Chapter 1: In which there is a reprieve
With news that Ettamae's was closing, my J-Ward buddy and I went to lunch with heavy hearts.
Our server greeted us by saying, "You know it's our last day?" I called dibs on the last shrimp BLT and we ate on the balcony where it was muggy, hazy and bittersweet.
By the time we were paying, it was announced that they'd be open through Mother's Day brunch.
It makes me sad that a favorite neighborhood spot isn't being supported. "Sorry about Ettamae's. You did the most to keep it going!" a friend writes.
And here I thought their house-made corned beef and fruit tarts were enough. Hang on, Ettamae's. We need your kind.
Chapter 2: In which thoughts turn to Girl Scout campouts
Holmes and his main squeeze wanted escorts for the First Fridays artwalk so I rounded up a fourth and we began with Michel Chiarlo Barbera d'Asti here before heading to Corporate Museum and Frame to see Holmes' friend's show.
"River Road" by John Henley encompassed all kinds of river views, some familiar and some not. The Belle Isle quarry was instantly recognizable (although not to all, sadly) but Huguenot Woods not so much.
A photograph of Dutch Gap reminded me of the last places I went kayaking and rowing.
I run into a handsome theater critic friend who gulps mid-conversation, saying, "My date just walked out the door!" before doing the same.
Ghostprint Gallery's show by Juan Perdiguero, "Perros Indalo," was captivating for the classically-posed, almost portrait-like drawings over photographs of dogs.
The Spanish artist was in the building, telling of how he photographed the stray dogs that wandered into his studio space and superimposed them over photographs of indigenous vegetation
At one of the G40 pop-up galleries, I couldn't help but notice "Saturday Night Soldiers," an image of people happily lost on a dance floor.
A girl came up behind me to look at it, turning to her companion and asking, "Do you have an extra $900 on you?" He did not.
In a basement (my first under Broad Street) at another G40 pop-up, I saw a Lichtenstein-like mixed media piece with the prophetic "The world is mine. Now what?" sentiment as its message.
My question exactly.
Dinner was at a back booth at the Belvidere with Vinho Verde, smoked salmon and beef tenderloin.
Pat Benetar ruled the women's bathroom and in the restaurant, it was Rolling Stones. Holmes claimed it was the best rice he'd had in Richmond.
Final stop of the evening was at Bistro 27 for cocktails, although mine consisted only of Cazadores with a large slow-melting cube.
The treat was $1 dessert, made by mixologist Bobby Kruger. Huge homemade marshmallows on sticks were rolled in dark chocolate and then graham cracker crumbs.
Nothing like it before tequila. Music was appropriately indie and non-restaurant like (hello, XX and Empire of the Sun) and conversation ensued over Death in the Afternoon and gin/dark rum Negronis.
Walking home, a magnificent moon foreshadows Saturday's super moon.
What else can a person do but play Pet Shop Boys and imagine domino dancing?
Chapter 3: In which we are not wristband-worthy
With RVA Beerfest at Gallery 5 and barely three blocks from my front door, the afternoon was all about bands and beer-slicked floors.
Paying our admission, we were asked for IDs. We'd not brought ours since we weren't drinking beer. We were allowed in without benefit of an identifying bracelet.
Who comes to Beerfest not to drink?
The New Belgians were playing their brand of funk/soul/jazz with Marcus Tenney doing triple duty on sax, tambourine and vocals.
Black Girls followed and the crowd increased exponentially, although not in that dance-y way they respond at Balliceaux.
Party in full swing, Beerfest immediately changed their end time from 6:00 to 7:00. I saw my favorite Beer Betty who marveled at seeing me in summer attire.
Fact is, in this kind of humidity and stickiness, everyone who possibly can settles for shorts and a tank top.
Even dress-wearers...when prodded.
I saw bags of Frozen Water being delivered to the kegs and people getting endless samples of beer.
One guy sampled and recommended it to his friend who demurred. "Aw, come on, try it," he cajoled. "Oh, wait, is that beer pressure?"
Groan. Some people's jokes remind me of corny uncle humor.
Chapter 4: In which there is no celebration of Cinqo de Mayo
Walking from 13th Street to Bistro Bobette, I pause at the door of La Grotta. Seeing it's raining, a well-maintained looking woman starts out and stops, turning to her group.
"Oh, it's raining. Our fireworks will be canceled."
I'm pretty much positive I will never utter those words in my life.
Inside the restaurant, I find one stool and an amiable bar crowd. I kiss the bartender's cheeks and later he introduces me to a guy apropos of nothing.
Turns out the guy had inquired about the source of the bartender's lip prints and I was being introduced as Exhibit A.
Meanwhile, the bar crowd yields a variety of people with whom I can chat.
There's a Brit currently building a house in the south of France.
There's a familiar dachshund owner raving about a Sichuan restaurant near Staples Mill.
There's a French gendarme ("It's like your C.I.D.") who has jurisdiction in any French territory in the world.
I eat off the bar specials menu, particularly enjoying hearts of artichoke over micro-greens.
The creamy texture of the hearts in ailoi makes for a rich indulgence. Swordfish bites with onion and tomato benefit from a dipping sauce.
The gendarme moves over and joins me, using his accented English to make small talk, or as small as you can get when discussing Spinoza or Alain.
After explaining where he has authority, I conclude that I can break the law in Bobette and he will be unable to do anything about it.
He says should that happen, he will advise me of my error and allow me to make my own mistakes.
I have ordered Kaffir lime ice cream based on the chef's recommendation and when it arrives, I offer the gendarme a bite.
"Francis says this is wonderful," I offer.
"Have you been to France?" he inquires.
"No," I admit.
"Then how can you say it's wonderful?" he asks.
"I said Francis says it's wonderful," I correct, pointing at the ice cream.
He grabs my face and kisses my cheek.
"You are honest. For that you get a kiss," he explains.
He orders a bottle of Moutard Pere et Fils Rose, presumably for its pink fruitiness but also because he is recently returned to this country after time in the Middle East.
I am happy to have a glass and talk about our favorite authors.
I run into a girlfriend who is stressed and make a joke that transforms her.
"That's the biggest smile I've had in weeks," she says. "Thank you for that."
Just doing my job.
Chapter 5: In which I do not see the whole of the moon
Leaving the restaurant, there is a sax player filling the air and the sidewalks of the Slip are bustling with people.
The temperature is just about perfect and the humidity is still curling my straight bangs.
A mile and I'm home where I linger outside hoping that the super moon will be visible, but alas.
I'll have to hope for something super tomorrow instead.
Chapter 6 should do just fine.
Showing posts with label ettamae's cafe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ettamae's cafe. Show all posts
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Palm Sunday Brunch
As eager as I was to have my palm read, first I had a date with Jezebel.
I couldn't let Movieland show the Betty Davis classic (which, of course, I'd never seen) and not partake of the tale of a Southern bad girl.
Of course, it was a 1938 take on 1852-53, so while it was a highly romanticized depiction of the South, a lot of it also fed into the stereotypical images of it.
Even so, I tend to happily agree with, "Time ain't so important. The longer I live, the more there is of it."
But when a servant tells her, "The toddies are for the gentleman," or her beau says, "It's red! You can't wear that to the Olympus Ball!" I know with certainty that I would have been as talked about as Jezebel had I lived back then.
Advice on how to handle a woman when she get out of line (whip her with a switch, spread lard on her welts and then buy her a diamond brooch) was downright egregious, if period-appropriate.
But a 1938 film requires redemption so the bad girl goes off with her dying love, despite his having married someone else, so that she can save her soul.
Did I mention how miserable I would have been as an ante-bellum woman?
Give me 2012 and a meal at Ettamae's, where they were offering palm readings as a side with your brunch.
I inhaled my light as a feather silver dollar pancakes, sausage and fruit so that I could bare my palm and hear about my past, present and future.
Life line: very long, although she wouldn't go as far as 103. But close.
Intelligence line: very deep, very straight. No one can convince me I'm not smart, she said.
Heart line: showing some major trauma in the past but also showing new possibilities, especially notable because it looks to occur at a point where my head and heart lines have a new, if tenuous, connection.
She read it in my palm, so it must be true.
So I'm guessing that Jezebel's palm looked nothing like mine.
Or as a beau of hers put it, "I like my convictions undiluted, same as I do my bourbon."
Nothing wrong with a little undiluted belief.
I couldn't let Movieland show the Betty Davis classic (which, of course, I'd never seen) and not partake of the tale of a Southern bad girl.
Of course, it was a 1938 take on 1852-53, so while it was a highly romanticized depiction of the South, a lot of it also fed into the stereotypical images of it.
Even so, I tend to happily agree with, "Time ain't so important. The longer I live, the more there is of it."
But when a servant tells her, "The toddies are for the gentleman," or her beau says, "It's red! You can't wear that to the Olympus Ball!" I know with certainty that I would have been as talked about as Jezebel had I lived back then.
Advice on how to handle a woman when she get out of line (whip her with a switch, spread lard on her welts and then buy her a diamond brooch) was downright egregious, if period-appropriate.
But a 1938 film requires redemption so the bad girl goes off with her dying love, despite his having married someone else, so that she can save her soul.
Did I mention how miserable I would have been as an ante-bellum woman?
Give me 2012 and a meal at Ettamae's, where they were offering palm readings as a side with your brunch.
I inhaled my light as a feather silver dollar pancakes, sausage and fruit so that I could bare my palm and hear about my past, present and future.
Life line: very long, although she wouldn't go as far as 103. But close.
Intelligence line: very deep, very straight. No one can convince me I'm not smart, she said.
Heart line: showing some major trauma in the past but also showing new possibilities, especially notable because it looks to occur at a point where my head and heart lines have a new, if tenuous, connection.
She read it in my palm, so it must be true.
So I'm guessing that Jezebel's palm looked nothing like mine.
Or as a beau of hers put it, "I like my convictions undiluted, same as I do my bourbon."
Nothing wrong with a little undiluted belief.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
More Than This
It's not just about keeping up with me; it's also about being able to appreciate the musical references.
So if I decide that, after days of frigid temperatures, I want to walk to a favorite neighborhood spot for lunch, it's not just about the vicarious pleasure I get introducing someone to a place I frequent.
And even though it's Ettamae's, it's not just about the corned beef (although it could be since the chef makes both the corned beef and the bread) and the cumin pork (stellar, as always) sandwiches, although those are two superb ways to impress a newbie.
No, it's about the other luncher cocking his head mid-meal, smiling and saying, "All this and Bryan Ferry, too," because "More Than This" is playing.
It's about commentary on the poetic lyrics of "I Melt with You" or the optimism of "There She Goes."
But at the end of lunch with an evocative soundtrack, it's about someone else besides me wanting to know the source of the music.
Pandora, I'd already guessed, but we wanted to know the starting point.
Crowded House. But of course.
Either one of us could have guessed as much, but only one of us could arguably improve on Pandora's take on that musical sound and era.
And that, I would say, is who you want to invite to walk with you for an impromptu lunch on a January afternoon.
So if I decide that, after days of frigid temperatures, I want to walk to a favorite neighborhood spot for lunch, it's not just about the vicarious pleasure I get introducing someone to a place I frequent.
And even though it's Ettamae's, it's not just about the corned beef (although it could be since the chef makes both the corned beef and the bread) and the cumin pork (stellar, as always) sandwiches, although those are two superb ways to impress a newbie.
No, it's about the other luncher cocking his head mid-meal, smiling and saying, "All this and Bryan Ferry, too," because "More Than This" is playing.
It's about commentary on the poetic lyrics of "I Melt with You" or the optimism of "There She Goes."
But at the end of lunch with an evocative soundtrack, it's about someone else besides me wanting to know the source of the music.
Pandora, I'd already guessed, but we wanted to know the starting point.
Crowded House. But of course.
Either one of us could have guessed as much, but only one of us could arguably improve on Pandora's take on that musical sound and era.
And that, I would say, is who you want to invite to walk with you for an impromptu lunch on a January afternoon.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The First Rule of J-Ward
Imagine being taken to lunch only to be accused of having an avatar.
I'd been in a gallery recently and saw the New York Times piece about Jackson Ward on the counter.
Being my usual smart-assed self, I made an off-the-cuff remark to the owner about how there were probably people in RVA, much less NYC visitors, who had never been to all the places in the article.
Her sheepish look said it all. "Actually, I've never been to Ettamae's," she admitted.
Explaining that you weren't allowed to do business in J-Ward if you didn't support its merchants resulted in today's lunch date.
And don't think I didn't walk right in there and introduce her as an Ettmae's virgin, either.
Like everyone else, including Kate Capshaw and Spielberg, she fell in love with the place and its food after one visit.
One thing she made clear from the start was that she wouldn't be getting dessert. She's just back from seeing her mother and had over-indulged all week.
Although it was pouring when we arrived, it wasn't cold, but I used the wet weather as an excuse to order today's soup, a seafood tomato chowder with scallops, shrimp and crab and a grilled cheese.
