Once in a blue moon, you have to let someone take a picture of you who's never taken one before,
And I'm not talking about Olan Mills.
But also, you have to eat and hear music and if the two can be done concurrently, all the better.
So first up was C'est le Vin because they were offering both.
Arana y Compas, a male/female duo who played a pastiche of flamenco and middle eastern, was starting just as we walked in.
We took a table very near them in order to enjoy their music and avoid as much of the dinner crowd chatter as possible.
"We're Arana y Compas from Charlottesville and we're happy to be here in the air conditioning," the male singer said.
Weren't we all?
Since we seem to be back to the heat of summer, we drank accordingly, meaning white sangria with grapes and Palacio da Vivero Rueda Verdejo/Viula, a Spanish blend.
The duo of Miles and Megan was a talented one with him playing flamenco-style guitar and her alternating between various drums and an acoustic guitar.
The place was so busy it took a while for anyone to take our order, but fortunately we're the kind of people who have nothing but time.
Our parade of food began with baby spinach sauteed with roasted red pepper and garbanzo beans, a dish that somehow made us feel virtuous (spinach!) and indulgent at the same time.
The owner walked by and whispered that she wished she could sit down and enjoy the music being played along with us.
Clearly, she was as impressed as we were.
A Valencia salad came next and it boasted all kinds of good things: lettuces, chunk tuna, tomatoes, corn, asparagus and shaved carrots.
The corn's sweetness made the dish.
Although we'd ordered the small size, it was a generous portion and we were just finishing it as the duo finished their first set.
They came over to say hello and before long asked to join us for their break.
Turns out they've only been playing together for sic months, although it would have been impossible to know that from their sound.
Although he's been playing (and teaching) for years, music was a new past time to Megan, who turned out to have Mexican and Spanish blood in her.
They told us about some regular music worth checking out in C-ville - a larger flamenco group and a gypsy jazz ensemble - before returning to their "job."
During the second set, they played some Rodrigo y Gabriela, pleasing me no end since I'd seen that duo a few years ago and fallen in love with their acoustic metal sound.
Meanwhile, we scarfed up a plate of roasted tomatoes stuffed with crab and artichokes.
That was followed by cookies and cream, Chef Carly's take on the classic.
An array of her house-made cookies (chocolate with sesame seeds, butter cookie with jam center, vanilla/chocolate pinwheels) came with a dollop of real whipped cream.
It was satisfying that the crowd was eventually won over (or perhaps the talkers had gone) and it became clear that everyone left was paying attention to the band.
As well they should have.
We stayed until the said goodnight, especially happy to hear that the owner wants to bring them back on a monthly basis.
My companion headed off to work while I made my way to Balliceaux to meet a friend for more music.
On the way, I had to dodge the kids heading to the No BS back to school show at the Camel; most of them seemed new to crossing streets.
Playing tonight was Big East, a group made of musicians from several local groups.
My friend and I got drinks and took seats in the back, anticipating more of a crowd when the music kicked in.
He regaled me with tales of literature-spouting alcoholics and his own more colorful period until the music started and we mounted the back of the banquette for a better view.
Tonight's band is the baby of singer Eddie Prendergast of Amazing Ghost.
Brilliantly, he's assembled a top-notch crew to work with him: guitarist Scott Burton of Glows in the Dark, Bob Miller of Bio Ritmo was playing keyboards instead of his usual trumpet, Nate Griffin anchoring everything with his amazing bass playing and Stewart Holt on drums.
Not sure what to expect out of Big East's genre-bending sound, the two of us heard a little of everything: late sixties pop, '70s post-punk with a pop veneer, eighties synth-driven gems and even some hints of hip-hop.
Prendergast's vocals were not as high in the mix as I would have liked, causing my friend to observe, "You're going to have a tough time quoting any of these lyrics."
Amen, brother.
The best I could do: "That's why you're my lover."
Eventually the crowd gave in to the sound and dancing began in earnest.
Balloons scattered about were sent sailing over the audience and were batted around.
