Crank Your City

How many Richmonders does it take to change a light bulb?
Ten. One to change the bulb and nine to talk about how great the old bulb was.

I bet I hadn't been in Richmond a month when someone told me that joke as warning for how resistant to change people here were. So why did that joke come to mind at tonight's community stakeholder meeting about bike lanes in Jackson Ward?

Since I seldom bike anymore, my interest in the meeting was as simple as my interest in anything related to J-Ward: I've lived in this neighborhood for over a decade, so when something's going on here, I'd like to at least be informed. That's why I went to meetings about the bus rapid transit, why I attended sessions about the Maggie Walker statue and why I was present at weekly charrettes about re-imagining Brook Road.

Arriving at the Speakeasy behind the Hippodrome, I headed for a table with two young guys I didn't know, the better to meet others. One was involved in bike advocacy and the other was a VCU journalism student required to attend a city meeting and report on it. That he also used to bike-deliver for Jimmy John's meant he understood the dog in this fight, too.

In no time, he was asking my name and noting it in his memo pad so he could quote me in his piece. Yes, I'd like to see dedicated bike lanes in Jackson Ward.

Council woman Kim Gray opened the meeting by saying that some local business owners had contacted her with serious concerns about the proposed bike lanes on First (which connects the city to Northside) and Second (which connects the city to Southside) Streets, fearful that dedicated bike lanes would be the death knell for their businesses. She empathized completely.

Ugh. I knew right there that this was going to be a long meeting.

The bike guy from the city was admirably even-keeled despite the adversarial vibe coming off half the room as he explained that the city was considering applying for a DoT grant that would provide 4 federal dollars for every $1 the city spent in doing a feasibility study and, assuming it made sense, creating bike lanes on those streets.

He made it very clear that the two streets would retain parking on both sides of the streets, with one of the current vehicular lanes being converted to a dedicated bike lane, a change already established as doable because of the limited amount of traffic on First and Second Streets that could be easily handled in one lane.

Heaven help me, that's when the moaning, beating of breasts and general lamentations began.

Business owner after residential owner took up valuable microphone time to whine about how difficult it can be to park in J-Ward. Several even had the gall to say that they expected to be able to park in front of their home at all times.

My question is, why on earth are you living in the city if you aren't happy unless you can park easily? Do you also complain about the dings on your bumper where parallel parkers have grazed your bumper with theirs in tight spaces? Give me a break.

As if their myopia about the addition of bike lanes (despite studies having proven that business increases and profits go up when bike lanes are added) wasn't enough to make me want to knock their heads together, consider this.

Mr. City Bike Guy made it quite clear that tonight's meeting was solely for the purpose of gathering opinions about whether or not to even apply for the grant, and if they did, part of the funds would be used to do a study to determine if the lanes would be best placed on those two streets or elsewhere.

Meanwhile, we've got all these people whining about how inconvenienced they'll be in their cars if we put in bike lanes.

Never mind that people speed terribly on both those one-way streets, making them extremely unsafe for pedestrians and cyclists, a situation that would be addressed with only one lane for cars because they'd have to slow down to the speed limit. It's called traffic calming and Floyd Avenue's bike boulevard has proven it works.

One speaker had the gall to complain that her customers wouldn't be able to (illegally) double park and run in to get something if there was a bike lane. Boo hoo.

Fortunately, there were a goodly number of cyclists of all ages there to remind some of the change-resistant that not everyone bikes for recreation. Plenty of people bike for transportation (20% of Richmond residents don't have a car), a proposition that can get pretty dicey given the lack of respect for cycling in the Ward.

I listened to question after question and it was apparent that many people really just wanted to maintain the status quo and ensure that cars remain top priority, while greener options like biking and walking take a backseat.

Finally, I raised my hand just to ask the question that would make sure everyone was hearing correctly: putting in these bike lanes wasn't going to take away parking spaces.

How many stakeholders does it take to accept change see the potential of adding bike lanes to under-utilized streets without sacrificing parking?

Looks like Jackson Ward is okay with being the burned-out light bulb. What a shame.

