The funny part is, I originally planned to have a two-hour evening. No, seriously, I was shooting for a simple little Saturday night listening to friends play folk music and then home to bed. 10:30 to 12:30 and then out. Really.
And then a friend called out of the blue and suggested meeting for a drink at Julep and although I'd just been there Thursday night, I had been eating, not drinking, despite Bobby's attentive offers to pour me a variety of tequilas, so I said yes.
Tonight I gave him the opportunity to pour me Corazon and he graciously made me the first customer to use the new metal spoon-straws he'd brought back from his NYC trip last week. "You don't really need it with tequila on ice," he said, smiling, but it was still a nice gesture to make me the inaugural user.
The bar was packed, so we were standing near the end behind the hostess stand. At one point, one of my favorite servers, the handsome Kent, came over with a startled look on his face.
"You're like a Ninja," he said. "You come in here so stealthily I never even realize you're here and then, surprise, there you are." Yea, that's me, the stealthy type. I think more likely my lack of height hides me among the tall masses.
After a couple of hours (the original targeted length of my entire evening) about pasties, bar ambiance and pot-stirrers, I left for Balliceaux. A new friend had suggested meeting for music tonight, but didn't know of anything happening. Since I already had plans to go to a show, we decided to make it a twosome.
Austin greeted me at the front bar, so I decided to linger there a while there sipping Herradura Anejo and waiting for my evening's company, whom I wasn't even sure would recognize me since we hadn't seen each other since our original meeting nearly two months ago.
I told Austin about the dueling soloists show I'd seen last night because two of the guys at the show were mutual friends, including the drummer who'd lost me with his reference to pocket rhythm drumming.
Reassuringly, Austin gave me the same "huh?" look I'd given the drummer when he mentioned it. I felt better knowing I wasn't the only one confused by obscure drumming terminology.
As the dining crowd began to leave, the pretty people started arriving, so I knew I had to make my way to the back bar and establish territory.
My friend was due to arrive shortly and I wanted to have a place where we could actually see the show. I found that spot at the stool-less bar, where the most popular request from the youngest of the females was for Stella, a beer Balliceaux doesn't even carry (I like to think just to challenge them).
I'd come for the show with Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird and the Go Rounds, a Brooklyn band.
Unfortunately for the bands (and me) 90% of the crowd had come to get drunk and shout. It was a shame for my companion, who had never heard JV & TSB before because the crowd roar drowned out the accordion almost completely
On the other hand, he got to hear Antonia's vox saw (turning to me, he said, "For a minute, I thought someone was playing saw!"), a real treat for anyone who's never heard it. I couldn't resist mentioning that I'd seen a band earlier this week that had two saw players. Two!
The Go Rounds were a duo playing earnest folk music and they had just as difficult a time making themselves heard over the inane conversations going on in the crowd. I can say that because I eavesdropped on enough to know that nothing was really being said.
During the break, we got to talking about classic country music after I told him my only real musical prejudice is contemporary country. A friend had recently played several vintage country records for me and I loved both the heartfelt sincerity of the lyrics and unique delivery.
While waiting in the loo line, I chatted up the guy in line behind me after he asked if I had waited as long as he had to finally get in line (I had). Funny the things people use to strike up conversations.
A few well-placed questions and I discovered that his current music passion is 80s Italian disco and that we both shared an affinity for Joy Division. Now I feel the need to explore 80s Italian disco just to know.
After the show, it was only 12:30, so my companion asked if I wanted to do some more talking (clearly we're new to each other if he has to ask me if I want more conversation) and get a bite to eat.
Given the time, our choices were limited, but Joe's Inn wasn't far and I hadn't been in since the "cool side" had been made into the smoking side (as I'd been told by more than one friend lately), so I was game.
The non-smoking side was empty and closed for the evening, so we took a booth amongst the cool kids, the only seats available actually, on the other side.
Standing next to our booth were a guy in bright red plaid pants and another guy in a shocking blue flower-print shirt. Despite my electric-blue tank top peeking out from under my dress, clearly we weren't nearly colorful enough for this crowd.
Deciding on what to eat was easily accomplished by him picking two things and me picking from his choices. That resulted in a Greek salad followed by spaghetti a la Greek with marinara, something I would have never ordered on my own, which made it a good choice for me.
As we worked our way through the mound of pasta the size of my head, we played the question and answer game, meaning we barely finished before they closed at 2:00.
As our ancient waitress informed us, "We've turned the coffee pots off." We assumed that meant that they were ready to lock the doors next.
End result: my planned simple little two-hour evening morphed into something like a simple seven instead. No complaints here.