It was interesting hearing Scott Burton play something so different than his usual jazz and while my friend guessed that he was way too talented for this kind of music, his strong guitar leads were a highlight of the band's sound.
And, as a product of the '80s, I couldn't help but love Bob's over-the-top synth playing.
My friend is a bass player, and he raved about Nate's singing and effortless playing of intricate parts which kept everyone's booties in motion.
It's not every day you get to hear two new bands in one evening.
It's not every day you get to dunk cookies in cream while being serenaded by flamenco music.
My guess is stuff like that happens only once in a blue moon.
And there are pictures to prove it.
Showing posts with label c'est le vin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label c'est le vin. Show all posts
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Look What the Cat Dragged In
Some people are trouble.
Like the friend you haven't been out with at night for a couple of years.
You know the kind.
When her husband dropped her off at my house for an evening of debauchery, I asked when I should have her home.
Without missing a beat, he said, "Sun-up."
Well, that certainly gave us some wiggle room.
After much back and forth about where to spend our evening, we started fairly early at C'est le Vin since she'd never been there.
Given the choice of a table on the dining room side or on the bar side, we opted for the latter, taking a high wooden table near the bar.
Our affable server set the tone for the evening by telling us to take our time and order at our own pace.
We didn't need to be told twice.
It had been ages since we'd had a girls' night out and we only had about a hundred things to discuss.
Like who's opening new restaurants where. And why beagles are the best dogs ever. And how satisfying it is to make a mix CD and have people hear a song they love on it.
The Verdejo we ordered was out of stock until Friday, so we settled on a Spanish blend to whet our whistles and began ordering.
Since it was small plates, we justified ordering an endless stream of them.
Stuffed poquillo peppers with herbed goat cheese and toasted pine nuts, a dish I've had several times, were an immediate hit with my friend.
Peppered crab with asparagus and roasted corn delivered summer flavors.
Shrimp with roasted garlic aioli was as good as I remembered from my last visit.
Mid-meal, a train lumbered by on the track right behind Havana, making a picture-perfect view from where we sat.
The seared polenta with poblano peppers was crispy on the outside and creamy inside.
Sirloin and Chorizo meatballs with shaved Parmesan were so good we ended up ordering a second plate of them.
Broiled endive with Gorgonzola, orange candied walnuts and blueberry vinaigrette managed to be both light and rich at the same time.
As we sat there blathering away about men, day trips and exes, a gallery-owning friend came in with an antiques dealer.
Not long after, the tango crowd arrived and lessons were being given while other couples tangoed up and down the room.
Watching them tango almost made me want to try to learn but I'm not sure I could have talked my friend into dancing cheek to cheek with me.
I did mention to our server that I thought he looked like Luther Vandross in his young, skinny phase (coincidentally, not long before our server was born) and he was so intrigued that he immediately asked the owner to Google pictures of the singer so he could see.
As we walked out, he thanked us for coming in and gave me the thumbs up for the comparison.
Since we'd missed the Purple Martin Festival by four days, we decided to do a little bird watching on our own.
Heading down 17th Street toward the Bradford pear trees where the martins roost, we reluctantly admitted to ourselves that we should have come out at dusk to see their swooping sky maneuvers.
But although they were no longer airborne, they were still wide awake and the chattering of hundreds of birds in the trees above us made clear that no one had settled down for the night yet.
So we weren't the only ones.
Every branch was alive with purple martins nearly as numerous as leaves on the pear trees against the midnight-blue sky.
It was our own mini-martin festival.
Leaving the the birds in the Bottom, we headed back to Jackson Ward for a nightcap.
At the Belvidere at Broad, we found a full nearly full bar with two seats available.
Sliding into them, bartender Matt introduced a new bartender, saying, "This is Karen. She's been here longer than I have."
What do you expect for a place two blocks from my house?
While music from the '80s blared, we chatted with the owner about sailing (which I haven't done), painting (I can't imagine going home after a night out and getting out my brushes) and his new digs (not far from my own).
By the time we finished our drinks and conversation, we were the sole occupants of the restaurant.