Why We're Friends

Three women, two of whom have never met, walk into a bar.

Two hours later, they know more about each other's lives than some men know about their girlfriends. Comedy or tragedy?

After our last planned date got snowed out, a friend I met last summer but hadn't seen since the State Fair suggested she kill two birds with one stone. That meant meeting two friends for one dinner and I was one of them.

Over happy hour at the Mill, I got to know her friend as we talked about heavy stuff: mortality, life's wake-up calls and emergency room visits. Turns out we were all born within three weeks of each other, so perhaps that accounted for some of the compatibility. That or the 9-ounce wine pours.

Both enjoyed the house BLT while lamenting that we're not yet to tomato season while I tried the avocado halves stuffed with grilled shrimp and corn salsa (alas, no fresh corn in that salsa, either). More mindful than some of us, they declined dessert while I happily lapped up a bowl of Bev's double chocolate ice cream.

Just supporting the local, that's all.

I left them peering in windows on MacArthur Boulevard while I made my way back to Jackson Ward and the Hippodrome Theater.

Tonight was 5th Wall's second annual preview and party fundraiser and knowing how much fun I'd had at it last year, I didn't want to be late. My date, though still pining for Pru in Paris, was dutifully awaiting my arrival out front.

Inside, we found our names on a table near the stage with a great vantage point for the entertainment.

Our host was Eva DeVirgilis dressed as the emcee from "Cabaret" and she greeted us with "Willkommen," and was eventually joined by the company.

Eva revels in being bossy and wasted no time mentioning the silent auction, saying, "Go ahead and show off and buy something for your lover." I sure wouldn't have minded someone buying a massage or weekend getaway for me. As luck would have it, no lovers were present.

From there, the audience was treated to a series of musical numbers and scenes from 5th Wall productions past and present.

Always guaranteed to hit it out of the park, Matt Shofner killed it with "Hitchhiking Across America," holding up a cardboard sign ("I like boys!") midway through the song about meeting guys on the road. Behind me, I heard a woman sigh, saying, "He's sooo good!" Yes, he is.

After the song, he took a bow, grabbed the sign held it up again and pointed at it, just in case any nice potential husbands in the audience had missed the point.

Our hostess Eva encouraged us to check our programs for information about what we were seeing. "And if you want to know about any of the performers, buy 'em a drink!" Works for writers, too, by the way.

A scene from "H2O" reminded me how powerful and thought-provoking that play had been.

Brittany Simmons used her big voice and best comedic powers to sing "I Could Be Jewish for You," getting belly laughs from the Jewish friend behind me.

Seeing the incredibly strong cast of "The Lyons" do a scene (even without Jacqueline Jones' magnificent red wig) was further proof of what a superb production that had been, while seeing a snippet of "Human Terrain" made me regret having been too busy to see it.

Much as I enjoyed seeing scenes from plays I'd liked so much, it was even cooler seeing previews from upcoming productions.

"Uncanny Valley" was described as a play about two humans and a robot ("In our mind's eye, we are forever young"), but most interesting was when my date, a certifiable technology nerd, explained that uncanny valley described the discomfort humans feel when faced with a human-like (but not human) creation.

Had I gone to the preview alone, I'd never have known that factoid. Pays to have friends who date smart men.

During intermission, the Hatted Man About Town dropped by to chat. When I explained that I had my date by default because his beloved was in Paris, the hatted one pulled from his wealth of knowledge to inform us that both Paris (the original walled city, at least) and Richmond are approximately 60 square miles.

"It's all about density," he explained, setting off some pretty funny riffing on the pleasures of density.

Mid-laughter, a man approached the table and addressed the hatted one. "Hi, we're friends on Facebook but we've never met." My night was made when the hat responded, "Then why are we friends?"

As one who refuses to accept a friend request from people I don't know in real life, it was a question after my own heart and pretty hilarious to boot.

We left him with his new friend to peruse the silent auction items and bid where appropriate before intermission ended.

The second act began memorably. "We're fine with you masturbating, Gerard," Melissa Johnston Price said to major laughter in a scene from the upcoming "Body Awareness," which looks fierce ("You're 55 and you've never read "Crime and Punishment!").

