talking about it and decided I definitely needed to come," she said. Turns out she'd done theater back in Michigan, leading to a comparison of which shows we'd both seen.

When Trunk Show took the stage, I pointed at guitarist Grant in a white short and vest and asked her if he was cute. "Well, he's got a guitar in front of him," she said rhetorically. "But, yes, he's definitely cute."

Then it was showtime. Matt, clad in synthetics with a blazer on top, yelled, "I'm really hot...in more ways than one!" and the show was off and running. When he got to the "I'm a space invader" lyric during "Moonage Daydream," the blazer was thrown off to reveal a symphony in Spandex: a backless, deep-cut purple top and silver skin-tight pants.

A few notes into "Starman," my young Michigan friend turns and grins, saying, "This is one of my very favorite Bowie songs!" Nearby, practically every middle-aged guy was singing along to every word.

Matt, on the other hand, only once forgot the lyrics all evening.

"This backless thing is great in a building that's 90,000 degrees, but the fabric just doesn't breathe!" Matt lamented from stage before going on to explain to the room (and especially newbies like Michigan) that the whole idea of Cover to Cover is to "bring back the idea of the album as a story meant to be heard start to finish, as opposed to his generation's habit of hearing one song out of context and never exploring the rest of the album at all.

Hey, he said it, I'm just seconding that notion.

But it wasn't just the Matt show and stellar vocalists Ali and Maggie (she's the brilliant one who came up with the C2C idea - it's always a woman, isn't it, with the best ideas?) were welcomed to the stage to sing lead in their appropriately glammy ensembles while the rest of us danced in the sweaty tap room to every song.

In the spirit of Matt's admonition, I followed Bowie with an evening of record-listening at Holmes' man cave, drinking "good swill," as he puts it (Graham Beck Brut Rose and French champagne Beloved had planned to save for her birthday) while grooving to "Ricky Nelson Live at the Troubadour," Joni Mitchell's "For the Roses" (after the third time Beloved and I replaced the needle on the start of "You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio," Holmes cut off our needle privileges) and "Court and Spark" and "The Best of Spirit," which reeked of the late 1960s.

But it was Holmes' extensive Neil Young collection that yielded the new-to-me "This Note's for You," a 1988 record by Neil Young and the Bluenotes (which couldn't have pleased Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes) that not only had a horn section, but pulled from the same influences as Stray Cats.

Who knew Neil ever went in this direction? Certainly not me.

Throughout the night, Holmes would spontaneously announce, "Everybody dance!" and everybody did. We were having such a great time that the only reason I left at 1 a.m. was because I knew I had to be up early.

When I got home, my downstairs neighbor was on his porch, contemplating the thunderstorm rolling in, smoking a cigarette and curious about where I'd been. When I told him I'd gone to a show followed by a friend's house to listen to records and talk, he sat up in attention.

"That's so cool that you do that kind of stuff!" he enthused. Do what, have a life? "No, that's more than a life. That you intentionally listen to music with friends and talk about it. I feel like the people I know never do that. No one I know actively listens to music."

To be clear, he graduated from VCU two weeks ago and is a practicing musician and this is his reality, that people can't be bothered to really listen to music, much less discuss it.

Being a millennial must suck in so many ways.

After five minutes of shared storm watching and lifestyle discussion, I bid him goodnight, intent on getting to bed so I'd be up early enough to catch the first hour of Broad Appetit. And, unlike Holmes who cracked me up earlier by deadpanning, "I like to have secure premises when I retire," I closed not a single window before sliding between the sheets

I was not only up, I met my date on the street, so eager was I to eat and escape quickly.

Even at 11:02, Broad Street was alive with people pushing strollers, walking dogs and making the loop in search of the best small plates. Unfortunately, this year's event had a far greater amount of fair-type vendors shoulder to shoulder with local restaurants, but really just taking up valuable space, in my opinion.

In one hour, we ate the equivalent of brunch: Lucy's meatloaf over cornbread and bacon-wrapped chicken with ranch dressing, Amour's duck crepes, potato pancake with applesauce and chocolate crepes with fleur de sel, Maple and Pine's short rib shortcake with mushroom ragout and quinoa salad with avocado mousse over an heirloom tomato, Castanea's paella and Lehja's butter chicken over rice and my favorite, an edamame and avocado chaat.