Reluctantly, we ended our evening.
And it wasn't even sun-up.
But now that I look outside, I'm seeing a different story.
Debauching takes time. I'm thinking we shouldn't wait so long next time.
Like the friend you haven't been out with at night for a couple of years.
You know the kind.
When her husband dropped her off at my house for an evening of debauchery, I asked when I should have her home.
Without missing a beat, he said, "Sun-up."
Well, that certainly gave us some wiggle room.
After much back and forth about where to spend our evening, we started fairly early at C'est le Vin since she'd never been there.
Given the choice of a table on the dining room side or on the bar side, we opted for the latter, taking a high wooden table near the bar.
Our affable server set the tone for the evening by telling us to take our time and order at our own pace.
We didn't need to be told twice.
It had been ages since we'd had a girls' night out and we only had about a hundred things to discuss.
Like who's opening new restaurants where. And why beagles are the best dogs ever. And how satisfying it is to make a mix CD and have people hear a song they love on it.
The Verdejo we ordered was out of stock until Friday, so we settled on a Spanish blend to whet our whistles and began ordering.
Since it was small plates, we justified ordering an endless stream of them.
Stuffed poquillo peppers with herbed goat cheese and toasted pine nuts, a dish I've had several times, were an immediate hit with my friend.
Peppered crab with asparagus and roasted corn delivered summer flavors.
Shrimp with roasted garlic aioli was as good as I remembered from my last visit.
Mid-meal, a train lumbered by on the track right behind Havana, making a picture-perfect view from where we sat.
The seared polenta with poblano peppers was crispy on the outside and creamy inside.
Sirloin and Chorizo meatballs with shaved Parmesan were so good we ended up ordering a second plate of them.
Broiled endive with Gorgonzola, orange candied walnuts and blueberry vinaigrette managed to be both light and rich at the same time.
As we sat there blathering away about men, day trips and exes, a gallery-owning friend came in with an antiques dealer.
Not long after, the tango crowd arrived and lessons were being given while other couples tangoed up and down the room.
Watching them tango almost made me want to try to learn but I'm not sure I could have talked my friend into dancing cheek to cheek with me.
I did mention to our server that I thought he looked like Luther Vandross in his young, skinny phase (coincidentally, not long before our server was born) and he was so intrigued that he immediately asked the owner to Google pictures of the singer so he could see.
As we walked out, he thanked us for coming in and gave me the thumbs up for the comparison.
Since we'd missed the Purple Martin Festival by four days, we decided to do a little bird watching on our own.
Heading down 17th Street toward the Bradford pear trees where the martins roost, we reluctantly admitted to ourselves that we should have come out at dusk to see their swooping sky maneuvers.
But although they were no longer airborne, they were still wide awake and the chattering of hundreds of birds in the trees above us made clear that no one had settled down for the night yet.
So we weren't the only ones.
Every branch was alive with purple martins nearly as numerous as leaves on the pear trees against the midnight-blue sky.
It was our own mini-martin festival.
Leaving the the birds in the Bottom, we headed back to Jackson Ward for a nightcap.
At the Belvidere at Broad, we found a full nearly full bar with two seats available.
Sliding into them, bartender Matt introduced a new bartender, saying, "This is Karen. She's been here longer than I have."
What do you expect for a place two blocks from my house?
While music from the '80s blared, we chatted with the owner about sailing (which I haven't done), painting (I can't imagine going home after a night out and getting out my brushes) and his new digs (not far from my own).
By the time we finished our drinks and conversation, we were the sole occupants of the restaurant.
Reluctantly, we ended our evening.
And it wasn't even sun-up.
But now that I look outside, I'm seeing a different story.
Debauching takes time. I'm thinking we shouldn't wait so long next time.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Keeping Up is the Easy Part
The Friday evening exploration began on 17th Street and moved eastward with only one quick detour to the other side of the street.
New, old, old, new, old, new.
At C'est le Vin, there were a bevy of wines to be sampled and a familiar yet new consulting chef, Jannequin Bennett, debuting their new menu.