Mental note: see this play.

Desiree Roots did the classic "My Funny Valentine" off of her latest album, "Don't Ever Stop Dreaming," wowing the crowd with her beautiful voice while Carl Lester dazzled on jazz guitar.

It looks like we'll get another provocative Israel Horovitz play this season, "Unexpected Tenderness," an impassioned look at the anger-driven patriarch of a family with some impressive acting talent.

Artistic director Carol Piersol took the stage in sequins, raving about the past year being the best ever for a theater company's first year, a fact verified by anyone who'd been in the audience. You know, like me.

The final portion of the evening was left in the capable red finger-nailed hands of Miss Georgia Rogers Farmer, the blond queen of sass and sweetness. Or, as she put it, "I'm slutty, I'm a domestic goddess and a teacher. I hope you can learn a few things tonight." Oh, yes, and a big red flower tucked behind her ear. Classic.

That meant she began with a song about the wonders of not eating meat that segued into a brassy interlude about the pleasures of bacon ("fried heaven in a pan") and being willing to wring a pig's neck to get it.

"I told myself I wouldn't make anything for tonight, but I couldn't help myself," she explained, handing out to the audience two trays of chocolate-covered bacon for us to pass around. "If there's any left, my seat is right over there," she said pointing.

There wasn't.

I considered myself lucky when she did the '30s classic, "I Only Have Eyes for You," a personal favorite that was followed by "Sing for Your Supper" with stellar back-up by Carolyn Meade and Katrinah Carol-Lewis, all clad in feathered headbands with birds attached.

But the real gem, the number that had to be seen to be believed, was her version of the Black Eyed Peas' "Boom Boom Pow," complete with grinding, booty shaking and memorable lyrics such as, "Shittin' on y'all, you with the boom boom."

The evening got its final pop with the entire company doing Sondheim's "Old Friend," a tribute to the power of the people in the room, most of whom were Firehouse Theater supporters who followed Carol Piersol and BC Maupin on their inspired path to create 5th Wall.

Most friends fade
or they don't make the grade
New ones are quickly made
and in a pinch, sure, they'll do
But us old friends
what's to discuss, old friend?
Here's to us
Who's like us?
Damn few

Fortunately, there's far more than a damn few rooting for another outstanding season of 5th Wall productions.

So what happens when a woman walks into a bar to meet a fairly new friend and a brand new friend and then walks into a theater to meet another fairly new friend?

There's lots to discuss. Here's to us.

Here's To the Girls Who Stay Smart

It was a theater lover's wet dream.

The preview and party for 5th Wall, the new production company from Carol Piersol and B.C. Maupin, was a great big celebration at the Hippodrome (how convenient for me) showcasing some of the major talent in this town.

Walking in, there were plenty of familiar faces - the hat, the neighbors, the critic - and before long we invited ourselves to join the table of a handsome couple we did not know.

By the time we finished introductions, the show was starting.

Host Eva DeVirgilis began by saying, "It's fun to be out on a Wednesday night, huh? Feels kind of naughty."

As someone who's out every night of the week, it feels kind of right to me.

The program was a satisfying mix of theatrical scenes and musical numbers, the cast changing up for each one. The crowd ate it all up.

In the first act, songs alternated with scenes from 5th Wall's last season, so I recognized the adoration humor of "Patti Issues," the excruciating tension of "Gidion's Knot," the touchy issues of "Race."

Singer Susan Greenbaum came out with her guitar and smiled, saying, "I learned this from my theater friends," and tossed her red scarf over her shoulder. Saying, "Despite the fact that it's twelve degrees in here..." and boy, was she right about that, she launched into "Summertime."

Seeing a scene from "Breast in Show" made me sorry I hadn't seen it.

Eva provided some humor with a monologue about how directors are always expecting her take her clothes off. "I'm an actress, too, you know," she insisted before being called over by the pianist, revealing that the pants she was wearing had no fabric over her butt cheeks.

It got her lots of laughs and we got a great view of her lovely backside.