Just as good as the food I ate was the weather, which maintained a mostly comfortable cloudy overhang the whole hour we strolled the circuit. Only once we headed away from the increasing crowds did the sun make a concerted effort to come out.

It's only 12:03 and the whole day and evening is still ahead of me. Yep, my life is truly swell.

Broadly Speaking

Broad Appetit, you're getting tedious.

With each year that you crow about the plethora of participants - "a record-breaking 75 restaurants" this year, you claim- are we not supposed to notice the amount of "filler" fair food options such as gyros and fries taking up space? Or the absence of some past favorites like Acacia and Magpie?

And what about the layout? You'd expect that more participants would mean the festival would extend another block or two instead of practically stacking booths on top of each other, with lines winding into each other and confusion about whether or not a person is in line for the desired place.

More than one person mentioned the need for a separate lane for those with strollers and dogs, two demographics that snarl foot traffic and seem oblivious to the back-ups they're causing. Why do people even bring small children to an event like this? All the ones I saw looked sunburnt, sweaty and miserable as their parents tried to cajole them into eating something the kid didn't want.

Since I'd not even been up an hour when I got to Broad Street at 11 a.m., I began with Lucy's corn fritters with jalapeno sour cream, not exactly breakfast but at least a distant cousin of doughnuts, and a hot, crispy and flavorful start to the day.

Amour had the ideal brunch dish: savory ham, mushroom and duck bechamel crepes and a vegetable crepe for good measure. The owner looked particularly dapper cooking crepes in a beret and I know he was wishing he could pour me a glass of French cider to pair with my crepes.

At Comfort, I had a drumstick of fried chicken with butterbean honey and a side of strawberry/rhubarb slaw, a slaw that tasted like May. As I sat in the shade eating, a mother tried unsuccessfully to convince her two youngsters that they wanted the fried chicken, which they both refused with hands over their mouths. Dad left in search of cheese pizza.

Family Meal, Brian Voltaggio's new spot at Willow Lawn (which I've yet to visit as I'm not especially attracted to eating with families), was offering deviled egg samples, so I nabbed one, enjoying the mixture of yolk, cream cheese, hot sauce and Dijon mustard with bacon on top.

Curious about the FeedMore Community Kitchen booth, I selected mesquite-marinated southern fried pork spareribs with spicy maple glaze and watermelon slaw. Honestly, I have no need for my ribs to be fried, but that slaw was one of the highlights of the day, peppery, refreshing and packed with complementary flavors.

After five savory dishes, I was ready for sweet and found it at the new Belle & James booth, a place that won't even open for a couple more months. They were giving away t-shirts to early customers, so I chose the tank top along with a piece of chocolate and buttermilk layer cake with buttercream frosting, a multi-layered treat that tasted like my Richmond grandma used to make.

Making my way through the mass of humanity was not without its humorous moments.

At the Mosaic booth, they had a yard-high red blown glass bottle adorning their table, causing a young man near me to observe to his buddy, "Check out that bong."

I passed two different women wheeling their little dogs around in strollers, more reason for that separate lane, just so normal people don't have to see such nonsense.

Wine drinkers could choose from Wine on Tap's various selections (not one was Virginia wine) and for the truly tasteless brave there was a tent for wine slushies, but of course the longest lines by a mile were for the breweries, all of which were from Virginia. Anyone else notice this disparity in local liquid sourcing?

After four laps, I'd only seen a handful of familiar faces beyond those working the booths and I was full enough. I still had half a piece of cake left, so I got a new fork and took the cake to one of the volunteers on the side street that leads to my house who seemed thrilled to have it.

There, that's done.

Back home, I changed into my new Belle & James tank top, shorts and Nikes and made my way through the endless neighborhood traffic jam (so many suburbanites trying desperately to parallel park in Jackson Ward) to escape for a 5 1/2-mile walk to Chapel Island, a welcome respite for the mayhem on Broad Street.

Don't get me wrong, I had several very tasty dishes and at $3 a pop, the price is right. But the truth is, despite living two blocks off of Broad Street, I only bother with this event because I have to, because I write about food and need to be there.

I saw that a friend just posted from Broad Appetit, saying, "Enjoyed this so much more a couple of years ago when it was smaller and not as crazy."

What he said. Where's the suggestion box?

Eat 'Till You Can't

As I'm strolling down Clay Street at mid-day, I hear my name called from a car.