Chilled beet gazpacho with goat cheese mousse and celery made a non-beet eater swoon.Catalan chicken bruschetta, salt cod salad and pork belly over white beans hinted at what new taste delights await the wine drinker.
A third generation chocolatier, Kelly (as in Chocolates By) taught by her grandmother, a former chocolatier for Wanamaker's in Philly, seduced us with exquisite pieces of Petit Syrah in dark chocolate.
There were sixteen wines to be savored and after working our way through, we chose the Spanish bubbles of Eudaid Massana Noya "Familia" Brut Cava and the 2009 Pied de Perdrix (named for the 1,000-year old Partridge Foot vine, a distant cousin of Malbec) to leave with us.
Yum, yum.
A detour across the street took us to Main Street Station so the transplant could see its renovated magnificence.
The large-format photographs of the building flooded by Hurricane Camille or with the tables set in the dining cars couldn't compare to one of WWII soldiers kissing their girls goodbye, they inside the train and the girls outside.
Kisses were exchanged through the train windows and, for many girls, their feet left the ground, dangling above the edge of the track.
It was kissing as levitation method.
Leaving the train station, we set out up the hill to Globehopper for gypsy music by the Richmanian Ramblers, music both profound and hilarious.
The lovely Antonia Vassar and Nate Matthews on upright bass had an assemblage of talented musicians (including Clifton of Ilad and Moonbees and Jessica of the Jungle Beat) and a clarinetist who wrapped his woodwind around all those strings and hauntingly brought forth the gypsy spirit to the Bottom.
"Great is wine and tasteful as well
When you drink it with handsome people
But if you drink it with ugly people
The wine gets stuck in your throat."
Conversations with the accordion player on the topics of beauty, kindness and curating finished out the evening there
Continuing our eastward assault, we joined the throngs at Eric Schindler Gallery for "A Land of Strangers," Mary Chiaramonte's new show of acrylic works on birch panels,
The artist, herself a twin, used her paint to convey a sense of mystery, of other worldliness. It is a show of the surreal and the very real
"High Tide" showed a dark-haired girl floating in the water her hair fanning out around her, clutching a fish.
My favorite, "The Nameless" was entirely surreal: a woman in a dress stands in a field of blues and greens, her blond hair and the house on fire she holds providing a vibrant yellow cast against the cooler colors.
Discussing "The Sleepwalking," an image of a muscular-armed girl with a long torso and short, stocky legs in a bathroom, a French friend observed, "We call that a low rider."
Do we? Because I don't.
Schindler Gallery is busy. I run into the orchid guy, the cheese whiz, the woman who has poured me absinthe, the collector of old telephones.
Keeping with the neighborhood theme, and because we have been non-stop busy since the tapas at C'est le Vin, we end up at Aziza's on Main.
The bar is empty, waiting for our arrival, and glasses of Paololeo Promitivo di Manduria deliver a peppery nose and flavors of dark plum.
A favorite waitress shows off her "predator" look, sporting a leopard print top, a crouching tiger brooch on her shoulder and necklaces of various snarling beasts.
It's Friday night, so things should be a bit wild.
My time is spent sucking the marrow out of brick oven roasted bones (as I tend to do with my evenings, I am told) with grilled bread and pickled turnips.
My dining partner goes with seared fluke with wild mushrooms, gnocchi and basil lemon butter. The bites he shares with me are moist and buttery with an irresistibly crispy edge.
Because it is his first time at Aziza's, I stealthily order the cream puff so that he can experience it
He is properly bowled over, first by its size and then by its classic dark chocolate, cream and pastry one-two-three punch.
Sometimes you have let the pro do the ordering for you.
At our final stop, the wine was a 2002 Ravenswood Vintner's Blend Merlot, everything an insipid Merlot is not: full, soft and delectable.
Music comes in the form of "September" with a bossa nova beat. It's Ultra Funk time.
And the conversation? I say it's not a real question if you're just giving someone a hard time.
"World, world, sister world
World, world, sister world
When will I have enough of you?