Simple is in the eye of the beholder.
Showing posts with label corazon tequila. Show all posts
Showing posts with label corazon tequila. Show all posts
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Saturday, October 23, 2010
From the Fan to the Bottom to the Slip Version 2.0
What if there was a party and nobody but women came? What if nobody but women were invited? That would be a friend's annual Thesmophoria extravaganza, celebrating the ancient Greek festival for women only (men were supposed to be working, although frequently they came to ogle).
I'm always flattered to be asked since she gathers such an interesting group together for the evening. Julia from River City Cellars brings three great wines (I was unashamedly back to her favorite breakfast bubbles, the Tete a Claques I'd been drinking just two nights before) and all the best cheeses and the women bring the rest of the food (which always means an obscene amount of desserts).
The first thing I overheard when I walked in late to the already in-progress party was, " So do you take Nyquil?" It doesn't have the same ring as other self-medicating questions I have heard at parties.
But that was just one of many conversations I joined and then exited as I made my way through the house to meet and greet all these women.
I finally had to say my goodbyes since I'd promised to pick up a friend for an evening of light. We parked in the Bottom and began at Julep, which is always fun when Bobby's mixing.
I knew he'd been busy lately making new concoctions and listening to David Bowie, and was curious about the results. If Bowie's not old-school inspirational, I don't know who is (actually I do: Bryan Ferry).
It wasn't long before he got out his torch and presented each of us with a big roasted coconut marshmallow he'd made. I'm a coconut fan anyway, but Bobby had used coconut water instead of plain water in his recipe.
The result was scrumptious, the most sublime over-sized marshmallow I've ever put into my mouth. He created it to sit atop the Jack Skellington, but I had it as a side for my (surprise!) Corozon tequila.
Friend enjoyed a couple of cocktails (including two off Bobby's list) before we decided that it was time to join the throngs and start exploring InLight. The first piece that really grabbed me was the covered wagon with its projections of new frontier travel. Sitting in the middle of Cary Street, it was like a ghost from another era.
Sacer-totem, made of plasric nativity scene figures stacked up totem pole-like brought a smile to many viewers' faces. The Virgin Mary perched on top of assorted Wise Men made for a particularly arresting lighted visual.
All of Cary Street was transformed simply by having the street lights off. It gave the area a much different vibe (which I liked) and allowed people to drop into the shadows when they wanted to. Kind of cool.
At Bouchon, we were greeted by a madhouse. The last time I saw the place that crazy was the Bastille Day party. But the kissing bartender and chef promised us a table or bar stools and we only had to stand to sip our drinks for a bit.
The bar menu of which I'm so fond had some new listings for the evening, so we tried the onion tart, the pork and beans (so popular it had been changed from a full serving to a half) and the mushroom soup.
Friend had been unsure what to expect out of the standard-sounding pork and beans, so the sausage and white bean combo was a pleasant surprise to him. I knew Francis would do it up right, so I wasn't the least bit surprised.
The guy on the other side of me joined in our conversation about Caddyshack and music after a while and I didn't hold it against him that he liked Vampire Weekend, although I did share my opinion of the copycat little prepsters (even so, it couldn't have been too off-putting because when he got up to leave later, apropos of nothing, he said, "Come on, leave with me").
It was while he was sampling around the bar offerings (Port, pear-infused brandy, red wine) that bartender Olivier asked me if I liked apple pie and set a glass down in front of me. Very apple-like and I didn't even bother to ask what it might be. Next time.
The conversation was varied and, at times downright revealing, and before I knew it we were nearing the bewitching hour when InLight would go dark. Before that happened, Olivier grabbed me and led me downstairs and out the back way to see all the installations on the block behind Bouchon. Chef Francis joined me for the art.
There were two pop-up galleries back there, so a lot to see. Probably my favorite was Unwilling Nervous Courage, consisting of both a male nude and a reclining female nude, both magnificently carved in wood with video projections across them. We were both fascinated by the implications.
Another piece that fed the viewer's ego used a camera in one little room to project our image onto another wall. "If we stand here, the camera records whatever we do." Risky business for some.
Francis and I were both impressed by Horizon in the Fold; the columns of light behind the curtain gave a blowing, billowing effect that mirrored a balmy day with the window open, except with light as the moving force. For me, it was like seeing a sunset through the curtain of a beach cottage window, all gentle movement and subtle colors.
By the time I'd finished seeing everything I could, artists and friends had began pulling up extension cords and untaping power strips, so I headed back upstairs. We enjoyed more conversation as the bar finally began to thin out and eventually close down.