The soup was so chunk-ful of seafood you could stand up your spoon in it (I know because I did) and not red like I'd expected, but flavorful and filling.
My decadent grilled cheese used the chef's housemade Amish white bread, making for a thick buttery crust around gobs of cheese.
Once we'd ordered, she got right down to business. "I have to ask you, and I know probably everyone does, but how do you do it all? You have an avatar, right?"
Without answering that I have absolutely no love life and nothing better to do, I tried to pass it off as owing to the array of compelling things to do and my flexible schedule.
Yea, right.
Lunch lasted for hours because we're both culture nerds so we talked about the labyrinth of the UR campus despite the attraction of their rich offerings, the wonder of the Ife show at the VMFA that so many people missed and local theater.
When we finally finished chowing down, our server came over to offer us dessert, but small desserts, she said.
My friend cracked like a peanut under a car tire, telling me she would if I would.
For those who don't know me, I'm the wrong person to say that to. I always will.
Take that any number of ways.
"What do you have?" asked the same woman who had earlier sworn off dessert.
We each ended up with a raspberry-plum puff pastry and by no means were they small.
The combination of all those layers of, let's face it, butter with the sweet tartness of the raspberry-plum sauce and nuts was heavenly.
Neither of us left a bite, just a smear of the most beautiful magenta you ever saw.
We'll just call it a metaphor the the deflowering of an Ettamae's virgin.
But not by an avatar.
I'd been in a gallery recently and saw the New York Times piece about Jackson Ward on the counter.
Being my usual smart-assed self, I made an off-the-cuff remark to the owner about how there were probably people in RVA, much less NYC visitors, who had never been to all the places in the article.
Her sheepish look said it all. "Actually, I've never been to Ettamae's," she admitted.
Explaining that you weren't allowed to do business in J-Ward if you didn't support its merchants resulted in today's lunch date.
And don't think I didn't walk right in there and introduce her as an Ettmae's virgin, either.
Like everyone else, including Kate Capshaw and Spielberg, she fell in love with the place and its food after one visit.
One thing she made clear from the start was that she wouldn't be getting dessert. She's just back from seeing her mother and had over-indulged all week.
Although it was pouring when we arrived, it wasn't cold, but I used the wet weather as an excuse to order today's soup, a seafood tomato chowder with scallops, shrimp and crab and a grilled cheese.
The soup was so chunk-ful of seafood you could stand up your spoon in it (I know because I did) and not red like I'd expected, but flavorful and filling.
My decadent grilled cheese used the chef's housemade Amish white bread, making for a thick buttery crust around gobs of cheese.
Once we'd ordered, she got right down to business. "I have to ask you, and I know probably everyone does, but how do you do it all? You have an avatar, right?"
Without answering that I have absolutely no love life and nothing better to do, I tried to pass it off as owing to the array of compelling things to do and my flexible schedule.
Yea, right.
Lunch lasted for hours because we're both culture nerds so we talked about the labyrinth of the UR campus despite the attraction of their rich offerings, the wonder of the Ife show at the VMFA that so many people missed and local theater.
When we finally finished chowing down, our server came over to offer us dessert, but small desserts, she said.
My friend cracked like a peanut under a car tire, telling me she would if I would.
For those who don't know me, I'm the wrong person to say that to. I always will.
Take that any number of ways.
"What do you have?" asked the same woman who had earlier sworn off dessert.
We each ended up with a raspberry-plum puff pastry and by no means were they small.
The combination of all those layers of, let's face it, butter with the sweet tartness of the raspberry-plum sauce and nuts was heavenly.
Neither of us left a bite, just a smear of the most beautiful magenta you ever saw.
We'll just call it a metaphor the the deflowering of an Ettamae's virgin.
But not by an avatar.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Didn't I Tell You Already?
My devotion to Jackson Ward is legendary, both in this blog and among anyone who will listen to me go on and on about my neighborhood of the past five years.
Still,, it's nice to have my opinion validated in a place as lofty as the New York Times. The article about J-Ward in Sunday's paper, here, tells the rest of the world what I have been trying to convince anyone who lives in other RVA neighborhoods for a while now.
Ghostprint Gallery? I'm in there every single month for their opening preview to see what compelling show they've hung. It's one of two galleries I tell people never to miss on First Fridays.
Nate's Taco Truck Stop, while a more recent addition to the Ward, already feels like it's been there forever. I used to have to walk over to the Compass to score Nate's Frito Pie and now I don't even have to leave the 'hood to indulge in my favorite bag o' lunch.
Steady Sounds is a regular destination for me and I don't even own a turntable. I know people who do, though, and this is where I buy vinyl for them. And I've seen some excellent live music here (Alessi's Ark, White Laces, The Great Unknown, Bake Sale, Jonathan Vassar) leaning on bins in their intimate setting.
And Ettamae's Cafe? Shoot, I've been singing these guys' praises since the first week they opened, here, back last summer. That post even ended up on the press page of Ettamae's website and I've been back loads of times since. I find it hard to resist a place with terrific food and where the Chef not only kisses you but his co-owner yells, "Now the party can start!" when you walk in.
I've been a regular at Mama J's since March 2010, here, when a friend and I discovered Croaker's Spot had left the Ward (fools! but they're coming back) one cold evening. Since then, it's my go-to place for fried chicken and homemade cake, two staples of my diet P.A. (Post Apocalypse or after layoff, pneumonia, breakup or roughly February 2009 through the present). I have a friend I can call up and all I say is, "You wanna?" and he knows I mean we're doing lunch at Mama's.
So for a change, I am happy with the out-of-town press' take on my fair city. I've complained before that outsiders tend to mention the same old places (Mama Zu, Kuba Kuba, Millie's) ad nauseum. This time the NYT got it right, not even acknowledging the (IMHO) over-hyped restaurant that shall not be named in J-Ward.
On the other hand, if they do a sequel to that story, they should contact me and I'll bring them even more up to date.
J-Ward Girl knows of what she speaks.
Still,, it's nice to have my opinion validated in a place as lofty as the New York Times. The article about J-Ward in Sunday's paper, here, tells the rest of the world what I have been trying to convince anyone who lives in other RVA neighborhoods for a while now.
Ghostprint Gallery? I'm in there every single month for their opening preview to see what compelling show they've hung. It's one of two galleries I tell people never to miss on First Fridays.
Nate's Taco Truck Stop, while a more recent addition to the Ward, already feels like it's been there forever. I used to have to walk over to the Compass to score Nate's Frito Pie and now I don't even have to leave the 'hood to indulge in my favorite bag o' lunch.
Steady Sounds is a regular destination for me and I don't even own a turntable. I know people who do, though, and this is where I buy vinyl for them. And I've seen some excellent live music here (Alessi's Ark, White Laces, The Great Unknown, Bake Sale, Jonathan Vassar) leaning on bins in their intimate setting.
And Ettamae's Cafe? Shoot, I've been singing these guys' praises since the first week they opened, here, back last summer. That post even ended up on the press page of Ettamae's website and I've been back loads of times since. I find it hard to resist a place with terrific food and where the Chef not only kisses you but his co-owner yells, "Now the party can start!" when you walk in.
I've been a regular at Mama J's since March 2010, here, when a friend and I discovered Croaker's Spot had left the Ward (fools! but they're coming back) one cold evening. Since then, it's my go-to place for fried chicken and homemade cake, two staples of my diet P.A. (Post Apocalypse or after layoff, pneumonia, breakup or roughly February 2009 through the present). I have a friend I can call up and all I say is, "You wanna?" and he knows I mean we're doing lunch at Mama's.
So for a change, I am happy with the out-of-town press' take on my fair city. I've complained before that outsiders tend to mention the same old places (Mama Zu, Kuba Kuba, Millie's) ad nauseum. This time the NYT got it right, not even acknowledging the (IMHO) over-hyped restaurant that shall not be named in J-Ward.
On the other hand, if they do a sequel to that story, they should contact me and I'll bring them even more up to date.
J-Ward Girl knows of what she speaks.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday Paycheck
Tonight I got paid for my work in food and drink.
I could get used to this. Seems to me I can probably eat and drink far more than I'm worth.
We met at Ettamae's for dinner because I wanted to eat in the 'hood.
That and they call me "Legs" at Ettamae's (it says so right on their website), which can be pretty satisfying after a long day with no one but myself for company.
The boys and I started with wine and an antipasto platter, full of marinated mushrooms, artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, meats and cheeses.
I refused to place my order until I'd grazed off of it in case my order changed.
It sure did.
Actually, I'm sure a lot of it also had to do with those hot yeasty rolls that arrived at the table with mounds of salty butter.
Spare ribs became a shrimp-salad stuffed tomato after so much meat and cheese.
Not so with one of my dining companions and his penne pasta with the kielbasa I recommended provided some delicious bites for me.
But my shrimp salad was notable too, not overly mayonaised and with a piquant flavor that complemented the last of the Hanover tomatoes.
The collards were out of this world and the server almost got a fork in her hand when she tried to remove the bowl prematurely.
Chef Matt is a pro with collards, corned beef and kielbasa, in case you haven't been in my neighborhood lately.
Our trio enjoyed the conversation almost as much as the food, but that's probably because we're all such different people.
One of us is the kittens and ice cream type and one is the smart-alecky non-fashionista type and then there's me.
And not one of us had room for dessert, a real shame at Ettamae's.
Then they were off to Cafe Diem (just can't do it) and I to Xtra's to meet a friend for $10 bubbles and conversation.
I've been to Xtra's on Wednesdays before and the bubble-seeking crowds were monstrous.
Not so tonight where the vibe was low-key and kind of relaxing.
It was odd, but the bartender says it swings one way or the other on Wednesdays.
But, yes, every single person in the room, even the craft beer pro who waved hello, was drinking bubbles,
As did we. The Simonet Blanc de Blanc Brut did a fine job of lubricating her upcoming date concerns and my, well, lack of dating concerns.
Our server asked if we wanted to order food before the kitchen closed and I declined, still full from dinner.
"No, alcohol is good," my friend told him.
Grinning, he replied, "Alcohol is good."
Makes me wonder how he gets paid.
I could get used to this. Seems to me I can probably eat and drink far more than I'm worth.
We met at Ettamae's for dinner because I wanted to eat in the 'hood.
That and they call me "Legs" at Ettamae's (it says so right on their website), which can be pretty satisfying after a long day with no one but myself for company.
The boys and I started with wine and an antipasto platter, full of marinated mushrooms, artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, meats and cheeses.
I refused to place my order until I'd grazed off of it in case my order changed.
It sure did.
Actually, I'm sure a lot of it also had to do with those hot yeasty rolls that arrived at the table with mounds of salty butter.
Spare ribs became a shrimp-salad stuffed tomato after so much meat and cheese.
Not so with one of my dining companions and his penne pasta with the kielbasa I recommended provided some delicious bites for me.
But my shrimp salad was notable too, not overly mayonaised and with a piquant flavor that complemented the last of the Hanover tomatoes.
The collards were out of this world and the server almost got a fork in her hand when she tried to remove the bowl prematurely.
Chef Matt is a pro with collards, corned beef and kielbasa, in case you haven't been in my neighborhood lately.
Our trio enjoyed the conversation almost as much as the food, but that's probably because we're all such different people.
One of us is the kittens and ice cream type and one is the smart-alecky non-fashionista type and then there's me.
And not one of us had room for dessert, a real shame at Ettamae's.
Then they were off to Cafe Diem (just can't do it) and I to Xtra's to meet a friend for $10 bubbles and conversation.
I've been to Xtra's on Wednesdays before and the bubble-seeking crowds were monstrous.
Not so tonight where the vibe was low-key and kind of relaxing.
It was odd, but the bartender says it swings one way or the other on Wednesdays.
But, yes, every single person in the room, even the craft beer pro who waved hello, was drinking bubbles,
As did we. The Simonet Blanc de Blanc Brut did a fine job of lubricating her upcoming date concerns and my, well, lack of dating concerns.
Our server asked if we wanted to order food before the kitchen closed and I declined, still full from dinner.
"No, alcohol is good," my friend told him.
Grinning, he replied, "Alcohol is good."
Makes me wonder how he gets paid.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Moving Beyond Green Eggs & Lamb
Brunch on a holiday weekend is always a crap shoot. You never know who'll be open.
When I'd gotten home last night, I'd found an invitation from a friend saying only "Breakfast tomorrow?"
He wanted to eat at the ungodly hour of 10, so I guess that disqualified it as brunch.
We struck out at Ettamae's because they're on vacation, although Chef Matt was there working away.
He did share that they're debuting a new dinner menu starting next week, so that was worth hearing about.
But where to go now?
Keeping with the "E" theme, we drove down Broad to The Empress, spotted a couple sitting in the window and went in to choose our own window seat.
Our two talkative tables must have been just the incentive people needed because tables continued to be filled from then on.