When I give up bread for Lent
And the glass will give up on me
Maybe then I'll have enough of you."
Romanian gypsy music, truly profound and hilarious.
Just the way I want to live my life.
New, old, old, new, old, new.
At C'est le Vin, there were a bevy of wines to be sampled and a familiar yet new consulting chef, Jannequin Bennett, debuting their new menu.
Chilled beet gazpacho with goat cheese mousse and celery made a non-beet eater swoon.Catalan chicken bruschetta, salt cod salad and pork belly over white beans hinted at what new taste delights await the wine drinker.
A third generation chocolatier, Kelly (as in Chocolates By) taught by her grandmother, a former chocolatier for Wanamaker's in Philly, seduced us with exquisite pieces of Petit Syrah in dark chocolate.
There were sixteen wines to be savored and after working our way through, we chose the Spanish bubbles of Eudaid Massana Noya "Familia" Brut Cava and the 2009 Pied de Perdrix (named for the 1,000-year old Partridge Foot vine, a distant cousin of Malbec) to leave with us.
Yum, yum.
A detour across the street took us to Main Street Station so the transplant could see its renovated magnificence.
The large-format photographs of the building flooded by Hurricane Camille or with the tables set in the dining cars couldn't compare to one of WWII soldiers kissing their girls goodbye, they inside the train and the girls outside.
Kisses were exchanged through the train windows and, for many girls, their feet left the ground, dangling above the edge of the track.
It was kissing as levitation method.
Leaving the train station, we set out up the hill to Globehopper for gypsy music by the Richmanian Ramblers, music both profound and hilarious.
The lovely Antonia Vassar and Nate Matthews on upright bass had an assemblage of talented musicians (including Clifton of Ilad and Moonbees and Jessica of the Jungle Beat) and a clarinetist who wrapped his woodwind around all those strings and hauntingly brought forth the gypsy spirit to the Bottom.
"Great is wine and tasteful as well
When you drink it with handsome people
But if you drink it with ugly people
The wine gets stuck in your throat."
Conversations with the accordion player on the topics of beauty, kindness and curating finished out the evening there
Continuing our eastward assault, we joined the throngs at Eric Schindler Gallery for "A Land of Strangers," Mary Chiaramonte's new show of acrylic works on birch panels,
The artist, herself a twin, used her paint to convey a sense of mystery, of other worldliness. It is a show of the surreal and the very real
"High Tide" showed a dark-haired girl floating in the water her hair fanning out around her, clutching a fish.
My favorite, "The Nameless" was entirely surreal: a woman in a dress stands in a field of blues and greens, her blond hair and the house on fire she holds providing a vibrant yellow cast against the cooler colors.
Discussing "The Sleepwalking," an image of a muscular-armed girl with a long torso and short, stocky legs in a bathroom, a French friend observed, "We call that a low rider."
Do we? Because I don't.
Schindler Gallery is busy. I run into the orchid guy, the cheese whiz, the woman who has poured me absinthe, the collector of old telephones.
Keeping with the neighborhood theme, and because we have been non-stop busy since the tapas at C'est le Vin, we end up at Aziza's on Main.
The bar is empty, waiting for our arrival, and glasses of Paololeo Promitivo di Manduria deliver a peppery nose and flavors of dark plum.
A favorite waitress shows off her "predator" look, sporting a leopard print top, a crouching tiger brooch on her shoulder and necklaces of various snarling beasts.
It's Friday night, so things should be a bit wild.
My time is spent sucking the marrow out of brick oven roasted bones (as I tend to do with my evenings, I am told) with grilled bread and pickled turnips.
My dining partner goes with seared fluke with wild mushrooms, gnocchi and basil lemon butter. The bites he shares with me are moist and buttery with an irresistibly crispy edge.
Because it is his first time at Aziza's, I stealthily order the cream puff so that he can experience it
He is properly bowled over, first by its size and then by its classic dark chocolate, cream and pastry one-two-three punch.
Sometimes you have let the pro do the ordering for you.