Georgia Rogers Farmer came out looking demure with her blond hair and sweet face and began singing a slow burn cabaret style version of "Baby Got Back," so far removed from the original in tone and tempo that I'd bet some people didn't even recognize it.

It was fabulous beyond words on a night with many stellar performances.

As if her languorous version wasn't enough, she complemented the singing with some magnificent ass-shaking, twitching, hip rolling and just about any other possible bottom motion.

When she finished my friend learned over and told me that after her divorce, her husband had sent her a copy of that song because he'd missed his baby's back.

True story.

Next came Matt Shofner killing it on "Wig in a Box," but then every theatergoer in town knows he's chomping at the bit to start rehearsals for "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" this Fall.

When Debra Wagoner came out to close the first act, she walked up to the mic stand and looked up. "Every time, it's too tall," she joked.

Matt came rushing over to adjust it. "A diva doesn't move her own mic." More truth.

"Also, we need a clean-up on chair five," she cracked, pointing to where she'd just left.

Drink in hand, her version of "The Ladies Who Lunch" was hilarious, powerful and pointed.

Over intermission, I chatted with our table mates, unexpectedly discovering that we shared some common history.

You never know when you'll meet someone who's experienced the same difficult thing you have.

The handsome and big-voiced Russell Rowland did a great job with "Being Alive," pulling everyone back from the bar to their tables.

The second act began with Eva introduced as local actor extraordinaire, Scott Wichmann, and she came out dressed like him, moving like him and even talking like him, to the great amusement of the crowd.

Introducing "a woman who needs no introduction," Carol Piersol came out ("Thanks, Scotty!" to Eva) to start the preview portion of the evening with scenes from upcoming plays.

"The Lyons" provided some of the funniest lines of the evening around a dying Jewish father talking to his adult children and wife while in the hospital.

Mother: Everyone feels uncomfortable when they're intimate
Father: Your mother used to vomit.

"The Human Terrain" featured the always impressive Molly Hood in a story of an anthropologist embedded with a combat unit, something that apparently happens in real life.

D.C. actress Felicia Curry (currently appearing in "The Color Purple") came out in what had to be the best shoes of the entire evening and sang, "Whatever Happened to My Part?" from "Spamalot," subbing in lines such as, "This is one unhappy diva, Billy Christopher has deceived her."

She raved about her time in Richmond, singing "Get Here" as a love song to our city, then doing a duet with Katrinah Carol Lewis of "For Good" that had them holding hands and tearing up as they traded "love letters" to Richmond.

But when she really brought down the house was with "Random Black Girl," singing, scatting and strutting as "just the random black girl singing the soul," while the crowd clapped along.

Everyone who'd performed tonight came back on stage for a sing-it-to-the-rafters version of "Seasons of Love" from "Rent" that was goose bump worthy.

It had been an all-star coming out party for Richmond's newest production company.

Eva had the last (hilarious) words with, "Join us tomorrow night as we do it all again with a gender-reversed take on tonight's program directed by B.C. Maupin."

If only.

But if they did, my money is on Matt wearing those epic shoes of Felicia's.

A Little Sugar in my Bowl

I woke up happy this morning.

You have to love a morning when a guy asks, "Will you marry me today?"

Granted, I didn't know him and I was walking down the street when he said, it, but I take my proposals where ever they come from.

Tonight I took my evening right here in Jackson Ward at the Hippodrome Theater.

The founders of the Firehouse Theater Project were presenting a celebration of (almost) 20 years of provocative Richmond theater and as a long-time Firehouse supporter and theater lover, how better to spend a Tuesday night?

Pru joined me for what turned out to be a big, old party interspersed with songs and scenes from former FTP productions.

The bar was mobbed when we arrived, so we patiently waited our turn before heading to the food table for spicy crabcakes, meatballs and, my favorite, mini-chicken and waffles.

A guy in the buffet line told me he'd never heard of the classic sweet and salty shift meal, so I gave him a brief history as we scooped up food.

I saw lots of familiar faces - the beer and theater loving couple, the Listening Room alum as excited as I am about the upcoming show at the Michaux House, even said hi to Carol Piersol herself, the reason for tonight's celebration.