It's my bearded downstairs neighbor, usually a chill kind of guy, looking harried and unhappy. "What the hell is going on?" he asks.

You don't know about Broad Appetit, friend? How is that possible?

As dozens of cars circle the block around us, I explain that today is one of those days in Jackson Ward where you do not leave in your car unless you don't plan to return until evening. Poor thing, he was clueless.

I made a parking suggestion and was on my way. As it was, I hadn't been there at 11:00 when the festival began because I'd been working, so I had to make up for lost time.

Stepping on to Broad Street, I was underwhelmed to find that the first tent I saw was a man hawking stun guns. Call me old fashioned, but I don't think electroshock weapons belong at a food festival. To whom do I complain?

My first food stop was at the Rogue Gentlemen for their flat iron steak with summer succotash and thyme Bordelaise. As I'm waiting in a surprisingly short line to order, I overhear the man in front of me tell his friend that he's already getting seconds on the steak because the first was so good.

It's 12:30.

Don't tell the gentlemen, because the flatiron was superb, but I'd have bought just the succotash for $3, it was that good, bursting with summery flavors.

So my initial stop was a solid score. Continuing along Broad Street, I saw my first dog stroller with a small chihuahua standing inside the netted contraption, safe from being stepped on.

Which brings us to my first rant about Broad Appetit: it's time to ban dogs from this festival. Yes, I love dogs, too but the last thing 20,000+ people need while trying to navigate the crowded corridor of food tents are dogs underfoot. Strollers are bad enough.

At Pasture's tent I had poached shrimp with green papaya jicama slaw and pickled strawberries, which gets my seasonal vote for being a chilled dish ideal for a sunny day.

Back on the trail of food, a girl next to me said to her friend, "Is this turning into a dessert marathon?" as they shared a cupcake.

What's wrong with that? I asked them and one of the girls hugged me. "You're our new best friend!" she squealed. You need affirmation to eat sweet, I'm your person, honey.

At the Broadberry I succumbed to candied bacon, two strips on a skewer deep fried in brown sugar glaze and dusted with confectioner's sugar. As I stood eating it, no less than four people approached me to find out from whence it had come.

I ran into Curry Craft's chef/owner Mel who was passing out samples of the classic Indian street food, chaat, his take using puffed rice, vermicelli and pomegranate seeds.

As I enjoyed it, we talked about the logistics of the festival and how poorly it's laid out. This would be rant #2.

I've railed to no avail for years about extending the festival a couple blocks further east into the arts district, but he suggested it would also be wise to move the tents to the sidewalks, leaving both sides of Broad Street open for the lines of people ordering and picking up food.

The man raises an excellent point. As it is, walking the perimeter is challenging because of the lines of people at each tent waiting to buy food. Where's the suggestion box?

When I got to the Metro Sound stage, the all-girl Voodoo Dolls were killing it with a cover of "Radar Love" that had every man over the age of 40 singing along and grinning like fools.

Apparently the legacy of Golden Earring is a long one.

At Amour Wine Bistro's tent, I tried both the classic croque monsieur and a vegetarian version dubbed a croque madame, both made on the spot and deliciously golden brown.

Walking as I ate them, I heard a woman whining to her husband about being picky about the food options. "It's a lot of very spicy stuff!" she claimed.

Perhaps she would have preferred a few years back when it felt like everyone was offering crab cakes and shrimp and grits. Not me.

At Magpie, I ordered crispy pork torchon with spring onion cream and pickled vegetables, and heard from Chef Owen about how busy he'd been preparing for not just Broad Appetit but for the Graffiato takeover dinner he and other Richmond chefs are doing tomorrow.

He laughed when I reminded him that it was a good thing he was young and strong.

At Lucy's, I chose a Monrovia farms braised beef sandwich with housemade pickles, Provolone cheese and grainy mustard, a hefty, hearty and happy cow tasting combo that finally put me over the edge.

I could eat no more. And tonight? Forget about it. I'm full for the day.

As I strolled home passing clutches of people happily heading into the festival and others parking illegally, it occurred to me that today has to be the nicest weather we've ever had for Broad Appetit. Not too hot, not too rainy. Just right.

And even though I'd run into far fewer people I knew than at the past events, it had been a perfectly pleasant way to eat lunch and spend a few hours.

But only because I live two blocks away. Sufferin' succotash, I'm just not the kind of broad to drive to a food marathon, especially one with stun guns.

