Everyday I (try to) Write the Book

As days turn to nights with zero time for blogging, it's probably best to think of these as postcards.

Greetings from First Fridays...
You know it's going to be a great evening when the owner of Chez Foushee asks how close you'd like to sit to the bossa nova band. We put just enough distance between the music and our conversation to enjoy both.

Meanwhile, we took our time with crab bisque, olives and Marcona almonds in herbed oil and a couple of Foushee market salads loaded with cannellini beans, craisins, toasted almonds and red onions over peppery arugula with green goddess dressing. The salad choice was a matter of necessity once I found out that their long-standard brussels sprouts salad (the one with bacon, red onions and bleu cheese) has been put out to pasture. I may never recover from the loss, though a dense dark chocolate mousse helped ease the pain somewhat.

Our art fix was taken at the main library with "Herald 4- Drawing from the Knew," an exhibit of seven regional artists working in vastly different styles. At 1708, we took in "Yo, Bruce: Gerald Donato + Bruce Wilhelm" because the playful nature of Donato's work never gets old. At Black Iris for the "Sink or Swim" show, my favorite was the drawing that incorporated Popeye, Olive Oil and Wimpy into one image (and probably unrecognizable to a younger viewer). Candela Gallery's group show, "Channels" of work by Willie Anne Wright, Courtney Johnson and Lisa Kokin was compelling, none more so than Kokin's mixed media sewn collages using old black and white photographs of people sewn together.

Because we're all connected, right?

Greetings from Peaches, home to 45s
Even if there had been no crate of surprises, the meal would have been memorable. Holmes, Beloved and I ventured out of their usual comfort zone for a meal taken at the corner of Nota Bene's bar. Holmes went in looking for the cauliflower that had changed his opinion about cauliflower, only to find it (like the brussels sprout salad at Chez Foushee) M.I.A. Where he scored points was in suggesting we get the brocaletti with red peppers and anchovy breadcrumbs instead.

Since when does Holmes suggest a vegetable he can't even pronounce? Or, more to the point, who was I with and what had he done with Holmes?

Bottles of Rosabella Rose (unfortunately, they were out of the Arianna Occhipinti Grillo we'd requested) accompanied the brocaletti, along with an arugula salad with red onion, fennel and sweety drops. One of the servers told us she'd been so enamored of the sweety drops that she'd ordered an entire jar for herself. I have to say, Holmes, Beloved and I were mighty taken with the teardrop-shaped cross between a cherry tomato and a jalapeno that managed to taste both sweet and tart at once.

Next we went on a fungi bender, first with a wild mushroom, roasted garlic, caramelized onion and Fontina pizza (with crust to die for) and then with a special of tagliarini with an array of mushrooms in a cream sauce. The tagliarini was so tender, it all but melted in your mouth.

Dessert was an extravaganza, with tiramisu (Beloved's first ever), lemon buttermilk zeppole with dark chocolate dipping sauce and the dessert du jour, a fig crostata. We paired the latter two with Barolo Chinato, as lovely an accompaniment to a sweet course as could be hoped for. And that rustic fig crostata, well, its thick, barely sweet crust was worthy of the figs and that's saying a lot coming from a fig fanatic.

The evening's soundtrack came courtesy of Holmes' buddy who'd been downsizing. Seems Holmes stopped by and scooped up an old Peaches crate filled with 45s. Granted, you have to be pretty seasoned to remember what Peaches was and that they sold crates for records, but none of us had any trouble.

There was loads of Elvis Costello, only a couple from the Beatles, plus the Jam, the Stranglers, B52s and a host of other '80s bands. We spent the evening working our way through the 45s, occasionally going to an album (can you ever hear too much Brass Ring, really?) for a side just to give Holmes a break on the turntable.

Greetings from the land of secession
When the day is spent driving to and from Norfolk, where signs with dire warnings of "High tide gate testing Tuesday 1 a.m." foreshadow the impending hurricane, it's best if the evening involves no car time. Fortunately, Conch Republic was no more than a brief stroll for a view of skulling boats, setting sun and a photo shoot for the restaurant at a nearby table.