We took seats in the second row, behind the all-important founders who were in the front row and did our mingling from there.

The show began with host Eva asking for those who'd performed at FTP to clap (lots of applause). Then for those who'd attended an FTP production to clap (even more applause).

Then she asked those who've gone in to Lowe's to use the bathroom to clap and that got the largest applause of all.

Appropriately, the first performer was Scott Wichmann, doing a song from "Bat Boy," the first musical FTP ever did, and setting the bar very high.

We saw a very funny scene from Harry the Hat's "Persistence of Memory," about one of the Reynolds' execs trying to get Salvador Dali (complete with lobster phone) to create a statue out of aluminum for Monument Avenue back in the '60s.

True story.

A scene from David Mamet's "Businessmen" seemed an especially good choice given that tonight's show was a benefit for Carol Piersol's upcoming production of Mamet's "Race."

Desiree Roots killed it during a rendition of  "I Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl," from "The Death of Bessie Smith," one of two Edward Albee shows we saw tonight.

Tired of bein' lonely, tired of bein' blue
Wished I had some good man to tell my troubles to

The audience was testifying right along with her.

More Mamet came courtesy of the classic "Glengarry Glen Ross" with d.l. Hopkins effortlessly tossing off lines like, "This place gets robbed, they'll come looking for me. Why? Because I probably did it."

Jacob Pennington broke my heart with a scene from "Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead," about his beagle Snoopy being put to sleep after killing Woodstock.

I can handle many things, but not dead beagle scenes. For me, it'll always be too soon for that.

Matt Shofner brought everybody back up, though with an hysterical and well done version of "Suppertime" ("the very best time of the day," he sang. Amen to that) from "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

Man, can that boy sing, as if I didn't already know that from the Ghost Light afterparty.

Sam Shepard's "Curse of the Starving Class" was typical Shepard-like bleak, involving jail, a lamb and an actor in his boxers.

In a related note, host Eva then came out in a nude body stocking, complete with an abundant pubic hair wig. aimlessly twirling strands of hair around her finger as she said, "The Firehouse has never shied away from nudity onstage."

Harry "The Hat" Kollatz spoke next, brilliantly telling the saga of a 1998 FTP production.

Recalling executive director Carol calling him for help, he admitted to wondering why.

"I am the Chauncey Gardiner of this outfit. I have no practical skills," he said, cracking up the entire room.

His story ended up being about how the 100+-year firehouse had been purchased through the generosity of unexpected benefactors.

Katrinah Carol Lewis did "Out Tonight" from "Rent," a show Harry had said could have run forever it was so well-received.

Let's go out tonight
I have to go out tonight
You wanna play?
Let's run away
We won't be back before it's New Year's Day
Take me out tonight

The scene from "Four Dogs and a Bone" had an actress coming on to a writer, resulting in lines like, "I used to be romantic before I joined the writers' guild."

John Patrick Shanley's play was full of stellar lines. "I can't even tell you're drunk except by what you say.

Even better, "I hope I remember this conversation in the morning, not the gist of it, but the details."

Scott came back to do a song he'd planned to do at FTP's 2008 cabaret but which had not made the cut.

"Entering Marion" was ostensibly a travel song except he kept entering towns with girls' names, eventually becoming the kind of trampy traveler who entered places like Lawrence and Lowell before regretting it later at the motel.

His performance was terrifically nuanced, right down to hand gestures of shifting gears in the car.

Watching "Eurydice," it was striking how spot on the cast was.

The guy next to me leaned in and observed, "It's amazing, they're doing these roles years after they originally did and not overacting a bit. That's quite an accomplishment."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Desiree Roots' medley from "Dessa Rose" was so big-voiced and moving that I saw a few people wiping tears away by the end of it.

I recall seeing the second Albee play of the evening, "The Goat, Or Who is Sylvia?" but you never really forget a play about a man having an affair with a goat, do you?

The show ended with the inimitable Matt coming back out, this time with a long, blond wig, full face makeup and open-toed pumps on.