Better to slow people down with a good food coma. Consider me down.

Broadly Appetizing

Broad Appetit is the new Watermelon Festival.

And by that, I mean in the same way that the Watermelon Fest is guaranteed to be a disgustingly hot day in August, Broad Appetit requires an ungodly hot and sunny day in June.

Which would be fine if I were on my shaded balcony but less fine walking the asphalt of Broad Street.

But how can I ignore a food festival two blocks from my house?

What I can do is go early before massive body heat is added to the existing conditions.

The unwritten rule is that I do one lap around before buying any food.

We call this the "scoping out" part.

My eye was caught by Poor Georgie's Bakery because I saw something blue.

It turned out to be blue velvet cake, but then I noticed divorce cake...made with bittersweet chocolate.

Humor and heat.

I stopped at Field of Dreams' Farm when I saw jars of jam.

Here was a cheerleader for local farmers, a guy who gathers up what farmers have and brings it in to the city to sell five days a week.

He insisted I taste one of his farm-ripe peaches, insisting that it was ripe even though it didn't feel like it.

I took a bite and was surprised at how pure the peach taste was.

But, because I am allergic to peaches, I handed off the rest of it to a guy standing next to me admiring Cumberland County squash.

And I bought a quart of apple butter, to be picked up later.

Stopped cold by the couple in front of me at the Mama J's Kitchen booth, I listened as she read the offerings, a $3 plate, a $5 plate and finally a $7 plate.

Catfish nuggets, three sides and dessert for $7, she read to him.

Why didn't they just put that one at the top of the chalkboard, I asked to much laughter.

"Seriously," the woman said. "Who wouldn't want it all?"

I made it 2/3 of the way around the loop before caving and buying food.

The game changer was Chez Foushee's boudin balls, dirty rice mixed with pulled pork and deep fried with a white remoulade.

I was right to break my rule because they were out of this world.

It was getting uncomfortably hot by then unless you were in the shade, so I stopped by Balliceaux to get one of mixologist's Sean's Carny Coolers.

May have been the first time he's ever handed me something non-alcoholic.

The cooler was made from watermelon and lime and served with jalapeno cotton candy, which added a bit of heat at the end of the refreshing but not sweet drink.

At Magpie's booth, I joined the line for smoked crab with jalapeno oil and corn nuts.

Amour was offering a three-course delight of foie gras creme brulee, a vegetable creme brulee with coconut on top and chocolate sea salt cream brulee.

Holy cow.

Lehja's line was long but on my second pass slightly shorter, so I got sea bass with mango salad and marveled at the generous portion.

Although I'd come alone, friends had hoped to find me ("I will look for your legs - might be easier to recognize you") and hook up for some comparative eating, but I never ran into them.

But I did run into a friend and her hound (about to share her catfish nuggets with him), a friend and his be-hatted main squeeze ("I saw you honk at the girl making the illegal U-turn on Grove the other day") and a woman whose past was awkwardly entangled with mine long ago and whom I hadn't seen in probably seven years.

After asking if I could hug her, we chatted for far longer than either of us would have probably expected.

It was one of those satisfyingly karmic moments when old wrongs are righted and it made my day.

After collecting my apple butter from the farmer, I headed back towards home.

A woman in front of me turned to her friends, all eating as they walked.

"This is one of those times I love Richmond," she said, still chewing.

Get on board, ladies.

For me, Broad Appetit is yet another one of those times I love Richmond.

It's as lovable every day as you want it to be.

Broad Appetit ISO Virginia Dionysus

Okay, so Broad Appetit.

The good: it brings people to Jackson Ward (not so scary in the daylight, is it, people?), it allows people who dine out infrequently to try restaurants they haven't (on the cheap - $3 a pop) and it's a unique way to eat lunch.

The bad: street stands offering fair fare (cheese fries, really?), not enough room for the lines (would one or two more blocks of Broad kill city officials on a Sunday afternoon?) and the absence of any wineries worth tasting.

For me, being two blocks from the event, there are no parking hassles and I can be there when it opens and is still civilized.

And even if I go alone, which I did, I'm guaranteed to know people.

From the second I got close to Broad Street, I ran into friend after friend.

The boutique owner doing her first Broad Appetit. The man about town in a seersucker suit. The frustrated restaurateur's wife. The favorite couple with their Broad Appetit game plan printed out on multiple sheets of paper.