Walking back to the Bottom to retrieve my car, a passing girl said to me, "I love your purple tights!" And they don't compare to the new burgundy lace ones. Still, there is nothing quite like a random compliment at 1:45 a.m.
Actually, there's nothing like random compliment anytime. It won't give me a big head, I promise.
I'm always flattered to be asked since she gathers such an interesting group together for the evening. Julia from River City Cellars brings three great wines (I was unashamedly back to her favorite breakfast bubbles, the Tete a Claques I'd been drinking just two nights before) and all the best cheeses and the women bring the rest of the food (which always means an obscene amount of desserts).
The first thing I overheard when I walked in late to the already in-progress party was, " So do you take Nyquil?" It doesn't have the same ring as other self-medicating questions I have heard at parties.
But that was just one of many conversations I joined and then exited as I made my way through the house to meet and greet all these women.
I finally had to say my goodbyes since I'd promised to pick up a friend for an evening of light. We parked in the Bottom and began at Julep, which is always fun when Bobby's mixing.
I knew he'd been busy lately making new concoctions and listening to David Bowie, and was curious about the results. If Bowie's not old-school inspirational, I don't know who is (actually I do: Bryan Ferry).
It wasn't long before he got out his torch and presented each of us with a big roasted coconut marshmallow he'd made. I'm a coconut fan anyway, but Bobby had used coconut water instead of plain water in his recipe.
The result was scrumptious, the most sublime over-sized marshmallow I've ever put into my mouth. He created it to sit atop the Jack Skellington, but I had it as a side for my (surprise!) Corozon tequila.
Friend enjoyed a couple of cocktails (including two off Bobby's list) before we decided that it was time to join the throngs and start exploring InLight. The first piece that really grabbed me was the covered wagon with its projections of new frontier travel. Sitting in the middle of Cary Street, it was like a ghost from another era.
Sacer-totem, made of plasric nativity scene figures stacked up totem pole-like brought a smile to many viewers' faces. The Virgin Mary perched on top of assorted Wise Men made for a particularly arresting lighted visual.
All of Cary Street was transformed simply by having the street lights off. It gave the area a much different vibe (which I liked) and allowed people to drop into the shadows when they wanted to. Kind of cool.
At Bouchon, we were greeted by a madhouse. The last time I saw the place that crazy was the Bastille Day party. But the kissing bartender and chef promised us a table or bar stools and we only had to stand to sip our drinks for a bit.
The bar menu of which I'm so fond had some new listings for the evening, so we tried the onion tart, the pork and beans (so popular it had been changed from a full serving to a half) and the mushroom soup.
Friend had been unsure what to expect out of the standard-sounding pork and beans, so the sausage and white bean combo was a pleasant surprise to him. I knew Francis would do it up right, so I wasn't the least bit surprised.
The guy on the other side of me joined in our conversation about Caddyshack and music after a while and I didn't hold it against him that he liked Vampire Weekend, although I did share my opinion of the copycat little prepsters (even so, it couldn't have been too off-putting because when he got up to leave later, apropos of nothing, he said, "Come on, leave with me").
It was while he was sampling around the bar offerings (Port, pear-infused brandy, red wine) that bartender Olivier asked me if I liked apple pie and set a glass down in front of me. Very apple-like and I didn't even bother to ask what it might be. Next time.
The conversation was varied and, at times downright revealing, and before I knew it we were nearing the bewitching hour when InLight would go dark. Before that happened, Olivier grabbed me and led me downstairs and out the back way to see all the installations on the block behind Bouchon. Chef Francis joined me for the art.
There were two pop-up galleries back there, so a lot to see. Probably my favorite was Unwilling Nervous Courage, consisting of both a male nude and a reclining female nude, both magnificently carved in wood with video projections across them. We were both fascinated by the implications.
Another piece that fed the viewer's ego used a camera in one little room to project our image onto another wall. "If we stand here, the camera records whatever we do." Risky business for some.
Francis and I were both impressed by Horizon in the Fold; the columns of light behind the curtain gave a blowing, billowing effect that mirrored a balmy day with the window open, except with light as the moving force. For me, it was like seeing a sunset through the curtain of a beach cottage window, all gentle movement and subtle colors.
By the time I'd finished seeing everything I could, artists and friends had began pulling up extension cords and untaping power strips, so I headed back upstairs. We enjoyed more conversation as the bar finally began to thin out and eventually close down.
Walking back to the Bottom to retrieve my car, a passing girl said to me, "I love your purple tights!" And they don't compare to the new burgundy lace ones. Still, there is nothing quite like a random compliment at 1:45 a.m.