Today's menu had a breakfast section and a lunch section, but no Green Eggs and Lamb, long my go-to on their brunch menu.
Owner Melissa explained that the price of lamb had tripled, so she'd taken my favorite off the menu. And understandably so.
It was probably a good thing, forcing me to try something different, so I ordered the Chorizo pizza with fresh Mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on herb focaccia.
My friend considered the Manly Man's Breakfast (two fried eggs over bison gravy and mashed potatoes) but chose instead the Simply Breakfast of bacon, seasoned potatoes, two poached eggs and toast with jam.
I didn't consider him any less of a manly man because of his decision. Or maybe I'm just not into manly men.
Of course we got a side of bacon. The two of us try never to go to breakfast or brunch and not have a plate of bacon to nosh on.
My pizza turned out to be an inspired choice; the thick bread made a savory bed for the sliced Chorizo and cheese topping and I scarfed it down like I hadn't eaten all day.
I hadn't. And I'm the type who usually gets up and eats within minutes, so I was starved.
Spying my suddenly empty plate, our server came over and offered to take it, saying, "But I won't take that one because there's still bacon on it."
Good thinking if you don't want a fork in the back of your hand.
My friend's breakfast suited him just as well with perfectly poached eggs, addictive potatoes and The Empress' usual exceptional bread.
Once the bacon was finished, we had a lingering salty taste that could only be cured by dessert.
I'm sure some people would look askance at dessert after breakfast/brunch, but we're not two of them.
When our server offered us the chocolate chile pate, we gave him the "Is that a rhetorical question?" look and soon after it appeared.
There's a good reason their pate took first prize at Broad Appetit last year; the combination of dark chocolate and the heat of the chiles on the finish is sublime.
Not to be overly optimistic, but I think it bodes well for the rest of the day when you've already had dessert by noon.
My friend chalked it up to a bacon/chocolate endorphin high.
I say whatever gets you through a Sunday...
When I'd gotten home last night, I'd found an invitation from a friend saying only "Breakfast tomorrow?"
He wanted to eat at the ungodly hour of 10, so I guess that disqualified it as brunch.
We struck out at Ettamae's because they're on vacation, although Chef Matt was there working away.
He did share that they're debuting a new dinner menu starting next week, so that was worth hearing about.
But where to go now?
Keeping with the "E" theme, we drove down Broad to The Empress, spotted a couple sitting in the window and went in to choose our own window seat.
Our two talkative tables must have been just the incentive people needed because tables continued to be filled from then on.
Today's menu had a breakfast section and a lunch section, but no Green Eggs and Lamb, long my go-to on their brunch menu.
Owner Melissa explained that the price of lamb had tripled, so she'd taken my favorite off the menu. And understandably so.
It was probably a good thing, forcing me to try something different, so I ordered the Chorizo pizza with fresh Mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on herb focaccia.
My friend considered the Manly Man's Breakfast (two fried eggs over bison gravy and mashed potatoes) but chose instead the Simply Breakfast of bacon, seasoned potatoes, two poached eggs and toast with jam.
I didn't consider him any less of a manly man because of his decision. Or maybe I'm just not into manly men.
Of course we got a side of bacon. The two of us try never to go to breakfast or brunch and not have a plate of bacon to nosh on.
My pizza turned out to be an inspired choice; the thick bread made a savory bed for the sliced Chorizo and cheese topping and I scarfed it down like I hadn't eaten all day.
I hadn't. And I'm the type who usually gets up and eats within minutes, so I was starved.
Spying my suddenly empty plate, our server came over and offered to take it, saying, "But I won't take that one because there's still bacon on it."
Good thinking if you don't want a fork in the back of your hand.
My friend's breakfast suited him just as well with perfectly poached eggs, addictive potatoes and The Empress' usual exceptional bread.
Once the bacon was finished, we had a lingering salty taste that could only be cured by dessert.
I'm sure some people would look askance at dessert after breakfast/brunch, but we're not two of them.
When our server offered us the chocolate chile pate, we gave him the "Is that a rhetorical question?" look and soon after it appeared.
There's a good reason their pate took first prize at Broad Appetit last year; the combination of dark chocolate and the heat of the chiles on the finish is sublime.
Not to be overly optimistic, but I think it bodes well for the rest of the day when you've already had dessert by noon.
My friend chalked it up to a bacon/chocolate endorphin high.
I say whatever gets you through a Sunday...
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Laid Off Lunch #5
What goes around comes around.
When I got laid off in December 2008, my friends met me for lunch and listened to my tales of adjustment and confusion at the unexpected twist my life had taken.
And one by one as they've been laid off, we've had lunch so that they can tell me their tales of adjustment and confusion.
For today's lay-off lunch, I suggested Ettamae's Cafe, a favorite of mine in the neighborhood and a place my newly unemployed friend had never been.
Walking in, I was greeted as the "Duchess of Jackson Ward" by the "Jester of Jackson Ward." Chef Matt, who was a tad busy working over a hot stove, merely called me Karen.
My friend arrived, having awakened a short half hour earlier; he's already learning one of the pleasures of unemployment.
We settled in upstairs and ordered lunch while catching up.
He'd recently been to Philly for the first time, so we discussed our consensus about Philly locals and the abundance of great live music any night of the week.
And don't even get me started reminiscing about Naked Chocolate Cafe...
Back in J-Ward, I got one of today's specials, a cold sesame noodle salad with arugula and cilantro; he got the enormous salmon cake sandwich on my recommendation.
If my Richmond grandmother had been at the table with us, she'd have been appalled at our manners.
We had so much to talk about while the well-oiled noodles were slipping out of my mouth unintentionally and his thick sandwich was challenging his ability to get his movie star smile around it.
It wasn't pretty, perhaps, but very satisfying.
He's still at the early-onset stage where he can't find enough to do to fill his days. He's also unsure how to feel about himself since he, like most guys, defined himself by his work.
And while I had had neither of those issues, one thing we did agree on was that extroverts like us need people by the end of the day. I now have work, but it's solitary work for the most part.
Like me, he's found that more frequent evenings out are doable when no night is a school night.
Sounds like he's already learned two of the benefits of unemployment.
When I got laid off in December 2008, my friends met me for lunch and listened to my tales of adjustment and confusion at the unexpected twist my life had taken.
And one by one as they've been laid off, we've had lunch so that they can tell me their tales of adjustment and confusion.
For today's lay-off lunch, I suggested Ettamae's Cafe, a favorite of mine in the neighborhood and a place my newly unemployed friend had never been.
Walking in, I was greeted as the "Duchess of Jackson Ward" by the "Jester of Jackson Ward." Chef Matt, who was a tad busy working over a hot stove, merely called me Karen.
My friend arrived, having awakened a short half hour earlier; he's already learning one of the pleasures of unemployment.
We settled in upstairs and ordered lunch while catching up.
He'd recently been to Philly for the first time, so we discussed our consensus about Philly locals and the abundance of great live music any night of the week.
And don't even get me started reminiscing about Naked Chocolate Cafe...
Back in J-Ward, I got one of today's specials, a cold sesame noodle salad with arugula and cilantro; he got the enormous salmon cake sandwich on my recommendation.
If my Richmond grandmother had been at the table with us, she'd have been appalled at our manners.
We had so much to talk about while the well-oiled noodles were slipping out of my mouth unintentionally and his thick sandwich was challenging his ability to get his movie star smile around it.
It wasn't pretty, perhaps, but very satisfying.
He's still at the early-onset stage where he can't find enough to do to fill his days. He's also unsure how to feel about himself since he, like most guys, defined himself by his work.
And while I had had neither of those issues, one thing we did agree on was that extroverts like us need people by the end of the day. I now have work, but it's solitary work for the most part.
Like me, he's found that more frequent evenings out are doable when no night is a school night.
Sounds like he's already learned two of the benefits of unemployment.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Walk Your Broad Appetit a Little Further
I'd like to put in a request to the festival gods to give us today's weather for all future Broad Appetits.
Unlike the past three years, I was not in attendance when the festival began at 11:00, but they managed to start without me anyway.
Breezing by Ettamae's tent, I stopped to say hello to Chef Matt, not realizing that they were a participant.
In fact, Matt had spent yesterday (after making our brunch) making 800 tea biscuits for his shortcake. That's major participation, I'd say.
I was meeting a favorite couple and killed the time by stopping by Bistro 27's tent for a refreshing start to my eating adventure, the crab and watermelon gazpacho.
Chef Carlos told me he'd spent five hours hand-chopping for the cold soup. After one bite, I told him his time was well spent.
The crisp mixture was punctuated with nice-sized lumps of crabmeat, not flakes, and the sweetness of the watermelon contrasted beautifully with the crispy veggies.
Our first stop was at Acacia's tent to see what exotic thing they might be offering. Softshell salad looked good, but I've had so many lately.
Ah, but Chesapeake stingers were more like it. They were offering Stinger sliders with Asian slaw, so I had to taste one.
I got a lesson along with my slider, learning that rays are an invasive fish of ever-increasing numbers. Wisely, they are now being caught and served in restaurants.
The meaty fish had a veal-like texture and under the crispy breading were impossible to identify. Yes, I ate a ray to help save the bay. Put a gold sticker on my forehead.
Overheard as we walked, "Richmond's cool. They have the best restaurants!"
I finally got to taste some of the highly recommended food from Lejha, a restaurant still on my must-visit list. The savory mango-glazed prawns with five bean salad was to die for.
Any number of people told me it was one, if not their favorite, dish today and I was in agreement. A huge bean lover, I could have eaten much more of that savory combo with the succulent prawns.
Impressive in a different way was Amour Wine Bistro's tasting menu plate containing three tarts.
There was a salmon mousse tart (my favorite and beautifully delicate in flavor), a grilled duck tart mixing sweet and savory and a fruit tart with blueberries. It was a steal for $3.
On my way into the festival, I'd run into Balliceaux's owner, who told me not to miss their offering, so I took her advice.
The smoked bluefish dip with crispy pitas and house-pickled okra, radishes and onions came with a shot of William's veggie bloody Mary.
Having had smoked bluefish in one form or another at Balliceaux before, I was not at all surprised about how good the dip was.
But as my friend pointed out, the crispy pitas were far superior to most pita versions and the pickled okra and onions perfectly executed.
Both of us had grandmothers who pickled and so we know from good pickling. Too much vinegar and all subtlety is lost; these were textbook tasty.
Also overheard but not completely understood because I couldn't see the food, "It's good but it's sickening."
One friend insisted on a stop at Ma-Musu's for sweet fried plantains, a treat I'd never had before. They were a tad much for me, but she didn't mind finishing them off by herself.
We took a break at 27 for a drink (as did the Mayor, who was looking quite casual today) and to meet up with a couple of local mixologists to talk about what we'd eaten and, what else, cocktails.
Me, I had vino verdhe and put in my two cents worth about what I'd recently read about muddlers and muddled drinks. Mixologists take that stuff very seriously.
We left there after a pleasurable spell watching the parade of humanity outside 27's plate glass windows. We could not resist commenting on the surprising number of girls wearing boots in this weather.
Boots with shorts, boots with sundresses, but boots in June?
Not only did it look ridiculous, but what must those boots smell like after endless loops around Broad Street? Inquiring minds wanted to know (and ridicule).
We made our last stop as a trio at Shindigz for the cake recommended by a friend I'd run into who'd recently returned from two weeks in France.
He said he was having a difficult adjustment to RVA after the wonder of French eating and drinking, but that the cake at Shindigz was easing the transition for him.
Their classic chocolate cake with frosting was covered in caramel sauce and sprinkled with fleur de sel for the ultimate sweet and salty dessert. We all three swooned over it.
It was at that point that I'd had my fill and said my farewells. I did run into a nearby restaurant owner heading to the festival as I walked home and he gave me the opening I needed to get on my soapbox about the event.
Broad Appetit has my full support. I love having all the visitors in my neighborhood. I think it's a great way for restaurants to offer a taste of their food and hopefully make people want to return for a full meal.
But here's my offering for the Broad Appetit suggestion box. S-p-r-e-a-d i-t o-u-t.
It's ridiculous that more than sixty restaurants are crowded into a three-block stretch. Why doesn't Broad Appetit encompass the entire Arts District?
Why doesn't it begin at Belvidere and got to Foushee? It would be so much less jammed up and crowded if there were spaces between tents instead of having them shoved up against each other.
With all the strollers and people with dogs and small children, it becomes impassable and unpleasant waiting in lines because of the proximity of one tent to another.
Let's give everyone some breathing room and include more of Broad Street for more leisurely strolling and an opportunity to include more of the neighborhood.
Given how much people eat at Broad Appetit, the extra walking isn't going to hurt anyone.
We can call it the Broad Appetit Promenade and make a day of it. All in favor, raise your spork.
Unlike the past three years, I was not in attendance when the festival began at 11:00, but they managed to start without me anyway.