I spent the first hour with a teenager who shares my love of eating everything odd.

I talked her into trying blowtoads for the first time ("Mmm, fish tail!" she crowed) and she bought me apple cinnamon churros in caramel sauce in return.

An early stop was Bistro 27's table for Moroccan lamb meatballs and one of mixologist's Bobby Kruger's famous watermelon lemonade with a mint leaf smacked into it.

After two years of drinking it as I promenade through the event, I think it should be the official drink of Broad Appetit.

He and I placed bets on when he'd run out of the fifteen gallons he'd made.

I spent the second hour with a BA virgin, trying Magpie's goat curry for the first time and mozzarella ice cream with cherry tomatoes for the second.

At Lehja, we had the ginger curry leaf scented sea bass and the chickpea/potato dish.

I really must make the trek to Short Pump to enjoy Lehja's food to a larger extent.

Amour provided the last course, divine chicken liver mousse with bacon and chive in puff pastry.

We stopped in the Empire Theater for the open rehearsal of "Spring Awakening," a Tony award-winning play I am eager to have open in Richmond.

Let's shock the bluehairs, shall we?

Back on the street, we opted out of the madding crowds and took Marshall Street home, still hearing the bands playing and dodging suburbanites looking for parking spaces in what they no doubt consider "the hood."

The conclusion: I love having so many visitors here in my beautiful, historic neighborhood. It's fun to get to eat from so many different restaurants in one day.

But why in the world can't we make Virginia wineries a viable part of Broad Appetit? Virginia beers were certainly well represented.

Broad Appetit, you're on the right track, but you're not there yet.

You've got a year to get it right. Let me know if you need some suggestions.

As an upstanding local citizen, I'm always eager to help improve things in the 'hood.

Here's to number six, Broad Appetit!

Late Night Adrenaline Shots

The hurricane tourists are out in full force.

I walk Broad and Grace Streets every Sunday morning and they're both usually like ghost towns. I'm lucky to see three people in three miles of walking. Not so today where it was like a street festival and everyone had a phone or a camera.

Couples strolled hand in hand, only pausing to snap pictures of crushed cars and downed trees. People in cars drove slower than I walk to point and exclaim over what they saw.

Yes, it's a beautiful day and well worth being up for, but I question how many of these people would still be in bed if there was no destruction to ogle.

Broad Street was where useless umbrellas had gone to die. They were littered on the sidewalk and stuffed in trash cans, their broken spokes testament to their worthlessness.

A window had blown out and the shards of glass scattered across the sidewalk. Over on Grace, some of the sidewalks became impassable due to broken branches and fallen trees and I had to take to the street. On Allen between Broad and Monument, the devastation was widespread. Both sides of Allen on either side of the median were covered in enormous dead trees.

The fire department had several trucks there, no doubt intending to take care of the situation or maybe just shoo away the paparazzi. And still, people gathered at the yellow tape lines to get better pictures. Coming soon to a FB page near you!

The extent of the devastation for me came from four little leaks in my bedroom ceiling. When Irene's wrath began yesterday, a drip started and I put a pan under it. By the time I went to bed, I had four drips and four pans but not a lot of accumulated drippage in them.

Apparently it was enough because at 3:06, a large chunk of ceiling crashed to the floor, waking me up like a shot (and probably my downstairs neighbors, too).

It's hard to come down from an adrenaline rush like that.

I wasn't about to get up and do anything about it, so I rolled over and began thinking about puppies and rainbows nothing I'm going to admit to here and finally fell asleep after about an hour.

A second slightly smaller piece crashed down around 6 a.m., but I was a pro at being terrorized awake by then and fell right back to sleep.

When I got up, I saw that the floor around two sides of my bed was covered in ceiling chunks and drywall dust. The pans of brown water had bits floating in them. It looked even worse than it had sounded, and that's saying a lot.

Let the record show that I did not take out my camera and document any of it.

Walk Your Broad Appetit a Little Further

I'd like to put in a request to the festival gods to give us today's weather for all future Broad Appetits.

Unlike the past three years, I was not in attendance when the festival began at 11:00, but they managed to start without me anyway.

Breezing by Ettamae's tent, I stopped to say hello to Chef Matt, not realizing that they were a participant.

In fact, Matt had  spent yesterday (after making our brunch) making 800 tea biscuits for his shortcake. That's major participation, I'd say.