In what was no doubt early preparation for Florence's arrival, all the umbrellas had been taken off the deck, unfortunate since the sun continues to shine until the weather system arrives. I made do by sitting with my back to the sun, but given that it's (sadly) nearly mid-September, it slid behind the trees before too long.

Broadbent Vino Verde washed down conch chowder, a wedge salad ("What kind of dressing do you want on that?" our young server asks. Um, bleu cheese because it wouldn't be a true wedge salad without it?) and a California Cobb. Over at the Boathouse, we saw tiki torches burning on their deck, although I can no longer think of them without thinking of last year's white supremacy march at UVA. Damn neo-Nazis spoil everything for the whole group. What's next, beach umbrellas?

I know, I know, I'm leaving out an awful lot for someone with lots to say who hasn't blogged in days, but you know what? It's going to get worse before it gets better. Depending on how Flo decides to behave, things could get even crazier next week. And the week after? Forget about it.

When you throw your lot in with a planner, there's bound to be too much adventure to document it all. All I can tell you is that my aim is true.

Up the Waterzooi

Best way to celebrate Belgian independence day (as told by an Irish-American woman):

1. Follow the Belgian flag and a gnome (?) hovering on the roof to Cask for a pop-up by chef Xavier Meers of Brux'l Cafe.

With Broadbent Vino Verde warming up at an alarming rate in this heat wave, we dove into cheese croquettes, garlic scampi, waterzooi of chicken (a traditional Belgian stew), mussels Provencal and a superb veggie salad that included among other things, tomatoes, cantaloupe, watermelon and olives.  Basically, we ate everything on the pop-up menu.

When the chef put in an appearance, we agreed he resembled a Dutch masters painting: curly haired, red cheeked and sturdy of form. Frans Hals or Rembrandt would have painted him.

2. Proceed to Ardent Brewery for Secretly Y'all, Tell Me a Story with tonight's theme "I quit!"

Standing in the back challenged the ears (too far from the storytellers) and patience (too many talkers) but the handsome bartender was complimentary ("Love your hair") and during intermission, we scored seats up front.

Stories ranged from a guy who learned to quit violence after choking a guy into unconsciousness to quitting the church and heroin at the same time to trying to quit life on the Lee bridge after a party in Oregon Hill to an ESL teacher in Henrico who chucked it all to make soap to an ESL teacher in Thailand who inadvertently taught kindergartners to say "sandwich" to a job as building inspector that included finding men having sex in the showers to a Ziplock bag of human poop that required quitting a job to save face to a man who refused to beat up on inmates.

Let's just say there are many ways - and things - to quit. Still deciding what it is I need to let go. I have an idea.

Friends ranged from a gallerist needing an open door to a bartender who gave me crap about quoting her to a wine guru trying to read a book to a yoga teacher questioning my location.

3. Final stop? GWARbar for metal night, the DJ spinning such classic pre-metal gems as Iron Butterfly and April Wine. Tattoos, dreadlocks and piercings abounded, but the Espolon was flowing and the conversation amiable.

Here's to 84 years of independence, Belgium! May I have just as many.

Exploring the New at SIx Burner

I don't know how I did it, but I went out for some leisurely eating and drinking and then went to a show and I am home and it's barely past 11:00. How in the world did that happen? And why didn't I stop for a nightcap on the way home?

Because I hadn't been to Six Burner since before they closed down for a two-week vacation, I felt the need to see what was up with them. In fact, lots had changed, including the kitchen staff under Philip Denny (which I'd had a heads-up about) and the menu (which was a pleasant surprise). With a new emphasis on small plates, I was excited to find a dozen small plates ranging form $6 to $10, with only the foie gras topping out at $16.

With so many choices, I needed some time to decide. Since it was Tuesday (half off all wines by the glass) I started with the Broadbent Vino Verde while I can still get it. I know some restaurants around here have already taken Vino Verde off the wine list (you know who you are because I've already given you crap about it) but, come on, it may be September, but it was still 90 degrees today! In fact, T. came over and we bonded over the beauty of Vino Verde as the easiest of all summer sippers. Bearded men know things.