At our final stop, the wine was a 2002 Ravenswood Vintner's Blend Merlot, everything an insipid Merlot is not: full, soft and delectable.
Music comes in the form of "September" with a bossa nova beat. It's Ultra Funk time.
And the conversation? I say it's not a real question if you're just giving someone a hard time.
"World, world, sister world
World, world, sister world
When will I have enough of you?
When I give up bread for Lent
And the glass will give up on me
Maybe then I'll have enough of you."
Romanian gypsy music, truly profound and hilarious.
Just the way I want to live my life.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Being Afternoon- Wined in the Bottom
When I got the invitation to attend the opening of the new wine shop/art gallery C'est Le Vin in the Bottom, I had every reason to RSVP yes.
After all, my first foray into the place, here, had been magical.
Why would I not want to go back once they were serving wine and food and had art on the walls?
With no clear expectations, I headed down there this afternoon.
The place was fuller than I expected with wine tastings, tons of food and art hanging everywhere.
The wine shelves were not completely stocked, but they at least had a South African section, so I felt that there was some promise there.
The first wine rep that grabbed me was Dave Camden of Quattro Goomba's Winery in Aldie, south of Leesburg.
They were especially high on their Frascati, sourced from Italian grapes because their vineyard plantings are only a couple of years old.
Probably the most popular among my fellow wine tasters was the Chilean-sourced Vino di Nonni, an easy-drinking red best chilled and served outside.
They even had a packet of secret ingredients with which you could blend a bottle of the wine, a bottle of water and the result would be a wine slushy that was dangerously drinkable, according to the couple tasting alongside me.
It wasn't my style, but I could see it appealing to a lot of people.
I preferred the Jefferson Winery tasting mainly because when I'd worked the Wine Expo back in February, a friend has insisted it was the one winery I needed to make time for.
After a full day of wine snobs and wine idiots, though, I'd gone straight home.
Now was my chance to see what he was talking about.
The Meritage, a blend of Cab Franc, Merlot, Cab Sauvignon and Petit Verdot was everything I'd heard it would be.
Even more siren-like was the Petit Verdot, full of flavor but with a bone-dry finish.
As the wine rep and I discussed, this is a bottle I could take home every day of my life and enjoy.
And with a lamb dish, well, my, my.
It was great fun to have someone with whom I could discuss the adventure that working the Wine Expo is.
We talked about the crowd that attends, the sweet wine fanatics and the drunken masses; it was satisfying to hear that it wasn't just me judging the crowd or eager to be done with it all.
The art was interesting; often African-influenced (as was the food available today) and a DJ provided the music.
The store is officially open for business and they're hoping to satisfy a niche in that neighborhood, which I can see easily happening. Given the reasonable prices, they'll no doubt succeed.
As for me, I have some new wine and had a great time talking to strangers.
And it's only 3:30. As the Jefferson wine rep, said when I begged off more tasting because I had so much more planned for today, "It's Saturday, after all."
True that. Mom will never notice if I'm a bit worse for the wear tomorrow.
After all, my first foray into the place, here, had been magical.
Why would I not want to go back once they were serving wine and food and had art on the walls?
With no clear expectations, I headed down there this afternoon.
The place was fuller than I expected with wine tastings, tons of food and art hanging everywhere.
The wine shelves were not completely stocked, but they at least had a South African section, so I felt that there was some promise there.
The first wine rep that grabbed me was Dave Camden of Quattro Goomba's Winery in Aldie, south of Leesburg.
They were especially high on their Frascati, sourced from Italian grapes because their vineyard plantings are only a couple of years old.
Probably the most popular among my fellow wine tasters was the Chilean-sourced Vino di Nonni, an easy-drinking red best chilled and served outside.
They even had a packet of secret ingredients with which you could blend a bottle of the wine, a bottle of water and the result would be a wine slushy that was dangerously drinkable, according to the couple tasting alongside me.
It wasn't my style, but I could see it appealing to a lot of people.
I preferred the Jefferson Winery tasting mainly because when I'd worked the Wine Expo back in February, a friend has insisted it was the one winery I needed to make time for.