Breezing by Ettamae's tent, I stopped to say hello to Chef Matt, not realizing that they were a participant.
In fact, Matt had spent yesterday (after making our brunch) making 800 tea biscuits for his shortcake. That's major participation, I'd say.
I was meeting a favorite couple and killed the time by stopping by Bistro 27's tent for a refreshing start to my eating adventure, the crab and watermelon gazpacho.
Chef Carlos told me he'd spent five hours hand-chopping for the cold soup. After one bite, I told him his time was well spent.
The crisp mixture was punctuated with nice-sized lumps of crabmeat, not flakes, and the sweetness of the watermelon contrasted beautifully with the crispy veggies.
Our first stop was at Acacia's tent to see what exotic thing they might be offering. Softshell salad looked good, but I've had so many lately.
Ah, but Chesapeake stingers were more like it. They were offering Stinger sliders with Asian slaw, so I had to taste one.
I got a lesson along with my slider, learning that rays are an invasive fish of ever-increasing numbers. Wisely, they are now being caught and served in restaurants.
The meaty fish had a veal-like texture and under the crispy breading were impossible to identify. Yes, I ate a ray to help save the bay. Put a gold sticker on my forehead.
Overheard as we walked, "Richmond's cool. They have the best restaurants!"
I finally got to taste some of the highly recommended food from Lejha, a restaurant still on my must-visit list. The savory mango-glazed prawns with five bean salad was to die for.
Any number of people told me it was one, if not their favorite, dish today and I was in agreement. A huge bean lover, I could have eaten much more of that savory combo with the succulent prawns.
Impressive in a different way was Amour Wine Bistro's tasting menu plate containing three tarts.
There was a salmon mousse tart (my favorite and beautifully delicate in flavor), a grilled duck tart mixing sweet and savory and a fruit tart with blueberries. It was a steal for $3.
On my way into the festival, I'd run into Balliceaux's owner, who told me not to miss their offering, so I took her advice.
The smoked bluefish dip with crispy pitas and house-pickled okra, radishes and onions came with a shot of William's veggie bloody Mary.
Having had smoked bluefish in one form or another at Balliceaux before, I was not at all surprised about how good the dip was.
But as my friend pointed out, the crispy pitas were far superior to most pita versions and the pickled okra and onions perfectly executed.
Both of us had grandmothers who pickled and so we know from good pickling. Too much vinegar and all subtlety is lost; these were textbook tasty.
Also overheard but not completely understood because I couldn't see the food, "It's good but it's sickening."
One friend insisted on a stop at Ma-Musu's for sweet fried plantains, a treat I'd never had before. They were a tad much for me, but she didn't mind finishing them off by herself.
We took a break at 27 for a drink (as did the Mayor, who was looking quite casual today) and to meet up with a couple of local mixologists to talk about what we'd eaten and, what else, cocktails.
Me, I had vino verdhe and put in my two cents worth about what I'd recently read about muddlers and muddled drinks. Mixologists take that stuff very seriously.
We left there after a pleasurable spell watching the parade of humanity outside 27's plate glass windows. We could not resist commenting on the surprising number of girls wearing boots in this weather.
Boots with shorts, boots with sundresses, but boots in June?
Not only did it look ridiculous, but what must those boots smell like after endless loops around Broad Street? Inquiring minds wanted to know (and ridicule).
We made our last stop as a trio at Shindigz for the cake recommended by a friend I'd run into who'd recently returned from two weeks in France.
He said he was having a difficult adjustment to RVA after the wonder of French eating and drinking, but that the cake at Shindigz was easing the transition for him.
Their classic chocolate cake with frosting was covered in caramel sauce and sprinkled with fleur de sel for the ultimate sweet and salty dessert. We all three swooned over it.
It was at that point that I'd had my fill and said my farewells. I did run into a nearby restaurant owner heading to the festival as I walked home and he gave me the opening I needed to get on my soapbox about the event.
Broad Appetit has my full support. I love having all the visitors in my neighborhood. I think it's a great way for restaurants to offer a taste of their food and hopefully make people want to return for a full meal.
But here's my offering for the Broad Appetit suggestion box. S-p-r-e-a-d i-t o-u-t.
It's ridiculous that more than sixty restaurants are crowded into a three-block stretch. Why doesn't Broad Appetit encompass the entire Arts District?
Why doesn't it begin at Belvidere and got to Foushee? It would be so much less jammed up and crowded if there were spaces between tents instead of having them shoved up against each other.
With all the strollers and people with dogs and small children, it becomes impassable and unpleasant waiting in lines because of the proximity of one tent to another.
Let's give everyone some breathing room and include more of Broad Street for more leisurely strolling and an opportunity to include more of the neighborhood.
Given how much people eat at Broad Appetit, the extra walking isn't going to hurt anyone.
We can call it the Broad Appetit Promenade and make a day of it. All in favor, raise your spork.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
New to Brunch? Follow Me
A great restaurant review will usually keep me away from a place for months.
No sense competing with the herds; it's easier to steer clear until the dust settles.
But then a group of us wanted to go to brunch today and it was such a beautiful day for a walk and Ettamae's has such a tasty brunch and so I just said damn the review and off we went.
As I suspected, with Broad Appetit tomorrow, brunch in J-Ward wasn't nearly as crowded as usual.
Every table on the patio was taken naturally, but I never mind sitting in the charming pink dining room, now much cooler with improvements in the a/c system.
Two of our party were completely new to Ettamae's and one had had dinner, so brunch was virgin territory for all three. Not so me, of course.
I always recommend Matt's corned beef, so one went the corned beef hash and eggs, another with one of today's specials, the stuffed French toast with mixed berries and cream cheese, and the third with the silver dollar pancakes, a menu staple with good reason.
Me, I was ready for lunch and took advantage of the roasted chicken salad over mesclun with some good looking tomato slices.
I love steering people to Ettamae's corned beef because I always get thanked for it. The four triangles of French toast were almost as thick as a club sandwich and got raves all around the table. The silver dollars were apparently as light as a feather.
By the time we went downstairs to pay, all three were converts to Ettamae's brunch (and about damn time, I say).
I couldn't help but ask co-owner Laura if the recent review had brought the suburbanites out of the woodwork; it had, she admitted.
My guess was that they handle coming to Jackson Ward the same way they do going to Carver to the Black Sheep.
That is, they drop off the women-folk right in front of the restaurant while the manly men park the over-sized vehicle and bravely walk the block to the restaurant. I got an affirmative on that.
But once inside, Laura says they squeal over how cute the place is and I know for a fact that they must enjoy the food because it's consistently terrific.
And it pleases me no end to have people come to my neighborhood, whether timidly or boldly, and spend money.
Even better if they decide to take a walk and check out its historic beauty after eating.
Jackson Ward: It's not just for First Fridays anymore.
No sense competing with the herds; it's easier to steer clear until the dust settles.
But then a group of us wanted to go to brunch today and it was such a beautiful day for a walk and Ettamae's has such a tasty brunch and so I just said damn the review and off we went.
As I suspected, with Broad Appetit tomorrow, brunch in J-Ward wasn't nearly as crowded as usual.
Every table on the patio was taken naturally, but I never mind sitting in the charming pink dining room, now much cooler with improvements in the a/c system.
Two of our party were completely new to Ettamae's and one had had dinner, so brunch was virgin territory for all three. Not so me, of course.
I always recommend Matt's corned beef, so one went the corned beef hash and eggs, another with one of today's specials, the stuffed French toast with mixed berries and cream cheese, and the third with the silver dollar pancakes, a menu staple with good reason.
Me, I was ready for lunch and took advantage of the roasted chicken salad over mesclun with some good looking tomato slices.
I love steering people to Ettamae's corned beef because I always get thanked for it. The four triangles of French toast were almost as thick as a club sandwich and got raves all around the table. The silver dollars were apparently as light as a feather.
By the time we went downstairs to pay, all three were converts to Ettamae's brunch (and about damn time, I say).
I couldn't help but ask co-owner Laura if the recent review had brought the suburbanites out of the woodwork; it had, she admitted.
My guess was that they handle coming to Jackson Ward the same way they do going to Carver to the Black Sheep.
That is, they drop off the women-folk right in front of the restaurant while the manly men park the over-sized vehicle and bravely walk the block to the restaurant. I got an affirmative on that.
But once inside, Laura says they squeal over how cute the place is and I know for a fact that they must enjoy the food because it's consistently terrific.
And it pleases me no end to have people come to my neighborhood, whether timidly or boldly, and spend money.
Even better if they decide to take a walk and check out its historic beauty after eating.
Jackson Ward: It's not just for First Fridays anymore.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Stop Talking and Eat
It's always a treat to eat out with a restaurant owner in a place they've never been.
Today's lunch plans came about when I was eating dinner at another local place and the owner, knowing I live in Jackson Ward, asked if I'd been to Ettamae's Cafe. Been there? Uh, yea, just breakfast, brunch, lunch and dinner.
Turns out he'd been wanting to check it out but wanted a qualified J-Ward girl to accompany him. Who better than me?
Honestly, Second Street gets a little better looking every time I'm over there. The line at Nate's Tacos was almost out the door and Laura at Ettamae's told us that a new Thai place is going in on that block any day now. Eventually, the whole street will be knit together (her term and one I love) with cool places to chow down.
But today it was all about Ettamae's and while it wasn't quite warm enough for me for balcony dining (cute pink-flowered skirt prohibiting such), we were happy to take a two-top in the cozy dining room.
I'd already bragged on Matt's corned beef, so we decided to split a corned beef on rye with a side of fruit and both ordered the salad special, a generous plate of fresh mesclun with dried cranberries, feta and toasted pecans.
We each finished our salads before even touching that big, beautiful corned beef sandwich. The restaurateur told me that he doesn't even bother ordering corned beef because it always disappoints. He left not a scrap of Matt's oven-braised beef.
From my own personal experience, I've noticed that restaurateurs are experts at cleaning their plates. Maybe it has something to do with them not having to cook or worry about customers.
Or perhaps I'm just so busy talking that they've got nothing better to do than eat and listen. I could test that by shutting up, but I always figure no one invites me out unless they want conversation.
And who am I to talk? I always clean my plate at Ettamae's. That's what grandmothers expect you to do and although Ettamae wasn't mine, she'd probably tell my grandmother Bessie that I left food.
And even though she's long-dead, I still think I'd be in deep trouble.
Today's lunch plans came about when I was eating dinner at another local place and the owner, knowing I live in Jackson Ward, asked if I'd been to Ettamae's Cafe. Been there? Uh, yea, just breakfast, brunch, lunch and dinner.
Turns out he'd been wanting to check it out but wanted a qualified J-Ward girl to accompany him. Who better than me?
Honestly, Second Street gets a little better looking every time I'm over there. The line at Nate's Tacos was almost out the door and Laura at Ettamae's told us that a new Thai place is going in on that block any day now. Eventually, the whole street will be knit together (her term and one I love) with cool places to chow down.
But today it was all about Ettamae's and while it wasn't quite warm enough for me for balcony dining (cute pink-flowered skirt prohibiting such), we were happy to take a two-top in the cozy dining room.
I'd already bragged on Matt's corned beef, so we decided to split a corned beef on rye with a side of fruit and both ordered the salad special, a generous plate of fresh mesclun with dried cranberries, feta and toasted pecans.
We each finished our salads before even touching that big, beautiful corned beef sandwich. The restaurateur told me that he doesn't even bother ordering corned beef because it always disappoints. He left not a scrap of Matt's oven-braised beef.
From my own personal experience, I've noticed that restaurateurs are experts at cleaning their plates. Maybe it has something to do with them not having to cook or worry about customers.
Or perhaps I'm just so busy talking that they've got nothing better to do than eat and listen. I could test that by shutting up, but I always figure no one invites me out unless they want conversation.
And who am I to talk? I always clean my plate at Ettamae's. That's what grandmothers expect you to do and although Ettamae wasn't mine, she'd probably tell my grandmother Bessie that I left food.
And even though she's long-dead, I still think I'd be in deep trouble.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Ta-Da! Now Serving Dinner in Jackson Ward!
Jackson Ward upped its awesome quotient by adding yet another destination for dinner in the neighborhood: Ettamae's Cafe.
As many times as I've had their delightful lunches and brunches, up until last week they were not an option for an evening meal.
Somebody smart over there realized that omission, dropped weekday breakfast (fingers crossed that it comes back someday), added Sunday brunch to Saturday's (two days to drink their creative mimosas) and made dinner a reality.
My plan had been to check it out this past Saturday...until I saw the Facebook status that afternoon saying they had to close for electrical reasons after a stellar First Friday opening night. Isn't that just like Murphy's law to start up and immediately have to stop?
Walking in tonight with a friend, co-owner Laura greeted me with, "Now the party can get started!" and led us upstairs, but not without a pause at the dessert chalkboard on the landing, just in case (two chocolate choices noted). The music fit the upbeat mood of the evening.
