Pink Amidst Dashing Deliveries

The good news is...I can still drink rose and be a bad ass.

I may not have the bumper sticker, but I'd like to think I can embody the sentiment.

Tonight was the third annual Rose crawl and since I've yet to miss one, I wasn't starting this year.

Instead, I collected Prudence and, like me, she was dressed in the de rigueur pink of rose crawls.

We made our way to C street where we were the first and caught the staff unaware.

They immediately began pouring, a gracious gesture, but an inappropriate one since they'd neither asked what I wanted to drink, nor how much.

I love a staff who's quick to pour, but I also have a budget and a liver to keep in mind.

Once chastised, they gave me the requested half pour of The Seeker Rose, a delicately fruity rose with a label clearly written by a frustrated English major.

This sophisticated wine is ideal with shellfish, salads, and berry-based dishes or enjoyed all on its own amidst dashing deliveries.

I only hope for a day with dashing deliveries, not to mention delightful alliteration.

As the room began to fill with pink-clad strangers and a few familiar faces ("We were just talking about you and saying good things"), we moved on to J Brut Rose (Russian River Valley), a wonderfully smooth and complex glass of bubbles despite its U.S. pedigree.

A tomboy friend came in and we compared pinks; she beat me with glittery pink nails but we tied on the pink underwear.

Pru and I enjoyed discussion with a friend and a newcomer about Glaswegians, weather in Scotland and disdain for the English before packing it in for pinker pastures.

We chose to be part of the first wave leaving for Amour, hoping to establish a beachhead before the masses arrived.

Of course Amour was more than ready for us with pink flowers in vases and a lovely pink menu of wine choices and nibbles.

Tres jolie!

That we did at the end of the bar and promptly ordered two glasses: Costieres de Nimes Chateau Valcombe and Cotes de Provence Chateau Montaud, the better to go with our smoked trout mousse on cucumber wedges.

The Valcombe paired beautifully with the smoked trout and we settled in for in-depth chats with several in-the-know friends.

If we looked like we were having too much fun, we probably were.

The gossip was flying fast and furiously, so much so that we couldn't resist trying another stellar rose, this time the floral Cotes de Provence L'opale de la Presqu'ile de St. Tropez.

When you're a pink lover, it's hard to know where to stop when the choices are this good.

Just for good measure, we ordered a half glass of the delicately peachy Bandol Domaines Bunan Mas de la Rouviere, just because we could.

I mean, why be on a rose crawl and not take advantage of all the beautiful pink wines you can?

Soon the clarion call came for us to gather our forces and make our way to our final stop, Secco.

The place was mobbed when we arrived, but then, as the organizer of the crawl, no doubt some people had cut right to the chase.

We hovered in the back near a small table and I ordered a glass of Brazilier Pineau d'Aunis Rose and Prudence ordered the Grange Tiphaine, so we could experience the Loire Valley after an evening tasting Provence and the Russian River Valley.

To keep our strength up, we asked for protein, namely Asher, a spicy cow cheese labeled as "cream-kissed southern blue," robiola due latte, an Italian cow and sheep cheese that promised to be silky and bloomy and Olli Bresaola, an intensely flavorful dried beef sausage.

Before it arrived, we spotted a free table and quickly took it over, much to the surprise of the occupants at the adjacent table.

We used our proximity to find out about them, assuming they were on a date but finding out instead that they were five years married.

That led to a philosophical discussion of the importance of dating during marriage and how long to wait for child-rearing (they'd stuck their toe in the water with a dog).

By the time they left, she was thanking us for our input.

Always glad to help, especially after a few glasses of rose.

And speaking of the magical pink elixir, The New York Times did a piece on roses last week.

They'd rated the Bandol we'd had at Amour #2 for its density and complexity and the #1 spot had gone to the Commanderie de Peyrassol, a wine with a history for me.

I'd discovered it a couple of years ago and enthusiastically blogged about it, causing one reader to comment.

Hmmm..Peyrassol..summer is here and I just bought a case. Love your blog, Karen.

It was my first wine blog fan, at least as far as I knew.

Sometimes I wonder if that Peyrassol lover still reads me.

And if he knows I'm still a bad ass despite a love of pink. Hope so.

Nerds R Us

You think you know someone and then they show up in a bright yellow Scout to fetch you.

On the other hand, the literary reference on his license plate was so incredibly well-conceived that I felt reassured that he hadn't changed all that much.

It had been ages since we'd seen each other and he had all kinds of new milestones (another degree, turning 40) behind him since we'd last lunched.

I suggested C Street in Carytown since I'd only been in for drinks and he agreed, saying that he knew one of the sous chefs.

Walking by Guitar Works, we saw musicians of various ages playing loudly on the porch while passersby lingered to listen.

Band camp, perhaps?

At C Street, an enormous bridal luncheon of women in flowered dresses was in progress, making us happy for a table down the hall.

"Will you think me a Troglodyte if I order a burger?" he asked.

In fact, I'd expected it. Even at 40, his favorite foods are still burgers and pizza.

And while I love both, he's got six feet and three inches to spread out that kind of eating and I've got less than five and a half feet.

So I chose the shrimp salad spinach wrap which, will not exactly overflowing with shrimp salad, benefited from the marinated cherry tomatoes and dill in it.

He'd recently been going through the hoop jumping of the job interview process, including one with several local steps followed by the company flying him to NYC.

There they said that he didn't have enough experience, a conclusion he said could have been easily reached during any number of conversations here.

Ah, the challenges of seeking work. I remember its frustrations well, here.

In fact, it was part of the reason I finally gave up and opted to work for myself despite the poverty level wages of it.

So I'll never drive anything as cool as a bright yellow '75 Scout with a ragtop, metal framed windows and a shiny silver glovebox.

But even the economically-challenged can appreciate a good literary reference when they see one, albeit on a license plate.

J.L. Finch? On a Scout? Frickin' brilliant.

It takes a certain kind of nerdy mind to think up stuff like that.

Even better, he ordered the sesame soy slaw for its alliteration.

Truly my kind of friend.

Plein Air Richmond

My pink tank top gave me away.

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

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

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

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

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

That would be business as usual at Amour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slow and steady wins the race, my friends.

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

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

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

An hour ago.

Good thing Richmond's a small town.

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

Cupid, don't lay down your weary bones.

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

We'll stick around and see it through.

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

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

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

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

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

I need a sign.

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

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

Hands were raised. Lots of hands.

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

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

Ohhh, that Jesus.

We got love, but you got logic.

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

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

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

I just want to dance.

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

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

Drat! How had she known?

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

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

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

So that about summed it up.

I sold out yodeling for rose.

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

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

It's just my (old) way.