To my surprise, Six Burner had a new bartender, Mike, a charming guy who quickly introduced himself and made me feel welcome. He had been trained by my favorite 6B bartender, Josh, so his charming ways came as no surprise.

I asked for his references (Joe's Inn and Sam & Omie's, of all unlikely places and actively recruited by owner Ry) and T. was quick to explain to Mike who I was and what my role at 6B was ("When she comes in on days other than Tuesdays, it throws us all off. But she does it anyway.").

Mike has been in RVA two years longer than I have (having moved here because he fell in love and got married), so we enjoyed talking about the changes we have seen in the scene.

He told me about his years working on the Outer Banks (no matter what shift he worked, there always seemed to be time to hang out at the beach he said) and we compared our memories of the evolution of that area.

Perusing the latest Flavor magazine, I enjoyed the article on Acacia and was most surprised to see the piece on Blue Duck Tavern, a restaurant I'd visited with a big city critic friend a while back, here. It was interesting getting another viewpoint on a place I'd been.

Remembering that evening, one of my favorite touches had happened after I sat my bag on the floor; our server had scooped it up and set it on a small stool to keep it off the (presumably) less-than-pristine floor. That's a big city attention to detail that I can't imagine in Richmond Or perhaps our restaurant floors are just cleaner.

Six Burner's new menu deservedly got all my attention. From bacon-wrapped fried house made pickles to red snapper crudo, I had a tough time choosing. It was the last item that finally grabbed me and wouldn't let go: the braised rabbit, potato gnocchi, figs, roasted shallots, Parmesan and cocoa. Comfort food, a tease to fall and the figs that are so amazingly good right now all made for a dish even a rabbit-hater would love (and actually I'm quite fond of rabbit).

Next time, I'm thinking the fluke sashimi. Or perhaps the Olde Salts raw oysters. So many delectable choices!

Requesting a glass of the Brandborg Pinot Noir, Mike misheard me and brought a glass of Eola Pinot Gris by mistake. Turns out they were out of the Pinot Noir anyway, so instead I got the La Paradou Grenache/Syrah and found it a lovely accompaniment to my rabbit. When Mike brought another glass unbidden, I didn't complain in the least. What's $3.50?

After several hours and watching the restaurant fill almost to capacity and begin to clear out (except for the first date couple at the table behind me and their conversation was so endearing I couldn't help but eavesdrop), I knew it was time to hit the road if I was to hear live music tonight.

The Camel had three bands playing, but I'd unfortunately missed the first, Quiet Eyes Road, plus part of the second, Vessel, by the time I got there. Vessel could best be described as hardcore vocals with softcore/emo instrumentation. I'm as emo as the next girl (actually probably more so), but half a set was probably plenty for me.

O'Brother, on the other had, were rock/indie/ambient, for lack of a better term (so no screaming). The volume was a bit more than my eardrums would have liked, but they ranged close enough to post-rock's swelling and diminishing volumes to keep me happy. The crowd was clearly devoted to either the band or the sound; I'm not sure that it mattered which on a Tuesday night.

The lead singer explained that he was having vocal issues, so the set would be short. Clearly apologetic, he promised that the band would make it up to the audience the next time they played here. The set was probably a half a dozen songs or so and then they were through; thus my unexpectedly early night.

Which is probably just as well considering how early my bed began vibrating this morning due to the gas line repairs. The workmen are always so sweetly apologetic when they see me (must be that heart-to-heart we had a while back about their noisy wake-up calls), but it doesn't change the fact that they're out there way before I'm ready to get up.

Maybe O'Brother did me a favor after all. Thanks, guys.

Bar Hopping on a Saturday Night

With nothing cultural calling to me tonight, I decided to do an abbreviated pub crawl after seeking out a graffiti show in Scott's Addition to no avail. Without anything better to do, why not spend some quality time with a couple of my favorite bartenders?

Leading the parade was Josh at Six Burner, always a reliable source of music talk and good banter. Since I was in the mood for white wine, he suggested the Vernaccia di S. Gimighano and I took the bait, enjoying its crisp dryness. I was pleased to learn that 6B is starting up their live music series again and we reminisced about some of the craziness of past shows, including the memorable winter sweat-fest, here.