We got the best table, the one that overlooks the kitchen and is adjacent to the balcony. Friend wanted to sit outside, but I knew I wasn't tough enough for it yet. Give me a few more degrees and I'm there.
Nearby was a lively table of three guys who greeted us and raved about the seafood chowdah (as my Boston friend says) which was the soup of the day. A couple of girls followed us in and took a table on the balcony, decked out in twinkle lights and with a view of the Hippodrome.
Now that drinking and dinner at Ettamae's are options, I exercised them, ordering the Bodega Septima Malbec while Friend bypassed the gem-in-a-can, Dales' Pale Ale, for the Hop Devil Ale. Drinks in hand, views in place, we were feeling pretty good about life.
We'd come with the intent of eating like vegetarians and we did so with all kinds of savory things. The pesto, mushroom, feta, and Provolone pizza announced itself long before it arrived at our table with a delectable aroma wafting up from the oven directly below us.
The roasted zucchini and grilled tomato entree was made decadent with garlic custard, a mound of tiny fried onions and a balsamic reduction that made everything sing.
It was perfect paired with Chef Matt's homemade crusty rolls, but it got even better with his house-made butter, jazzed up with herbs and Worcestershire sauce. I'd have mainlined that butter if I could have figured out a way.
Matt's talent with rolls translated to the pizza crust, which was thick and chewy in the most satisfying way. For a while there, I thought Friend was going to eat it all, but he handed some over so I'd know what he was raving about.
Add in sides of Ettamae's classic potato salad (another friend swears that it's better than his own mother's, although I told him not to tell her that) and my favorite, the cucumber/red onion salad, and we had more than enough plant food to satisfy us both. In fact, we'd foolishly left no room for dessert.
The trio at the nearby table told us what an error in judgment we'd made; they'd had the chocolate chess pie and the most enormous slice of the chocolate pound cake ("I'd like to send this back for a larger piece," the corny jokester said to the server) and teased us with forkfuls of both (with whipped cream, I might add). Next time, for sure.
Eventually the room cleared out and it was just us sipping away in the dining room and the couple on the balcony finishing their beers. All of a sudden, one of the vintage decorative plates on the wall decided to jump to the floor.
Our server came rushing in and we, hands raised, claimed no responsibility. She picked it up, amazed that it hadn't broken on the wood floor. "That's never happened before," she said, no doubt wondering what we'd been up to.
Plenty, but nothing that would make a plate try to dance off the wall, I swear.
Maybe it's just always a party at Ettamae's; that must be why they're perfect forme Jackson Ward.
As many times as I've had their delightful lunches and brunches, up until last week they were not an option for an evening meal.
Somebody smart over there realized that omission, dropped weekday breakfast (fingers crossed that it comes back someday), added Sunday brunch to Saturday's (two days to drink their creative mimosas) and made dinner a reality.
My plan had been to check it out this past Saturday...until I saw the Facebook status that afternoon saying they had to close for electrical reasons after a stellar First Friday opening night. Isn't that just like Murphy's law to start up and immediately have to stop?
Walking in tonight with a friend, co-owner Laura greeted me with, "Now the party can get started!" and led us upstairs, but not without a pause at the dessert chalkboard on the landing, just in case (two chocolate choices noted). The music fit the upbeat mood of the evening.
We got the best table, the one that overlooks the kitchen and is adjacent to the balcony. Friend wanted to sit outside, but I knew I wasn't tough enough for it yet. Give me a few more degrees and I'm there.
Nearby was a lively table of three guys who greeted us and raved about the seafood chowdah (as my Boston friend says) which was the soup of the day. A couple of girls followed us in and took a table on the balcony, decked out in twinkle lights and with a view of the Hippodrome.
Now that drinking and dinner at Ettamae's are options, I exercised them, ordering the Bodega Septima Malbec while Friend bypassed the gem-in-a-can, Dales' Pale Ale, for the Hop Devil Ale. Drinks in hand, views in place, we were feeling pretty good about life.
We'd come with the intent of eating like vegetarians and we did so with all kinds of savory things. The pesto, mushroom, feta, and Provolone pizza announced itself long before it arrived at our table with a delectable aroma wafting up from the oven directly below us.
The roasted zucchini and grilled tomato entree was made decadent with garlic custard, a mound of tiny fried onions and a balsamic reduction that made everything sing.
It was perfect paired with Chef Matt's homemade crusty rolls, but it got even better with his house-made butter, jazzed up with herbs and Worcestershire sauce. I'd have mainlined that butter if I could have figured out a way.
Matt's talent with rolls translated to the pizza crust, which was thick and chewy in the most satisfying way. For a while there, I thought Friend was going to eat it all, but he handed some over so I'd know what he was raving about.
Add in sides of Ettamae's classic potato salad (another friend swears that it's better than his own mother's, although I told him not to tell her that) and my favorite, the cucumber/red onion salad, and we had more than enough plant food to satisfy us both. In fact, we'd foolishly left no room for dessert.
The trio at the nearby table told us what an error in judgment we'd made; they'd had the chocolate chess pie and the most enormous slice of the chocolate pound cake ("I'd like to send this back for a larger piece," the corny jokester said to the server) and teased us with forkfuls of both (with whipped cream, I might add). Next time, for sure.
Eventually the room cleared out and it was just us sipping away in the dining room and the couple on the balcony finishing their beers. All of a sudden, one of the vintage decorative plates on the wall decided to jump to the floor.
Our server came rushing in and we, hands raised, claimed no responsibility. She picked it up, amazed that it hadn't broken on the wood floor. "That's never happened before," she said, no doubt wondering what we'd been up to.
Plenty, but nothing that would make a plate try to dance off the wall, I swear.
Maybe it's just always a party at Ettamae's; that must be why they're perfect for
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Ettamae's Mad World Brunch
It is a practically perfect brunch when you have both sausage and bacon on your plate while hearing "Mad World" sung live. The only place I know where that happened today in RVA was Ettamae's Cafe and I made sure I had a prime table for it.
Ettamae's now has wine and beer so traditional mimosas as well as a lemon/basil variety were available. Talking to co-owner Laura later, she said she's thinking of adding a pomegranate version, too.
"Just trying to keep it weird," she explained and I agreed that weird is what J-Ward loves. "What do you think of calf's blood as a mixer? A bloody mimosa!" That's my kind of brunch humor.
Upstairs, I took a table facing singer Ian Hanawalt and his guitar; a guy at the next table said hello and a couple of his friends smiled. I decided to go with one of the Saturday specials, a sausage, onion, apple and Swiss cheese omelet with toast. For good measure, I asked for a side of bacon.
"Not that anyone needs sausage and bacon," I admitted to my vintage-aproned server. "Need, want," she said. "You'd be amazed how many people want both." I must have more kindred eating souls out there than I realized.
Having live music at brunch is such a treat and Ian Hanawalt was doing a fine job of entertaining us with original material as well as covers. Besides the classic "Mad World," he did Old Crow Medicine Show's "Wagon Wheel," probably best known for Dylan having written the chorus.
My omelet was an ideal balance of sweet and salty and absolutely stuffed with hot sausage (my favorite breakfast type) made even better by the three slices of perfectly cooked bacon nestling next to it.
I used strawberry jam-spread toast and the bowl of mixed fruit to round out my breakfast as I listened to Ian. I'd brought the Post, but against the good food and music, it didn't hold a candle so it sat unread.
Talking to the guys at the next table after Ian's set ended, I discovered that they were a Philly band who'd done a house show in J-Ward last night and were making their way to Charlottesville for a show tonight.
How could I resist asking them about their music? The first thing they explained was that the band's name, Kill You in the Face, was not representative of their sound. Well, that was good news.
The hemmed and hawed about describing themselves, finally settling on something they'd been told, that they had a '90s sound with jazz influences (they have a trumpeter who explained how much damage Dizzy Gillespie did to his face with improper blowing techniques).
Naturally I came home to check them out online where I discovered the irrelevance of their name to the band's melodic and upbeat poppy sound. Now I wish that I'd been at that house show last night (or at least that they come back and play another show here).
But I don't wish I'd been anywhere else but at Ettamae's Cafe for that well-made breakfast, all the more pleasurable for Ian's live music accompaniment.
As the guys in Kill You in the Face noted as we were paying, "This is a great place and a really cool neighborhood. So glad we got to experience it"
Don't I know it, weirdness and all.
Ettamae's now has wine and beer so traditional mimosas as well as a lemon/basil variety were available. Talking to co-owner Laura later, she said she's thinking of adding a pomegranate version, too.
"Just trying to keep it weird," she explained and I agreed that weird is what J-Ward loves. "What do you think of calf's blood as a mixer? A bloody mimosa!" That's my kind of brunch humor.
Upstairs, I took a table facing singer Ian Hanawalt and his guitar; a guy at the next table said hello and a couple of his friends smiled. I decided to go with one of the Saturday specials, a sausage, onion, apple and Swiss cheese omelet with toast. For good measure, I asked for a side of bacon.
"Not that anyone needs sausage and bacon," I admitted to my vintage-aproned server. "Need, want," she said. "You'd be amazed how many people want both." I must have more kindred eating souls out there than I realized.
Having live music at brunch is such a treat and Ian Hanawalt was doing a fine job of entertaining us with original material as well as covers. Besides the classic "Mad World," he did Old Crow Medicine Show's "Wagon Wheel," probably best known for Dylan having written the chorus.
My omelet was an ideal balance of sweet and salty and absolutely stuffed with hot sausage (my favorite breakfast type) made even better by the three slices of perfectly cooked bacon nestling next to it.
I used strawberry jam-spread toast and the bowl of mixed fruit to round out my breakfast as I listened to Ian. I'd brought the Post, but against the good food and music, it didn't hold a candle so it sat unread.
Talking to the guys at the next table after Ian's set ended, I discovered that they were a Philly band who'd done a house show in J-Ward last night and were making their way to Charlottesville for a show tonight.
How could I resist asking them about their music? The first thing they explained was that the band's name, Kill You in the Face, was not representative of their sound. Well, that was good news.
The hemmed and hawed about describing themselves, finally settling on something they'd been told, that they had a '90s sound with jazz influences (they have a trumpeter who explained how much damage Dizzy Gillespie did to his face with improper blowing techniques).
Naturally I came home to check them out online where I discovered the irrelevance of their name to the band's melodic and upbeat poppy sound. Now I wish that I'd been at that house show last night (or at least that they come back and play another show here).
But I don't wish I'd been anywhere else but at Ettamae's Cafe for that well-made breakfast, all the more pleasurable for Ian's live music accompaniment.
As the guys in Kill You in the Face noted as we were paying, "This is a great place and a really cool neighborhood. So glad we got to experience it"
Don't I know it, weirdness and all.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Dripping Butter at Ettamae's
I'm the instigator type, mainly because I am always looking for someone to do things with me. So I'm usually the one who reaches out, extends the invitations, suggests fun stuff.
The only problem with being that way is that, after a while, you begin to wonder if people only do things with you because you ask. So if I stop asking, will they make the effort with me? Not always.
It happened a year ago with a couple of friends and, without my attention, the friendships faded. Recently I resolved to give a friend room and stop extending invitations in case he was just saying yes to be polite.
And I hadn't heard from him in over a month until today when he IM'd me out of the blue, saying he missed me. I explained that I had backed off, leaving him room to contact me if he was so inclined, and since he hadn't, I had made certain presumptions.
He wanted to get together soon and I asked if he'd had lunch today. He hadn't so we plotted to meet at Ettamae's in twenty minutes. I asked if I needed to wear a nametag so he would recognize me. He called me a ballbuster.
The mid-fifties temperature made it a lovely day for lunch out, or practically anything outside. When I got to Second Street, Matt and Laura of Ettamae's were outside taking in the sunshine, so I stopped to chat. I was curious about whether they had plans to start opening for dinner once the Hippodrome opens.
Silly me. The application for their ABC license was right there in the window. I'm excited to think that people who haven't been to Ettamae's yet may finally make the effort for dinner if they're coming down to see a show. Come to J-Ward, people; we don't bite!
Just as good to hear was that they're planning on doing more musical brunches, like the one I'd so enjoyed, here. Especially with a liquor license, I can see their brunches filling up fast; it's not a big place.
All I'm going to say is that they have the best corned beef hash in town because Matt cooks his own corned beef, should you want a little bit of heaven on the plate with your eggs.
Because the weather was so nice, we were offered balcony seating and who can say no to that in January? With memories of childhood Friday dinners swimming in my head, I couldn't resist the salmon cake on a kaiser roll and went the "three-sweet" route with chips and dessert.
My long-lost friend got the chicken, sausage, rice and veggie soup and a salad with a cinnamon roll. Our server asked if he wanted the cinnamon roll with his meal. He said he did, but he'd wait and have it afterwards.
