As Long As I Don't Have to Actually Knit

If I want to be surrounded by men, all I have to do is go to a lecture at the Virginia Center for Architecture. Not that that's why I went tonight. Or not entirely anyway.

Actually the topic was what drew me to the Branch House tonight. "A Ruin Revealed: Rosewell" was about the 18th century Gloucester County mansion that I had never even heard of before the opening of the "American Ruins" photography exhibition currently at the VCA.

Oh, sure, I knew about the Barboursville ruins (always a pleasant side trip after some wine tasting), but Rosewell not so much. Clearly a lesson was in order.

Architectural historian Mark Wenger provided the history as well as future plans for this three-story brick mansion with the three and a half foot thick brick walls. This house that Thomas Jefferson frequently visited (even writing a rough draft of the Declaration of Independence there).

A house with 450,000 bricks in it. One that took three miles of forest to procure the lumber for the floorboards alone. Because it took a decade to be built, owner Mann Page was dead five years before its completion, drat the luck.

It was a fire in 1916 that destroyed all but the east wall, parts of the other walls, the four chimneys and the wine cellar. Wenger said efforts are underway to stabilize what's left for the sake of further research and for future generations.

As far as I'm concerned, I now have to see Rosewell. I want to stand on the banks of the York River and admire the surviving wine cellar and imagine the grand parties the house once hosted. Fortunately, the ruins are still open to the public...for now. Road trip?

At the reception afterwards (after being warned to keep the red wine in the social room for fear of spillage), I had the pleasure of being approached by several attendees, all of whom asked what my interest in the lecture was (was this a quiz?). Sheer nerdiness? Curiosity about history? I didn't have any easy answers, but I got lots of great conversation from strangers.

A stop at Black Sheep on the way home for dessert and wine, and to chat up a friend I hadn't seen in a while was in order. I timed it right so things were winding down.

I took a seat next to two girls trying to finish their battleships and somehow we ended up in conversation when they asked for a dessert menu and I shared mine before their server could return with one.

Not wanting to influence their dessert choice, I waited till they'd ordered and my LaBrea tarpit (chocolate creme brulee) arrived before offering them bites of mine, insisting they take an animal cracker and scoop out some chocolate for each of them to taste.

They loved it, just like I knew they would and from then on we were fast friends. They said my dessert acumen meant they should ask about my favorite restaurants.

That led to a discussion of all kinds of eating out, covering even Fredericksbug since they'd gone to school at Mary Washington (which also led to a wonderful discussion of the satisfaction of driving Route 301; they were kindred souls on that subject).

By the time they got up to leave, my friend had finished her shift so she sat down to eat and catch up. The radio was set to slacker.com, so the music was terrific (The XX, Smashing Pumpkins, Andrew Bird) and just the right volume now that all the customers were gone. We talked about customers with unrealistic expectations of small restaurants and how to address that.

She brought up RVA's love affair with brunch ("People will wait an hour and half and then order scrambled eggs and a biscuit. I don't get it."). We tried to understand why Richmonders are averse to community eating and California and Europe are not. And who decides to proclaim that a restaurant kid-friendly?

By the time my Guintrady Cote du Rhone Grenache blend was gone, we had talked and talked but hadn't solved all the issues on the table.

"We need to have a knitting circle with restaurant people and just talk about this stuff," she said. "You have to be there."

But I'm not a restaurant person, I told her. "Oh yes you are," she objected.

Will there be chocolate and wine?

Black Sheep Did Me In

Some dishes are just not worth cooking for one person, not because they're necessarily difficult to make, but because the leftovers don't keep well.

So it was that I took my craving for chicken and dumplings along with my book to the Black Sheep tonight for a big plate of creamy goodness.

I'd heard raves about this dish from people who can't resist ordering it every time they go in and I had yet to try it.

But before I even got to that, I was seduced by the Soup D.J.

When I asked my server (the lovely Melissa, always a great conversational partner) what tonight's was she said, "Jalapeno Corn Chowder...but it's got bacon in it."

Sold! I might not have been as tempted without the pig part, but I was a goner when I heard that.

Good call on my part because it was divine, thick and chunky with corn and bacon and a nice heat on the back end.

Later I heard a nearby diner ask her if the chowder was good.

That was my cue to jump right in and tell him how much I liked it and why, resulting in him ordering it.

He thanked me for the heads up afterwards.

Like most orders at the Black Sheep, the portion was huge with six dumplings and an overly generous amount of white and dark chicken swimming in a deep pool of gravy.

The only thing I would have changed about it was more and larger chunks of carrot, but perhaps not everyone likes carrots as much as I do.

After finishing all but two of my dumplings, I took a break to read my book, hoping to allow time enough to have room for one of my favorite Richmond restaurant desserts, the La Brea Tarpit (a chocolate creme brulee).

Alas, forty minutes later, I was still stuffed beyond belief and had to tell an incredulous Melissa that I wasn't going to be able to manage dessert.

Even she looked sad about it.

When she brought my check though, she also brought a small brown bag to me and said, "It's not a tarpit, it's one of those brownies my Mom makes. I know how you love your chocolate, so you can eat it later."

And, just to be clear, this is no ordinary brownie; this is what we used to call a meltaway.

It's a large cake brownie, topped with a mint butter cream frosting and holding that in place is a layer of hardened dark chocolate.

I wasn't the only one eating the chicken and dumplings tonight, but the star of the evening and the item the kitchen sold out of was the Pork and Beans.

Before you question that, let me explain that it's a grilled maple-brined pork chop with house-made baked beans and roasted apples with figs.

As sorely tempted as I am to go back for for p & b real soon, I already promised Melissa that on my next visit, I would not disappoint again.

I'll be there for red wine and chocolate only.