As soon as I saw him, I remembered the other night at the Ghost Light, host Maggie had come onstage with a bulging bag, saying to Matt, "Here, you said to bring your wigs."

Now I knew why.

With scene-stealing know-how, he sang "Midnight Radio" from "Hedwig and the Angry Inch," prancing around the stage, his big voice reaching to the rafters.

By the time he got to the chorus ending of "Lift up your hands, lift up your hands," people in the crowd led by a glowing Carol, were doing just that and a procession began of people dancing toward the stage, all arms in the air.

You know you're doing alright
So hold on to each other
You gotta hold on tonight

Watching a roomful of theater performers and theater lovers gather together to celebrate a company that changed the Richmond theater scene for the better was mighty impressive.

I hope I remember this performance, not just in the morning, but years from now, and not the gist of it, but the details.

Truly, it was a lovely thing to behold.

So Doggone Willing

A friend is fond of telling me that he's scared to go places without me.

Considering his time living in London, Paris and Maine, what he means is that he's scared to do things in Richmond alone.

So when he suggested we check out Happy Hour at the Hipp, I was more than happy to spend some time at J-Ward's newest social gathering with him.

He had some concerns that he'd need to wear a bowtie and he doesn't own one, but I assured him that the event didn't require one.

That said, there was a lot of cologne in the room tonight.

I had not a clue what to expect, so the valet parking, the crowds of well-dressed people, the booming bass of the club DJ and the abundance of friendly men came as a bit of a surprise.

In the short time waiting for my friend to arrive, three guys introduced themselves and I heard a club mix of "Na, Na, Hey, Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye."

It's not every day I sit in a darkened bar with dance music playing and everyone checking each other out.

Once I had company, we got a table and tried to order drinks. My friend's order of a sidecar slightly flummoxed our server who had never heard of such a drink.

While he went to discuss it with the bartender, my friend and I played catch-up with our lives.

He told me about the problems of band members who lose sight of the bigger picture and the satisfactions and frustrations of researching family genealogy.

I told him about receiving unexpected warnings (beware!) and being made to laugh.

After the first couple of hours, a band, Doors Wide Open, replaced the DJ.

Of the smooth jazz quintet my friend dryly observed, "I know they're good, but it sounds like the Weather Channel."

Not long after, though, he also commented that the sound mix was crystalline clear.

Unlike some places his band has played and where I've heard bands (the Camel), the sound was stellar.

We decided to take ourselves next door to Ettamae's and on my way through the lobby, a man stopped me and said, "Hey, you're 27 girl!"

By the same token, he was 27 guy; we'd run into each other eating there on several occasions.

It's s small world in Jackson Ward.

At Ettamae's we took the table right over the oven so we could smell my friend's pizza baking as we chatted and sipped our Septime Malbec.

We picked up a discussion we'd begun a few months ago about the state of his relationship.

He continues to tell me about his dissatisfaction and I continue to recommend that he change what isn't working for him.

"Right," he said as if summing up our talk. "So you're willing to come home and get in my bed so she can find us and walk out?"

Not exactly, although I see where that would be helpful in expediting the end of things for him.

We parted ways on Second Street, him to go home to a girl who is not satisfying his needs and me to meet a friend for dinner at Arcadia.

I'm inclined to think that my evening had more possibilities than his.

My friend was well into a bottle of Kila Cava when I arrived and she and the bartender were already buds.

Buds enough that he already knew a few salient facts about me. Before long, I knew a little about him, too.

Like he was recently out of a long-term relationshop and still understandably hovering on the fringes of a personal life.

I empathized with his being in that place because I inhabited it for several recent years.

He turned out to be a terrific asset to our girltalk, adding in the male point of view and offering advice when we solicited it.

He explained how some guys need a long time to start over after being out of the dating game. How some have a tough time admitting their feelings. It was all very enlightening coming from a man made wiser by love.

At my recommendation, Friend had the chicken thighs with spaetzle and I chose the rock shrimp mac and cheese with aged Gouda cream sauce.