The enormous salmon cake was even better than the memory of my grandmother's because it was moister and better seasoned (Matt -1, New Grandma-0).
With sauce, some mixed greens and sliced tomato, I couldn't imagine a tastier sandwich to be eating in the sunshine of the balcony this afternoon. Friend raved abut the soup, but didn't give me a bite; I guess that says something, too.
For dessert, I had the chocolate cookie with fig jam filling. The jam is locally made by Nana's and the cookie had stripes of chocolate icing on top.
It was a delicious and unique combination of flavors and I didn't give my friend a bite because he was too busy talking about why he hadn't been calling me. Blah, blah, to quote his IM. To his credit, though, he did tell me in all seriousness that, "An excuse is a reason wrapped in a lie." As long as we're clear on that.
Fortunately, though, his cinnamon roll was big (but not in that obscene Cinnabon way) and he must have been feeling guilty, so he kindly offered me a piece of the outside. I spread its crusty, warm, cinnamon goodness with a huge amount of butter and began eating.
Within seconds, melted butter was dripping down my hand and wrist and into the sleeve of my shirt, something everyone should experience while eating a warm cinnamon roll.
For that matter, everyone should experience a sunny lunch on a balcony in January. Everyone should experience Matt's corned beef. Everyone should experience Jackson Ward.
The list, like me, goes on and on.
The only problem with being that way is that, after a while, you begin to wonder if people only do things with you because you ask. So if I stop asking, will they make the effort with me? Not always.
It happened a year ago with a couple of friends and, without my attention, the friendships faded. Recently I resolved to give a friend room and stop extending invitations in case he was just saying yes to be polite.
And I hadn't heard from him in over a month until today when he IM'd me out of the blue, saying he missed me. I explained that I had backed off, leaving him room to contact me if he was so inclined, and since he hadn't, I had made certain presumptions.
He wanted to get together soon and I asked if he'd had lunch today. He hadn't so we plotted to meet at Ettamae's in twenty minutes. I asked if I needed to wear a nametag so he would recognize me. He called me a ballbuster.
The mid-fifties temperature made it a lovely day for lunch out, or practically anything outside. When I got to Second Street, Matt and Laura of Ettamae's were outside taking in the sunshine, so I stopped to chat. I was curious about whether they had plans to start opening for dinner once the Hippodrome opens.
Silly me. The application for their ABC license was right there in the window. I'm excited to think that people who haven't been to Ettamae's yet may finally make the effort for dinner if they're coming down to see a show. Come to J-Ward, people; we don't bite!
Just as good to hear was that they're planning on doing more musical brunches, like the one I'd so enjoyed, here. Especially with a liquor license, I can see their brunches filling up fast; it's not a big place.
All I'm going to say is that they have the best corned beef hash in town because Matt cooks his own corned beef, should you want a little bit of heaven on the plate with your eggs.
Because the weather was so nice, we were offered balcony seating and who can say no to that in January? With memories of childhood Friday dinners swimming in my head, I couldn't resist the salmon cake on a kaiser roll and went the "three-sweet" route with chips and dessert.
My long-lost friend got the chicken, sausage, rice and veggie soup and a salad with a cinnamon roll. Our server asked if he wanted the cinnamon roll with his meal. He said he did, but he'd wait and have it afterwards.
The enormous salmon cake was even better than the memory of my grandmother's because it was moister and better seasoned (Matt -1, New Grandma-0).
With sauce, some mixed greens and sliced tomato, I couldn't imagine a tastier sandwich to be eating in the sunshine of the balcony this afternoon. Friend raved abut the soup, but didn't give me a bite; I guess that says something, too.
For dessert, I had the chocolate cookie with fig jam filling. The jam is locally made by Nana's and the cookie had stripes of chocolate icing on top.
It was a delicious and unique combination of flavors and I didn't give my friend a bite because he was too busy talking about why he hadn't been calling me. Blah, blah, to quote his IM. To his credit, though, he did tell me in all seriousness that, "An excuse is a reason wrapped in a lie." As long as we're clear on that.
Fortunately, though, his cinnamon roll was big (but not in that obscene Cinnabon way) and he must have been feeling guilty, so he kindly offered me a piece of the outside. I spread its crusty, warm, cinnamon goodness with a huge amount of butter and began eating.
Within seconds, melted butter was dripping down my hand and wrist and into the sleeve of my shirt, something everyone should experience while eating a warm cinnamon roll.
For that matter, everyone should experience a sunny lunch on a balcony in January. Everyone should experience Matt's corned beef. Everyone should experience Jackson Ward.
The list, like me, goes on and on.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Brunchy Baby
Ordinarily I would avoid a restaurant in the first few weeks after it gets reviewed, leaving it to the newbies, but Ettamae's Cafe is a only few blocks from home and a regular destination for me, so I broke my own rule.
Part of my motivation for doing so was that Fuzzy Baby was playing during brunch today and they always put on a good show. So I bit the bullet, ambled over and found my little neighborhood spot filled to bursting.
I was kindly offered the one remaining table, but I couldn't live with myself if I took up a table by myself and then a four-top, or even a two-top, came in. So instead I took the stool in front of the register where people usually wait for to-go orders. Laura said it was just fine and that was good enough for me.
Fuzzy Baby was on a break when I arrived, so I chatted with Laura and watched the endless amount of egg poaching Matt was doing. The servers were going up and down the stairs non-stop ("How many calories do you think you've burned?" one waiting customer asked. "You can have all the stuffed French toast you want!" said another).
The corned beef sandwich isn't available on Saturdays, but the corned beef hash is and I'd been dying to try it because I'm such a fan of Matt's corned beef. With a couple of eggs, a bowl of fresh fruit and some thick toast, I couldn't have been happier on my stool in the sunny front window with the construction theater of 2 Street just outside.
The hash was every bit as wonderful as I'd expected it to be, flavorful and full of bits of beef. The fruit was a mixture of grapes, cantaloupe and the ripest pineapple I could have hoped for (pet peeve: I hate trying to eat unripe pineapple).
When I got to the point where everything was gone except some toast, I asked for jam and was given blackberry jam from Nana's Homemades. Bursting with the flavor of ripe blackberries, I slathered on a layer of jam thicker than the toast and savored every bite. Nana, clearly you know what you're doing.
When Fuzzy Baby came back to start their second set, it was as the Black Stripes, a White Stripes cover band. They even had the wigs and the red and white outfits for the look.
Their first three songs paid homage to the Detroit rockers (including "Seven Nation Army," a personal favorite...I love how much Jack's 7-string guitar comes off sounding like a bass line), then wigs were removed and they got back to the musical business of being Fuzzy Baby, always a pleasure to hear.
People continued to arrive practically non-stop while I was there, probably a combination of the recent review and, as more than a few acknowledged, to hear the band. It probably didn't hurt that it was a beautiful fall day to spend on the balcony, either.
Being so close to the register, I heard customer after customer rave about the food on their way out (although I didn't hear anything I didn't already know). It's gratifying to see that so many people are discovering the J-Ward joint with the Brooklyn vibe.
Given Ettamae's limited space, Laura was saying that their musical brunches will have to be limited to duos. Low Branches or Lobo Marino anyone?
As a big fan of both local music and Matt's food, I'd say either band would go great with that corned beef hash and the blackberry jam.
Part of my motivation for doing so was that Fuzzy Baby was playing during brunch today and they always put on a good show. So I bit the bullet, ambled over and found my little neighborhood spot filled to bursting.
I was kindly offered the one remaining table, but I couldn't live with myself if I took up a table by myself and then a four-top, or even a two-top, came in. So instead I took the stool in front of the register where people usually wait for to-go orders. Laura said it was just fine and that was good enough for me.
Fuzzy Baby was on a break when I arrived, so I chatted with Laura and watched the endless amount of egg poaching Matt was doing. The servers were going up and down the stairs non-stop ("How many calories do you think you've burned?" one waiting customer asked. "You can have all the stuffed French toast you want!" said another).
The corned beef sandwich isn't available on Saturdays, but the corned beef hash is and I'd been dying to try it because I'm such a fan of Matt's corned beef. With a couple of eggs, a bowl of fresh fruit and some thick toast, I couldn't have been happier on my stool in the sunny front window with the construction theater of 2 Street just outside.
The hash was every bit as wonderful as I'd expected it to be, flavorful and full of bits of beef. The fruit was a mixture of grapes, cantaloupe and the ripest pineapple I could have hoped for (pet peeve: I hate trying to eat unripe pineapple).
When I got to the point where everything was gone except some toast, I asked for jam and was given blackberry jam from Nana's Homemades. Bursting with the flavor of ripe blackberries, I slathered on a layer of jam thicker than the toast and savored every bite. Nana, clearly you know what you're doing.
When Fuzzy Baby came back to start their second set, it was as the Black Stripes, a White Stripes cover band. They even had the wigs and the red and white outfits for the look.
Their first three songs paid homage to the Detroit rockers (including "Seven Nation Army," a personal favorite...I love how much Jack's 7-string guitar comes off sounding like a bass line), then wigs were removed and they got back to the musical business of being Fuzzy Baby, always a pleasure to hear.
People continued to arrive practically non-stop while I was there, probably a combination of the recent review and, as more than a few acknowledged, to hear the band. It probably didn't hurt that it was a beautiful fall day to spend on the balcony, either.
Being so close to the register, I heard customer after customer rave about the food on their way out (although I didn't hear anything I didn't already know). It's gratifying to see that so many people are discovering the J-Ward joint with the Brooklyn vibe.
Given Ettamae's limited space, Laura was saying that their musical brunches will have to be limited to duos. Low Branches or Lobo Marino anyone?
As a big fan of both local music and Matt's food, I'd say either band would go great with that corned beef hash and the blackberry jam.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Super 8 & Onion Tarts
I have a friend who gave up life in academia to go back to school at the BrandCenter. Which is great for his creative juices and potentially his future, but it means his free time has evaporated.
Miraculously, a window of opportunity opened up and he invited me for a last-minute lunch today, so I suggested he come here and we'd walk J-Ward and end up at Ettamae's Cafe. I knew he'd have a camera with him and things are pretty picaresque around here.
As a matter of fact, he'd just put a fresh roll of film in it when he'd arrived on Clay Street and had already taken a picture before calling my name from the sidewalk. As my visitors know, this is how you announce your arrival; we don't need no stinkin' doorbells in the Ward (alright, that's probably just me) as long as my windows are open.
We entered Ettamae's to a crowd of construction workers, undoubtedly part of the Hippodrome Theatre renovation crew practically next door (I am counting the months to the reopening).
But we were balcony-bound, so we cruised right past them and up the stairs that go somewhere (as opposed to the charming other staircase which ends in a ceiling, a la Rene Magritte's Irene or Forbidden Literature)
I had come for corned beef because no one I know of does it better around here and I knew my manly friend would like it. But passing the specials chalkboard, my eye was caught by the warm onion tarts over mesclun with bacon, Swiss cheese and peppers in a Thousand Island dressing. Hmm, the corned beef would be there next time I came, but those tarts...
We must have been the first on the balcony today because the umbrellas were still closed, but our server very quickly corrected that. It wasn't long before another couple came up from the street and asked if they could join us at a nearby table. They looked okay, so we said yes.
I must have been convincing because friend was swayed by my recommendation and got the corned beef sandwich (with a side of cucumber salad). I had to try Matt's tarts. Had to.
Their creamy savoriness worked beautifully with the tang of the salad and the abundance of thick-sliced bacon and cheese. It was every bit as satisfying as any sandwich.
My friend teased me about having seen me in the Ipanema anniversary party pictures ("I didn't think you showed up on film when you got your picture taken," he said drolly) and we discussed the always-interesting topic of age perception, an issue he's currently dealing with now that he's back in school after having been the teacher for years.
Nest thing you know, we'd digressed to body parts and porn (okay, ostensibly the rise of tumblr) and it was time to leave our lofty perch and do something constructive.
Downstairs, I raved to the staff about those onion tarts. "I wish we had more adventurous people ordering," one said, sounding wistful. But their sandwiches are so good, I can see where people can't resist them, either.
Friend's camera started a conversation about collecting cameras as objects and Laura was telling us about finding a collection of Super 8 porn while searching for cameras. Oblivious fool that I am, it had never even occurred to me that at one time porn must have been on Super 8.
I always think of it in terms of old silent family movies, but of course it must have had other uses. She told us about some of the cringe-inducing film titles and overblown 70s-era fonts she'd seen on these things, making friend and I wish we could have laid eyes on this vintage stuff.
Hands down, my favorite Super 8 title was Snack Time. Oh, the corny visuals that conjures up...
Miraculously, a window of opportunity opened up and he invited me for a last-minute lunch today, so I suggested he come here and we'd walk J-Ward and end up at Ettamae's Cafe. I knew he'd have a camera with him and things are pretty picaresque around here.