Actually, there's nothing like random compliment anytime. It won't give me a big head, I promise.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sex and Crime at Balliceaux
The Violent Professional. The Executioner. How to Kill a Judge. Loaded Guns. The Last Round. Italian cinema, sexy and crime-ridden, was the inspiration for the music played by Glows in the Dark at Balliceaux tonight. Perfect music for a full moon and perfectly done by a band with a penchant for movie music.
With the screen behind them showing clips of those movies and more, GitD's guitar/trombone/sax/drums/electric bass combo provided the coolest, the most vicious soundtrack to a montage of bare breasts, shaggy-haired men, car chases, aviator shades, struggling scantily-clad women and bad moustaches the 70s ever saw in Italy. It was completely awesome.
Using the original music as a launching point, the group romped through featured horns, sinuous bass lines and kinetic drumming that galloped along with the endless shoot-outs and sex. It was all they could do to keep up with the non-stop on-screen action.
And speaking of action (or maybe the full moon), I ran into a local photographer who wanted to rant about my former employer, Media General ("Tom Silvestri and Glen Proctor need to go!"), a Uruguayan who came to RVA via San Francisco, Denver and Chicago ("Richmond is the friendliest place I've ever seen") and another of the laid off masses ("A friend suggested stripping in the interim and it's paying the bills for now"), all of whom were eager to chat (at the very least).
My beverage of choice tonight was iced Corazon and I splurged on dessert (coconut cake key lime trifle) as a means of escaping conversation with a nearby and overly friendly bar sitter in a pink polo shirt. One of their new offerings, the dessert was the closest thing to a true trifle I've seen in a while and it got several admiring comments.
I told the Uruguayan that he was actually the second of his countrymen I'd met in RVA, having made the acquaintance of a charming winemaker last fall with whom I correspond, here. Without sharing his name, my new friend guessed not only which grape had impressed me, but which winemaker as well. We both got a good chuckle out of that ("We only have 13 wineries," he explained).
As for the charming guy I met as I was paying my bill, he complimented my haircut, asked probing questions about my job status and told me about what goes on in a place where guys, not girls, are removing their clothes to admiring comments and cold hard cash. We moved outside as our conversation continued, him asking for the best way to contact me for future conversation.
"You smell good, " he said.
"I don't wear any smell," I told him.
"Well, you've got something," he insisted.
I don't think it's me, so it must have been the effects of the full moon. That or he got all riled up watching so much sexy and violent Italian cinema with such magnificent music.
Let's just say it was that.
With the screen behind them showing clips of those movies and more, GitD's guitar/trombone/sax/drums/electric bass combo provided the coolest, the most vicious soundtrack to a montage of bare breasts, shaggy-haired men, car chases, aviator shades, struggling scantily-clad women and bad moustaches the 70s ever saw in Italy. It was completely awesome.
Using the original music as a launching point, the group romped through featured horns, sinuous bass lines and kinetic drumming that galloped along with the endless shoot-outs and sex. It was all they could do to keep up with the non-stop on-screen action.
And speaking of action (or maybe the full moon), I ran into a local photographer who wanted to rant about my former employer, Media General ("Tom Silvestri and Glen Proctor need to go!"), a Uruguayan who came to RVA via San Francisco, Denver and Chicago ("Richmond is the friendliest place I've ever seen") and another of the laid off masses ("A friend suggested stripping in the interim and it's paying the bills for now"), all of whom were eager to chat (at the very least).
My beverage of choice tonight was iced Corazon and I splurged on dessert (coconut cake key lime trifle) as a means of escaping conversation with a nearby and overly friendly bar sitter in a pink polo shirt. One of their new offerings, the dessert was the closest thing to a true trifle I've seen in a while and it got several admiring comments.
I told the Uruguayan that he was actually the second of his countrymen I'd met in RVA, having made the acquaintance of a charming winemaker last fall with whom I correspond, here. Without sharing his name, my new friend guessed not only which grape had impressed me, but which winemaker as well. We both got a good chuckle out of that ("We only have 13 wineries," he explained).
As for the charming guy I met as I was paying my bill, he complimented my haircut, asked probing questions about my job status and told me about what goes on in a place where guys, not girls, are removing their clothes to admiring comments and cold hard cash. We moved outside as our conversation continued, him asking for the best way to contact me for future conversation.
"You smell good, " he said.
"I don't wear any smell," I told him.
"Well, you've got something," he insisted.
I don't think it's me, so it must have been the effects of the full moon. That or he got all riled up watching so much sexy and violent Italian cinema with such magnificent music.
Let's just say it was that.
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