I was meeting a favorite couple and killed the time by stopping by Bistro 27's tent for a refreshing start to my eating adventure, the crab and watermelon gazpacho.

Chef Carlos told me he'd spent five hours hand-chopping for the cold soup. After one bite, I told him his time was well spent.

The crisp mixture was punctuated with nice-sized lumps of crabmeat, not flakes, and the sweetness of the watermelon contrasted beautifully with the crispy veggies.

Our first stop was at Acacia's tent to see what exotic thing they might be offering. Softshell salad looked good, but I've had so many lately.

Ah, but Chesapeake stingers were more like it. They were offering Stinger sliders with Asian slaw, so I had to taste one.

I got a lesson along with my slider, learning that rays are an invasive fish of ever-increasing numbers. Wisely, they are now being caught and served in restaurants.

The meaty fish had a veal-like texture and under the crispy breading were impossible to identify. Yes, I ate a ray to help save the bay. Put a gold sticker on my forehead.

Overheard as we walked, "Richmond's cool. They have the best restaurants!"

I finally got to taste some of the highly recommended food from Lejha, a restaurant still on my must-visit list. The savory mango-glazed prawns with five bean salad was to die for.

Any number of people told me it was one, if not their favorite, dish today and I was in agreement. A huge bean lover, I could have eaten much more of that savory combo with the succulent prawns.

Impressive in a different way was Amour Wine Bistro's tasting menu plate containing three tarts.

There was a salmon mousse tart (my favorite and beautifully delicate in flavor), a grilled duck tart mixing sweet and savory and a fruit tart with blueberries. It was a steal for $3.

On my way into the festival, I'd run into Balliceaux's owner, who told me not to miss their offering, so I took her advice.

The smoked bluefish dip with crispy pitas and house-pickled okra, radishes and onions came with a shot of William's veggie bloody Mary.

Having had smoked bluefish in one form or another at Balliceaux before, I was not at all surprised about how good the dip was.

But as my friend pointed out, the crispy pitas were far superior to most pita versions and the pickled okra and onions perfectly executed.

Both of us had grandmothers who pickled and so we know from good pickling. Too much vinegar and all subtlety is lost; these were textbook tasty.

Also overheard but not completely understood because I couldn't see the food, "It's good but it's sickening."

One friend insisted on a stop at Ma-Musu's for sweet fried plantains, a treat I'd never had before. They were a tad much for me, but she didn't mind finishing them off by herself.

We took a break at 27 for a drink (as did the Mayor, who was looking quite casual today) and to meet up with a couple of local mixologists to talk about what we'd eaten and, what else, cocktails.

Me, I had vino verdhe and put in my two cents worth about what I'd recently read about muddlers and muddled drinks. Mixologists take that stuff very seriously.

We left there after a pleasurable spell watching the parade of humanity outside 27's plate glass windows. We could not resist commenting on the surprising number of girls wearing boots in this weather.

Boots with shorts, boots with sundresses, but boots in June?

Not only did it look ridiculous, but what must those boots smell like after endless loops around Broad Street? Inquiring minds wanted to know (and ridicule).

We made our last stop as a trio at Shindigz for the cake recommended by a friend I'd run into who'd recently returned from two weeks in France.

He said he was having a difficult adjustment to RVA after the wonder of French eating and drinking, but that the cake at Shindigz was easing the transition for him.

Their classic chocolate cake with frosting was covered in caramel sauce and sprinkled with fleur de sel for the ultimate sweet and salty dessert. We all three swooned over it.

It was at that point that I'd had my fill and said my farewells. I did run into a nearby restaurant owner heading to the festival as I walked home and he gave me the opening I needed to get on my soapbox about the event.

Broad Appetit has my full support. I love having all the visitors in my neighborhood. I think it's a great way for restaurants to offer a taste of their food and hopefully make people want to return for a full meal.

But here's my offering for the Broad Appetit suggestion box.        S-p-r-e-a-d   i-t   o-u-t.

It's ridiculous that more than sixty restaurants are crowded into a three-block stretch. Why doesn't Broad Appetit encompass the entire Arts District?

Why doesn't it begin at Belvidere and got to Foushee? It would be so much less jammed up and crowded if there were spaces between tents instead of having them shoved up against each other.

With all the strollers and people with dogs and small children, it becomes impassable and unpleasant waiting in lines because of the proximity of one tent to another.