As a matter of fact, he'd just put a fresh roll of film in it when he'd arrived on Clay Street and had already taken a picture before calling my name from the sidewalk. As my visitors know, this is how you announce your arrival; we don't need no stinkin' doorbells in the Ward (alright, that's probably just me) as long as my windows are open.
We entered Ettamae's to a crowd of construction workers, undoubtedly part of the Hippodrome Theatre renovation crew practically next door (I am counting the months to the reopening).
But we were balcony-bound, so we cruised right past them and up the stairs that go somewhere (as opposed to the charming other staircase which ends in a ceiling, a la Rene Magritte's Irene or Forbidden Literature)
I had come for corned beef because no one I know of does it better around here and I knew my manly friend would like it. But passing the specials chalkboard, my eye was caught by the warm onion tarts over mesclun with bacon, Swiss cheese and peppers in a Thousand Island dressing. Hmm, the corned beef would be there next time I came, but those tarts...
We must have been the first on the balcony today because the umbrellas were still closed, but our server very quickly corrected that. It wasn't long before another couple came up from the street and asked if they could join us at a nearby table. They looked okay, so we said yes.
I must have been convincing because friend was swayed by my recommendation and got the corned beef sandwich (with a side of cucumber salad). I had to try Matt's tarts. Had to.
Their creamy savoriness worked beautifully with the tang of the salad and the abundance of thick-sliced bacon and cheese. It was every bit as satisfying as any sandwich.
My friend teased me about having seen me in the Ipanema anniversary party pictures ("I didn't think you showed up on film when you got your picture taken," he said drolly) and we discussed the always-interesting topic of age perception, an issue he's currently dealing with now that he's back in school after having been the teacher for years.
Nest thing you know, we'd digressed to body parts and porn (okay, ostensibly the rise of tumblr) and it was time to leave our lofty perch and do something constructive.
Downstairs, I raved to the staff about those onion tarts. "I wish we had more adventurous people ordering," one said, sounding wistful. But their sandwiches are so good, I can see where people can't resist them, either.
Friend's camera started a conversation about collecting cameras as objects and Laura was telling us about finding a collection of Super 8 porn while searching for cameras. Oblivious fool that I am, it had never even occurred to me that at one time porn must have been on Super 8.
I always think of it in terms of old silent family movies, but of course it must have had other uses. She told us about some of the cringe-inducing film titles and overblown 70s-era fonts she'd seen on these things, making friend and I wish we could have laid eyes on this vintage stuff.
Hands down, my favorite Super 8 title was Snack Time. Oh, the corny visuals that conjures up...
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Lunch on Ettamae's Balcony
It was too beautiful a day not to eat lunch outside. And despite all my previous meals at Ettamae's Cafe, every single one had been on a day too hot to even consider eating on the balcony. Not so today. In fact, as I walked down Second Street, I could see my friend up there framed against the very blue sky, leaning over the balcony and calling out to me.
The patio was completely in shade and with no one else up there, we felt secluded under the umbrellas even as we were surrounded by bustling construction sites on either side of us. It's exciting what's happening over there, according to our server, since the infusion of B.B. king's 11 million dollar contribution to the cause.
The building to the south will be affordably priced small apartments and the Elks' Lodge to the north will house a southern barbecue restaurant downstairs with a jazz club upstairs. And of course, the fabulous art moderne Hippodrome is revealing itself to be more beautiful with each week of work. Is it any wonder I love J-Ward?
But it was my friend's first trip to Ettamae's and he couldn't decide what to order. I was telling our server how crazy I am about their house-braised corned beef with its little fatty bits and she agreed that she'd become a convert to corned beef after years of taking or leaving it. My friend was convinced and ordered his on the house made sub roll.
My problem was ordering something I hadn't had before, not that I had to, but why not? I decided on their chicken salad mainly because they roast the chicken and make salad from that. I, too, couldn't resist the crusty sub roll and Mom's potato salad on the side.
The chicken salad was better than my Mom's because she boils the chicken for hers, so I was delighted with the roasted flavor of Ettamae's. And there is nothing like homemade bread to take a sandwich to a whole new level.
My friend was too busy in corned beef heaven to say much. At one point, owner Matt came up and taking in our shady oasis, said, "Now this is the place to be!" He was right, it was just about perfect.
I could have stopped with the Two Street (sandwich and side) but ended up making mine a Three Sweet by getting two chocolate walnut cookies, thin and buttery. My friend, a devote of homemade ice cream, could not resist the peanut butter/dark chocolate chip ice cream and with good cause. Besides the paltry $3.00 price tag, it was obscenely rich. I ate a few bites and he ate the other two scoops, smiling widely the whole time.
Since Ettamae's ice cream flavors change often, he already told me that he wants to come back soon for another flavor. I'm just sorry we missed the homemade peach ice cream, a personal favorite. The coffee ice cream, we heard, is like a shot of espresso but sweet. I know several caffeine junkies who'd love that.
Afterwards, we strolled 2 Street, the better to admire the renovations and even some of the spaces just ripe for the right person to come in and make them viable again. We both gave our vote to Miss Polly's Beauty Shop, a classic Jackson Ward retail space, attractive as it was functional and sitting right on the sidewalk to attract foot traffic.
Walking my friend to his car, he teased me, "Why didn't you tell me about this place sooner?" I could have asked him, "Why don't you come to J-Ward more often?" But I didn't.
I don't think he'll wait for me to invite him back to Ettamae's. The siren song of a place that makes not only their corned beef but also their ice cream is irresistible to a Northside guy like him.
As well it should be.
The patio was completely in shade and with no one else up there, we felt secluded under the umbrellas even as we were surrounded by bustling construction sites on either side of us. It's exciting what's happening over there, according to our server, since the infusion of B.B. king's 11 million dollar contribution to the cause.
The building to the south will be affordably priced small apartments and the Elks' Lodge to the north will house a southern barbecue restaurant downstairs with a jazz club upstairs. And of course, the fabulous art moderne Hippodrome is revealing itself to be more beautiful with each week of work. Is it any wonder I love J-Ward?
But it was my friend's first trip to Ettamae's and he couldn't decide what to order. I was telling our server how crazy I am about their house-braised corned beef with its little fatty bits and she agreed that she'd become a convert to corned beef after years of taking or leaving it. My friend was convinced and ordered his on the house made sub roll.
My problem was ordering something I hadn't had before, not that I had to, but why not? I decided on their chicken salad mainly because they roast the chicken and make salad from that. I, too, couldn't resist the crusty sub roll and Mom's potato salad on the side.
The chicken salad was better than my Mom's because she boils the chicken for hers, so I was delighted with the roasted flavor of Ettamae's. And there is nothing like homemade bread to take a sandwich to a whole new level.
My friend was too busy in corned beef heaven to say much. At one point, owner Matt came up and taking in our shady oasis, said, "Now this is the place to be!" He was right, it was just about perfect.
I could have stopped with the Two Street (sandwich and side) but ended up making mine a Three Sweet by getting two chocolate walnut cookies, thin and buttery. My friend, a devote of homemade ice cream, could not resist the peanut butter/dark chocolate chip ice cream and with good cause. Besides the paltry $3.00 price tag, it was obscenely rich. I ate a few bites and he ate the other two scoops, smiling widely the whole time.
Since Ettamae's ice cream flavors change often, he already told me that he wants to come back soon for another flavor. I'm just sorry we missed the homemade peach ice cream, a personal favorite. The coffee ice cream, we heard, is like a shot of espresso but sweet. I know several caffeine junkies who'd love that.
Afterwards, we strolled 2 Street, the better to admire the renovations and even some of the spaces just ripe for the right person to come in and make them viable again. We both gave our vote to Miss Polly's Beauty Shop, a classic Jackson Ward retail space, attractive as it was functional and sitting right on the sidewalk to attract foot traffic.
Walking my friend to his car, he teased me, "Why didn't you tell me about this place sooner?" I could have asked him, "Why don't you come to J-Ward more often?" But I didn't.
I don't think he'll wait for me to invite him back to Ettamae's. The siren song of a place that makes not only their corned beef but also their ice cream is irresistible to a Northside guy like him.
As well it should be.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Where the Meatloaf's Cold and the Skirts are Short
When I got to Ettamae's Cafe today, the smiling staff said that my party was waiting for me upstairs. Except that I didn't have a party; I was just meeting my friend. They suggested I go on upstairs and wait in comfort and they'd send him up when he arrived. "How will you know which one is my friend?" I asked. They seemed confident.
Turns out they were right because my friend had brought a guest so I did have a party waiting for me up there. And we turned out to be a meat-loving party, finally deciding on the shaved rib eye and grilled onions on a sub roll (me), the kielbasa with sauteed onions and peppers on sub roll (guest) and, after much discussion, Dad's meatloaf sandwich on white bread (friend).
I say "much discussion" because my friend asked if the meat loaf would be hot. Yes, our server told us, it would. Friend wanted cold meatloaf, like when you have leftover meatloaf in the frig and make a sandwich with it the next day.
Our server said it could be cold. Friend didn't want to be too much trouble, and said he would eat it warm if it was easier. Our server went in search of cold meatloaf. I think servers have a name for people like him.
And when the sandwich came, the first thing he did was touch the meatloaf and grin, "Cold!" I put out an exploratory finger and then decided against sharing my germs. He slathered ketchup on his meatloaf and took a bite, looking like a happy camper, even complimenting the excellent white bread.
The bread was thick, the meatloaf was thick and he ended up finishing only half his sandwich. Both guys were quite satisfied with Mom's potato salad while I thoroughly enjoyed my rib-eye sandwich with a side of fresh fruit salad.
This particular friend likes to tease me about the lack of devices in my life. Asking if I had an iPod, he was nonetheless surprised to learn that I didn't (I think he expected my love of music to override my disdain for excessive technology). "No TV, no cell phone, no iPod," he detailed to our guest. "She could practically be Amish."
"Well, except for the way I dress," I reminded him, as I sat there in my fitted light blue /olive/cream colored flowered linen dress.
"Yea, you'd have to dress in all one color," he acknowledged. I raised my eyebrows. "And...?"
"And they couldn't be so short."
Well that certainly wouldn't do, nor would the Amish reluctance to being forward or assertive work for me.
What good would it be having all these opinions if I couldnt force them on others?
Turns out they were right because my friend had brought a guest so I did have a party waiting for me up there. And we turned out to be a meat-loving party, finally deciding on the shaved rib eye and grilled onions on a sub roll (me), the kielbasa with sauteed onions and peppers on sub roll (guest) and, after much discussion, Dad's meatloaf sandwich on white bread (friend).
I say "much discussion" because my friend asked if the meat loaf would be hot. Yes, our server told us, it would. Friend wanted cold meatloaf, like when you have leftover meatloaf in the frig and make a sandwich with it the next day.
Our server said it could be cold. Friend didn't want to be too much trouble, and said he would eat it warm if it was easier. Our server went in search of cold meatloaf. I think servers have a name for people like him.
And when the sandwich came, the first thing he did was touch the meatloaf and grin, "Cold!" I put out an exploratory finger and then decided against sharing my germs. He slathered ketchup on his meatloaf and took a bite, looking like a happy camper, even complimenting the excellent white bread.
The bread was thick, the meatloaf was thick and he ended up finishing only half his sandwich. Both guys were quite satisfied with Mom's potato salad while I thoroughly enjoyed my rib-eye sandwich with a side of fresh fruit salad.
This particular friend likes to tease me about the lack of devices in my life. Asking if I had an iPod, he was nonetheless surprised to learn that I didn't (I think he expected my love of music to override my disdain for excessive technology). "No TV, no cell phone, no iPod," he detailed to our guest. "She could practically be Amish."
"Well, except for the way I dress," I reminded him, as I sat there in my fitted light blue /olive/cream colored flowered linen dress.
"Yea, you'd have to dress in all one color," he acknowledged. I raised my eyebrows. "And...?"
"And they couldn't be so short."
Well that certainly wouldn't do, nor would the Amish reluctance to being forward or assertive work for me.
What good would it be having all these opinions if I couldnt force them on others?
Saturday, July 17, 2010
A Sunny Saturday in Two Parts
Part One, in which I was told, "Our delivery guy thought you had great legs."
A friend and I had made plans to meet for breakfast at Ettamae's Cafe followed by a walk to the VMFA to see two new exhibits.
A simple plan, really.
Except that upon meeting up in J-Ward, my friend realized he'd left his wallet at home.
And last night he'd left his sunglasses at the restaurant where he works.
So we began our Saturday morning with a walk to his new digs, which worked out well because I hadn't seen the new apartment yet, followed by sunglasses retrieval.
Only then did we go to breakfast.
Thankfully I'd had a banana before leaving the house is all I'm saying.
Having so enjoyed lunch at Ettamae's the other day, I was just as pleased with breakfast today.
I had a couple of eggs perfectly cooked (as Holmes says, "Not everyone has a way with eggs.") with three strips of bacon, buttered toast and homemade strawberry jam.