Josh brought out an amuse bouche in the form of a tiny pie-shaped wedge of pork rillette with minute Granny Smith apple chunks, mustard seed and chives. Honestly, it was the perfect portion because, for me, even an appetizer- sized serving of pork rillette quickly becomes too rich, too much. Retrieving my plate afterwards, Josh asked, "Amused?" All signs pointed to yes.

There were several new items on the menu so I decided on the squash blossoms stuffed with smoked salmon, Parmesan and squash with curry squash sauce. Oh. My. Goodness. I took that first bite and was transported back to my first taste of a squash fritter.

When I began my 13-year stint on Floyd Avenue in the 90s, my 70+ neighbor Bertha was good enough to offer to share the bounty of her veggie garden with me. The first time she brought me squash, though, she asked me in a suspicious tone what I was going to do with it and whether I knew how to make squash fritters. I didn't.

She gave me her crusty old recipe and I made my first squash fritter batter and fried them up in a cast iron skillet. I still remember that initial bite and wondering how I'd never tasted squash in such a magnificent guise up until that moment. Tonight's squash gave me that same rush of fried and fresh.

A bite or two in and Josh came over to check on me. "This is freaking awesome," I said, willing better words to come. "I know. It's badass, isn't it?" Josh returned. There were the words I had been seeking. Badass squash, that was it.

Later the server T. came over to probe. "What are you doing here on a Saturday night, Karen?" he inquired. "You're messing with my whole concept of the week." It's true, I don't often visit 6B on a Saturday night, but I wasn't expecting to be called out on it. either. Just another pleasure of being a regular.

With promises of CDs to come later in the week from Josh, I said goodnight only after getting his approval for my next stop: Balliceaux and the equally music-savvy Austin. He was fine with handing me off to a fellow bartender he knew would be up to the job.

Walking down Lombardy Street, I saw a large illustrated banner hanging from a nearby apartment. It read, "Don't tread on me. GO US! Beat England" Such patriotism on a Saturday night! Balliceaux was partly full but hardly hopping and the bar completely empty when I walked in, so I figured Austin would appreciate the company and and he was already waving me back before I was halfway through the restaurant.

We talked about his upcoming trip to Cambridge, MA and I advised him to bring his bike to take advantage of the abundance of bike lanes, not to mention a car culture that actually allows for safe and enjoyable biking everywhere. Personally, I loved it. He was psyched to say the least.

Meanwhile, I was poured a glass of the Broadbent Vino Verde as we slipped into talk of Yeasayer, Mrs. Robinson and Stevie Wonder. He'd been at the Broken Bells show at the 9:30 Club Monday night, so I got his take on that show, after having just read the Post's review of it.

A couple of barsitters came in and ordered and I couldn't resist commenting on their pork belly. It turned out to be yet another instance where I got incredibly lucky. We got to talking food and restaurants and it turned out that this charming couple eats out five nights a week. Soul mates! I never meet anyone who eats out as much as I do, so we talked for hours about just about every restaurant in the city (and even a few outside it).

For the most part, our opinions dovetailed and then one or the other of us would share a specific bit of information that the other didn't know. The male half of the couple identified himself as anal when he sheepishly told me that he keeps a list on his phone of every food culture represented in RVA.

Not surprisingly given that, he also keeps a spreadsheet of all their restaurant visits, which puts them in a whole different league than me. I just like to eat and spreadsheets make me nervous. But they were great fun to talk to and we exchanged information in hopes of meeting up again. They even shared their semolina-olive oil cake with lemon and ginger with me, so you know we'd become fast friends by then (my favorite part was the icing).

Shortly thereafter the bar was nearing empty and it was time to end my pub crawl. The evening ended with one of the kitchen guys coming out for a shot and to enthusiastically talk World Cup briefly with us before he was off to meet friends. "Come back on Tuesday," he said, pointing at me. "And wear that dress!"

Interesting the people you meet when you bypass culture for pub crawling. It's all so very interesting.