After a full day of wine snobs and wine idiots, though, I'd gone straight home.
Now was my chance to see what he was talking about.
The Meritage, a blend of Cab Franc, Merlot, Cab Sauvignon and Petit Verdot was everything I'd heard it would be.
Even more siren-like was the Petit Verdot, full of flavor but with a bone-dry finish.
As the wine rep and I discussed, this is a bottle I could take home every day of my life and enjoy.
And with a lamb dish, well, my, my.
It was great fun to have someone with whom I could discuss the adventure that working the Wine Expo is.
We talked about the crowd that attends, the sweet wine fanatics and the drunken masses; it was satisfying to hear that it wasn't just me judging the crowd or eager to be done with it all.
The art was interesting; often African-influenced (as was the food available today) and a DJ provided the music.
The store is officially open for business and they're hoping to satisfy a niche in that neighborhood, which I can see easily happening. Given the reasonable prices, they'll no doubt succeed.
As for me, I have some new wine and had a great time talking to strangers.
And it's only 3:30. As the Jefferson wine rep, said when I begged off more tasting because I had so much more planned for today, "It's Saturday, after all."
True that. Mom will never notice if I'm a bit worse for the wear tomorrow.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Why Do These Things Happen to Me?
Sometimes the cosmos rewards a music lover like me with a perfect moment so random and cool that I just have to think, how lucky am I?
Walking down Walnut Alley to 17th Street, I see through the window that the retail space at the corner is being renovated. Rounding the corner, one of the workers standing at the door smiles at me, so I ask him what's up with the space. He tells me it's going to be a wine shop/art gallery and invites us to come in and meet the owner. She's perched atop a ladder, one guy is sprawled on the floor paining a sign that says "C'est le vin" and a couple others are moving things around.
I ask her about the bustle and she says that the neighborhood needed a wine shop for the locals; she invites us to look around just as my friend Nicholas appears on the sidewalk and comes in to say hello. As I walk around admiring the wine racks, ogling the tin ceiling and talking to the sign painter, the space is suddenly filled with the sound of a bass clarinet.
Nicholas, who plays bass clarinet for the Richmond Symphony, has spontaneously decided to test the acoustics of the room by playing. It is so amazing-sounding that everything else becomes secondary. One second it's an interesting new space and the next it's musical paradise; everyone is paused in their work by the moment.
When he finishes, he walks over to the owner and says, "Don't ever let anyone amplify their sound in here. It's perfect just as it is."
Actually, what was perfect was that a good friend randomly walked into the place where I just happened to be and began playing his instrument so beautifully that time may as well have stopped. And I told him just that when I saw him later at Alley Katz.
How in the hell am I so fortunate?
Walking down Walnut Alley to 17th Street, I see through the window that the retail space at the corner is being renovated. Rounding the corner, one of the workers standing at the door smiles at me, so I ask him what's up with the space. He tells me it's going to be a wine shop/art gallery and invites us to come in and meet the owner. She's perched atop a ladder, one guy is sprawled on the floor paining a sign that says "C'est le vin" and a couple others are moving things around.
I ask her about the bustle and she says that the neighborhood needed a wine shop for the locals; she invites us to look around just as my friend Nicholas appears on the sidewalk and comes in to say hello. As I walk around admiring the wine racks, ogling the tin ceiling and talking to the sign painter, the space is suddenly filled with the sound of a bass clarinet.
Nicholas, who plays bass clarinet for the Richmond Symphony, has spontaneously decided to test the acoustics of the room by playing. It is so amazing-sounding that everything else becomes secondary. One second it's an interesting new space and the next it's musical paradise; everyone is paused in their work by the moment.
When he finishes, he walks over to the owner and says, "Don't ever let anyone amplify their sound in here. It's perfect just as it is."
Actually, what was perfect was that a good friend randomly walked into the place where I just happened to be and began playing his instrument so beautifully that time may as well have stopped. And I told him just that when I saw him later at Alley Katz.
How in the hell am I so fortunate?
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