Let's give everyone some breathing room and include more of Broad Street for more leisurely strolling and an opportunity to include more of the neighborhood.

Given how much people eat at Broad Appetit, the extra walking isn't going to hurt anyone.

We can call it the Broad Appetit Promenade and make a day of it. All in favor, raise your spork.

One Broad's Appetite

I'm going to be honest. I made two laps at Broad Appetit over the course of an hour and a half and did more talking than eating. I then spent the next three hours in the air-conditioned comfort of Bistro 27, eating, drinking and listening to Gypsy Roots play. I make no apologies for any of my behavior.

June's weather is too reliably hot for a large-scale cooking event featuring 100+ vendors with grills and warming tables. Three blocks is not enough space to try to cram 25,000 people, half of whom are pushing sunburnt children in strollers. Serving hot soup or heavy dishes = a really poor marketing plan. Those are my personal takeaways from today's event, and I've been to them all.

As for what I spent my $3 chunks of change on, we've already established in these very blog pages that I am a sucker for pork belly. Which means I couldn't resist the fried pork belly with Asian slaw from Six Burner. Fatty and tangy, yea man, and served by all those familiar faces from the front and back of the house whom I know so well.

If any one dish spoke to me today it was UR's crab, lobster and corn gazpacho. Cold. light and fresh-tasting, this is what I'm talking about wanting to eat on a hot day.

Likewise, I couldn't pass up the watermelon "soda" made by Julep's master mixologist Bobby, (who lured me in to tell me about the tequila tasting he knew I wouldn't want to miss). Unlike some drink offerings I heard about today, his was chilled and served in a large cup without an overabundance of ice and it was about the most refreshing taste you can imagine.

It was a lot like having a cup of the juices that run down your arm when you're eating a hunk of watermelon at a picnic. And while not a fermented beverage, it definitely fell right in line with my recent trend of drinking pink.

The award for brilliance goes to Bacchus for their homemade dark chocolate and strawberry ice creams, a real mood lightener in today's tropic-like heat. I can attest to their strawberry being heavenly with loads of strawberry chunks throughout.

It was easy to pass up on Acacia's softshell sliders because of my recent bagged lunch from there of that very dish except in full-size format, raved about here. Three dollars for a couple of bites of that stellar taste combination can't compare to an entire baguette of softshells and slaw with a side and dessert for $10, so I didn't bother with that line today.

My friend and I were the first bar customers to escape the heat at 27 and passed several very enjoyable hours after all that hot hullabaloo, drinking Gavi di Gavi and Vino Verde. By 3:00 we were feeling peckish (and "tipsy in the afternoon" if you want to listen to my friend's assessment) and decided to eat up. She had a Ceasar salad with salty anchovies and sauteed calamari in a tomato sauce over creamy polenta while I had a bowl of mussels in white wine cream sauce, soaked up by a whole lot of crusty bread.

Before you question why I would sit in a restaurant (and a place I frequent often) rather than availing msyelf of further sampling possibilities at the festival, allow me to remind you of the purpose of Broad Appetit. It was conecived to bring people downtown and affordably introuduce them to the wealth of independent restaurants in RVA, in hopes that they might return to the city for a full meal at a later date.

That's a lesson so firmly ingrained in me already that one could almost say I preach it in my daily blog ramblings about my endless eating experiences, almost always within the city limits.

Broad appetite? Hell, this broad already has one.

Food for Thought

What was good about Broad Appetit? Having 18,000 people come to my neighborhood to enjoy a beautiful day in Jackson Ward. The Sweetest Thing Bakery's coconut cupcakes (and their chocolate cupcakes...and, okay, their strawberry cupcakes). Being able to check out some of the galleries' shows in daylight.

What needs fixing with Broad Appetit? For a state with more than 140 wineries, how is it that the only wine choices at the festival were James River Cellars and Lake Anna Winery? And street/fair food vendors (gyros, corn dogs) had no place at an event that supposedly celebrated Richmond's best restaurants.

More than one person I spoke to noted that this year's festival felt dumbed down. With more restaurants represented, the variety of offerings was disappointingly blase. How many booths offered shrimp and grits? Crab cakes? For those seeking the unusual or creative, it was a real challenge to find them.

Of course, the important thing is that Broad Appetit benefited the Central Virginia Food Bank. But the bottom line is that if the event causes any of the attendees to come back to try some of the restaurants they sampled, it was a worthy event.