My friend had one of the specials, French toast stuffed with bananas and blueberries with a raspberry and blueberry sauce.
We agreed that a couple of the other specials, namely the meatloaf eggs Benedict and the kielbasa, onions and pepper eggs Benedict had a lot of hearty appeal, too.
Having already criss-crossed the Ward several times before sitting down to breakfast, we practically inhaled our food, or at least it seemed that way to us.
Our server even made a crack about my friend all but having licked his plate clean.
I think I left two scraps of crust on my plate and only because I'd run out of that wonderful jam.
As I told my friend, this is the first year in well over a decade that I didn't go strawberry picking and make jam with the spoils, so I was especially appreciative of someone else's efforts to give me fresh strawberry jam, something I didn't expect to enjoy because of my own laziness.
My breakfast was a mere five bucks, so I can foresee Ettamae's becoming a frequent breakfast spot for this neighbor.
I've already decided who my next breakfast companion will be because I can see his hearty appetite being quite satisfied there.
And musically? Green Day to REM, so no complaints from me...on any score.
I like you, Ettamae.
Part Two, in which I was told, "You're like a drug with no bad side effects."
Afterwards we walked to the museum to see "Chuck Close: People Who Matter to Me" and experience the recent installation of Jun Kaneko's colossal ceramics in the sculpture garden.
We were thrilled to see how busy the museum was at 11:30 in the morning, positively buzzing.
This renovation has been like a spark to the city and I get excited anew every time I walk into it.
Part of the reason for my enthusiasm is what the renovation has dropped at my doorstep.
The Corcoran Gallery of Art has just opened an exhibit "Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration," a show I would surely have driven up the soul-sucking 95 to see pre-renovation.
Instead, a sunny walk puts me in front of two dozen Close works spanning 1974 to the present.
And the Corcoran show would have cost me $10 plus gas and parking.
I can't speak to that show, but the exhibit at VMFA is stellar, with Close works in every medium from tapestry (absolutely amazing and I defy you to recognize it as tapestry on first glance) to large-format Polaroids, even daguerreotypes and pulp collages.
Because Close is a portrait artist, we see images of many of his artistic friends and patrons, always with a photograph having been the starting point.
The variety of processes used is mind-boggling, as is his habit of working up close and not standing back to view a piece in total until the end of the process.
The man may be 70 but his ability to capture the essence of a person is timeless.
After so much up close art, we headed outside to inspect the new sculpture garden, which is on its way to being the talk of the town.
The monumental blue three-ton head by Jun Kaneko is a stunner.
You can't help but touch its ceramic finish and I couldn't help but wish I'd seen it lowered into place.
It invites a walk around.
Nearby are eight totem-like forms, each about 9' tall and with a different overall design.
They are referred to as dangos (meaning dumplings, which, for some reason, delights me) and there is such a variety in how they have been painted that each one feels like a completely new experience, despite the identical forms.
I was fascinated to learn of the industrial kilns they were fired in and for weeks (!) at a time.
It's ceramics on a scale I could not have imagined but which invite lingering as I made my way around the garden.
Toto, I don't think we're in Richmond anymore.
But of course we are and therein lies our great good fortune.
Every time I've gone to the VMFA since the reopening, and this was my fifth time, I completely forget that I'm not in a big city museum.
No, I'm in a big town museum, the state museum of Virginia, and it's the gift of a lifetime to RVA.
Art geek that I am, I intend to slowly unwrap it every chance I get.
A friend and I had made plans to meet for breakfast at Ettamae's Cafe followed by a walk to the VMFA to see two new exhibits.
A simple plan, really.
Except that upon meeting up in J-Ward, my friend realized he'd left his wallet at home.
And last night he'd left his sunglasses at the restaurant where he works.
So we began our Saturday morning with a walk to his new digs, which worked out well because I hadn't seen the new apartment yet, followed by sunglasses retrieval.
Only then did we go to breakfast.
Thankfully I'd had a banana before leaving the house is all I'm saying.
Having so enjoyed lunch at Ettamae's the other day, I was just as pleased with breakfast today.
I had a couple of eggs perfectly cooked (as Holmes says, "Not everyone has a way with eggs.") with three strips of bacon, buttered toast and homemade strawberry jam.
My friend had one of the specials, French toast stuffed with bananas and blueberries with a raspberry and blueberry sauce.
We agreed that a couple of the other specials, namely the meatloaf eggs Benedict and the kielbasa, onions and pepper eggs Benedict had a lot of hearty appeal, too.
Having already criss-crossed the Ward several times before sitting down to breakfast, we practically inhaled our food, or at least it seemed that way to us.
Our server even made a crack about my friend all but having licked his plate clean.
I think I left two scraps of crust on my plate and only because I'd run out of that wonderful jam.
As I told my friend, this is the first year in well over a decade that I didn't go strawberry picking and make jam with the spoils, so I was especially appreciative of someone else's efforts to give me fresh strawberry jam, something I didn't expect to enjoy because of my own laziness.
My breakfast was a mere five bucks, so I can foresee Ettamae's becoming a frequent breakfast spot for this neighbor.
I've already decided who my next breakfast companion will be because I can see his hearty appetite being quite satisfied there.
And musically? Green Day to REM, so no complaints from me...on any score.
I like you, Ettamae.
Part Two, in which I was told, "You're like a drug with no bad side effects."
Afterwards we walked to the museum to see "Chuck Close: People Who Matter to Me" and experience the recent installation of Jun Kaneko's colossal ceramics in the sculpture garden.
We were thrilled to see how busy the museum was at 11:30 in the morning, positively buzzing.
This renovation has been like a spark to the city and I get excited anew every time I walk into it.
Part of the reason for my enthusiasm is what the renovation has dropped at my doorstep.
The Corcoran Gallery of Art has just opened an exhibit "Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration," a show I would surely have driven up the soul-sucking 95 to see pre-renovation.
Instead, a sunny walk puts me in front of two dozen Close works spanning 1974 to the present.
And the Corcoran show would have cost me $10 plus gas and parking.
I can't speak to that show, but the exhibit at VMFA is stellar, with Close works in every medium from tapestry (absolutely amazing and I defy you to recognize it as tapestry on first glance) to large-format Polaroids, even daguerreotypes and pulp collages.
Because Close is a portrait artist, we see images of many of his artistic friends and patrons, always with a photograph having been the starting point.
The variety of processes used is mind-boggling, as is his habit of working up close and not standing back to view a piece in total until the end of the process.
The man may be 70 but his ability to capture the essence of a person is timeless.
After so much up close art, we headed outside to inspect the new sculpture garden, which is on its way to being the talk of the town.
The monumental blue three-ton head by Jun Kaneko is a stunner.
You can't help but touch its ceramic finish and I couldn't help but wish I'd seen it lowered into place.
It invites a walk around.
Nearby are eight totem-like forms, each about 9' tall and with a different overall design.
They are referred to as dangos (meaning dumplings, which, for some reason, delights me) and there is such a variety in how they have been painted that each one feels like a completely new experience, despite the identical forms.
I was fascinated to learn of the industrial kilns they were fired in and for weeks (!) at a time.
It's ceramics on a scale I could not have imagined but which invite lingering as I made my way around the garden.
Toto, I don't think we're in Richmond anymore.
But of course we are and therein lies our great good fortune.
Every time I've gone to the VMFA since the reopening, and this was my fifth time, I completely forget that I'm not in a big city museum.
No, I'm in a big town museum, the state museum of Virginia, and it's the gift of a lifetime to RVA.
Art geek that I am, I intend to slowly unwrap it every chance I get.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Lunch in the Hood: Ettamae's Cafe
Wouldn't you just know that I go out of town for a couple of weeks and that's the moment that a new restaurant chooses to open in Jackson Ward? By mid-day yesterday, not even home for 48 hours yet, two different people had told me I needed to check out Ettamae's Cafe over on Second Street and a mere five blocks from my apartment. I'm on it, guys.
The building is small and charming and, at the moment, next to a major building renovation right next door. The construction fence extends well into Second Street, all but blocking the little cafe that could from view as you walk toward Leigh Street. Soldier on, kids; it's just beyond that fence.
I'd enlisted my J-Ward buddy for company because I knew he'd be just as eager to learn of a new neighborhood joint doing breakfast and lunch as I was. The upstairs salmon-colored dining room is classic J-Ward architecture, except for the opening in the floor that looks down over the kitchen. Through a two-part door (almost a Dutch door, but not quite) there's a sweet little patio with tables and umbrellas overlooking the street scape. Choices, choices.
Sandwiches come three clever ways: Lonely (sandwich only), Two-Street (sandwich and one side) and Three-Sweet (sandwich, side and dessert). My friend was very pleased to see that they serve locally roasted Blanchard's coffee; it's so good, he said, that it needs very little enhancement (translation: he didn't need to add some noxious chemical to the coffee to sweeten it). He had three cups, so I have to believe he knew what he was talking about. Score one.
There was no way for me to resist their oven-braised corned beef and I went the Two-Street route with the tomato basil salad. The corned beef was heavenly and clearly done in house, fatty bits still attached, as they should be. The salad was a pretty collection of halved, multi-colored grape tomatoes and onions in a balsamic dressing; it had the perfect tartness to offset the richness of the corned beef. Score two.
After being told what Manchego was, my friend ordered the Cumin Pork, Manchego, onion and pepper sandwich with a side of Mom's potato salad. I asked him if it was like his own Mom's and he said no because his Mom used mustard and this was a white potato salad, which he actually prefers. We'll just call it Better than Mom's Potato Salad. His pig sandwich was divine, with the cumin not overpowering the pork, but providing a healthy dose of flavor with bits of red and green pepper mixed in with the onion. Score three.
Our large cow and pig orders had precluded ordering dessert, but on the way out we admired a nearby diner scarfing the chocolate bread pudding, which looked mighty appealing. I'd say maybe next time, except that we'd already agreed that next time will be for breakfast and even I don't need dessert with my morning meal.
Because you know I noticed, I'll tell you that the music was just the right volume and ranged from the Carpenters to They Might Be Giants. Like Jackson Ward itself, it was an eclectic mix.
And rather than telling you about the hard hat special, better you drop by Ettamae's and find out for yourself. Just maneuver around the construction fence and follow the J-Ward types to the colorful little cafe. It's undoubtedly the only place in the 'hood where you'll find Russian tea cakes.
How's that for eclectic?
The building is small and charming and, at the moment, next to a major building renovation right next door. The construction fence extends well into Second Street, all but blocking the little cafe that could from view as you walk toward Leigh Street. Soldier on, kids; it's just beyond that fence.
I'd enlisted my J-Ward buddy for company because I knew he'd be just as eager to learn of a new neighborhood joint doing breakfast and lunch as I was. The upstairs salmon-colored dining room is classic J-Ward architecture, except for the opening in the floor that looks down over the kitchen. Through a two-part door (almost a Dutch door, but not quite) there's a sweet little patio with tables and umbrellas overlooking the street scape. Choices, choices.
Sandwiches come three clever ways: Lonely (sandwich only), Two-Street (sandwich and one side) and Three-Sweet (sandwich, side and dessert). My friend was very pleased to see that they serve locally roasted Blanchard's coffee; it's so good, he said, that it needs very little enhancement (translation: he didn't need to add some noxious chemical to the coffee to sweeten it). He had three cups, so I have to believe he knew what he was talking about. Score one.
There was no way for me to resist their oven-braised corned beef and I went the Two-Street route with the tomato basil salad. The corned beef was heavenly and clearly done in house, fatty bits still attached, as they should be. The salad was a pretty collection of halved, multi-colored grape tomatoes and onions in a balsamic dressing; it had the perfect tartness to offset the richness of the corned beef. Score two.
After being told what Manchego was, my friend ordered the Cumin Pork, Manchego, onion and pepper sandwich with a side of Mom's potato salad. I asked him if it was like his own Mom's and he said no because his Mom used mustard and this was a white potato salad, which he actually prefers. We'll just call it Better than Mom's Potato Salad. His pig sandwich was divine, with the cumin not overpowering the pork, but providing a healthy dose of flavor with bits of red and green pepper mixed in with the onion. Score three.
Our large cow and pig orders had precluded ordering dessert, but on the way out we admired a nearby diner scarfing the chocolate bread pudding, which looked mighty appealing. I'd say maybe next time, except that we'd already agreed that next time will be for breakfast and even I don't need dessert with my morning meal.
Because you know I noticed, I'll tell you that the music was just the right volume and ranged from the Carpenters to They Might Be Giants. Like Jackson Ward itself, it was an eclectic mix.
And rather than telling you about the hard hat special, better you drop by Ettamae's and find out for yourself. Just maneuver around the construction fence and follow the J-Ward types to the colorful little cafe. It's undoubtedly the only place in the 'hood where you'll find Russian tea cakes.
How's that for eclectic?
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