And because it was a lot of arduous talk about guys, we also got the Yukon Gold and sweet potato fries with truffle oil and sea salt.

While we were carbing out, the bartender told us about his parents' long-time happy marriage, then distilled down his relationship goal for once he gets back in the game.

"I want someone I can chase around when I'm ninety," he said simply.

Now there's a worthy goal.

So I guess it's not too far-fetched to say that my goal is to find someone who wants to chase me around when I'm ninety.

But he can't be scared to go places without me. That role is reserved for a certain good friend.

Feeling Good in My Mouth

Okay, I'll admit it. I grew up without pimento cheese.

But don't pity me. I talked to several people tonight who said that they didn't like pimento cheese as children and love it now.

So even if it had been available to me, who's to say I would have liked it?

That's no longer the case, which put me at tonight's screening of "Pimento Cheese, Please!" at the Hippodrome Theater, where tastings of eight pimento cheeses were on the bill.

Best of all, ticket sales benefited the Historic Jackson Ward Association so I was supporting the 'hood.

That would be the same 'hood I walked through to get to the Hippodrome.

Walking down Clay Street in front of the Corner, a lively neighborhood establishment, a guy called to me from across the street.

"Those are some good looking stockings, young lady! Be careful!"

Will do, stranger.

It was my first time in the renovated Hippodrome and I'd been looking forward to seeing the refurbished heartbeat of J-Ward.

Although we were told that the place can hold 700, with chairs for 150 set up and eight tasting tables it was a tad crowded in there tonight.

Crowded as in some people stood for the film (Andrew, I'm looking at you).

Before we got to pimento cheese, we saw a brief video by Richmond Magazine about local chefs and childhood food.

Lee Gregory talked about boiled peanuts, Mama J waxed poetic about lunches of bologna or potted meat sandwiches (both of which I ate regularly as a child) and Kevin of Black Sheep reminisced about haystacks and banana pudding.

Then we got down to the (non) meat of the matter: pimento cheese.

The filmmaker, Nicole Lang Key, is a Yankee with the unique outsider's appreciation for the South.

I first met her at a New Year's Eve party two years ago, but my best memory with her was an outing to Byrd Park summer before this past.

A small group of us were taking a picnic dinner and going to see "Porgy and Bess" one June evening

The bats began swooping at dusk, the fireflies were twinkling over our heads and she was in awe of the magic of a free summer night's entertainment in Richmond.

Let's just say she knew she wasn't in Brooklyn anymore.

It was that passion for the Southern experience that led her to make a delightful short film about pimento cheese.

And the people she interviewed in the film were every bit as passionate about it as she is.

"It feels good in your mouth."

"In the South, it may not be your first food, but it's your second."

When one interviewee mentioned Miracle Whip, the audience reacted immediately and loudly, shouting down such blasphemy.

As one woman pointed out, Southerners are just pre-disposed to like things made with mayonnaise.

And preferably Duke's; my Richmond-born father never allowed anything else in the house.

Not salad dressing.

After the film, the madness began with 150+ people racing to get to the tasting tables and see how differently eight chefs handled the classic.

The variations were huge considering that they were all pimento cheese on something.

It came on pork rinds, sweet potato biscuits, with ham, Ritz and pickles, on rye, on homemade crackers, on Captain's wafers, with meat and on crusty bread.

It was creamy, it was dry, it was spicy and it was sweet.

Bonus points go to Parkside's chef who served his on his grandmother's platters. Nice touch, I thought.

The lines to get samples quickly became long but allowed for socializing and comparisons as you inched your way to the next table.

I have to say that after a while, I got really full.

Luckily, I ran into some terrific company and spent the rest of the evening talking with them about restaurant reviews, impartiality and chefs who won't date vegetarians.

And while I didn't make up for the absence of pimento cheese in my childhood years, I think I left with a better understanding of this Southern classic and a belly full of it.

It's not my fault that that didn't happen to me by age five.

You know, they didn't mention this in the film, but I bet that kind of deprivation would border on child abuse in some parts of the South.

Pimento cheese: part of the Southern birthright, but adopted by Yankees everywhere.

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.