A Criminally Fun Food Fight for Girls

It always comes down to music.

Sure, I could talk about the dinner I had at Lunch (where it was standing room only busy), the Wolftrap white blend, the French onion soup, the witty banter with a favorite recluse.

For that matter, I could  ramble on about "Farewell, My Queen," the French movie we saw afterwards, the opulence of the Versailles setting and costumes contrasted with the harsh reality of Marie Antoinette's time (dead rats, bug bites).

Favorite line: "Words are all I have. I wield them well."

But instead, I'll focus on the show.

Foodfight RVA was a stroke of brilliance - have a show of bands comprised only of people who work together at local restaurants and make it a benefit.

Come on, we all know most servers are really working to support their art or music habit, so it made perfect sense.

And the worthy beneficiary was Girls Rock RVA, the non-profit that holds a week-long empowerment camp every summer to teach girls 8-14 how to play an instrument, write a song and perform it.

Presenting the show was Quickness, the local delivery service that will bring food from a number of restaurants directly to your door.

And they were the first band up.

Just the Tip was a straight-ahead punk band, thrashing hard as they played a song called "Ophelia" about "a lady in Church Hill who always orders barbecue from Alamo and wears a turban."

Just another customer immortalized.

Black Sheep's band was Angry Chef and the Lowboys, a trio in chef coats and aprons all on acoustic guitars (and harmonica).

They got points for clever songwriting, singing "We Got the Kitchen Blues," "86 Bacon" (a dire situation if ever there was one) and perhaps the funniest, "Fry, Baby, Fry."

As you might guess, it sounded a lot like the Beatles "Cry, Baby, Cry" except it had lyrics like, "Kevin's in the kitchen cooking food for the people" and the customer lament, "They want switches and everything on the side."

Some of the women who'd led Girls Rock RVA this year performed next, doing the camp's theme song, but only after informing the crowd what Girls Rock was about.

This year's attendance was 44 (double the first year's) and their final performance was at the Hippodrome.

Hearing about their success made me glad I'd made a donation at the door.

Lamplighter's six-piece Funky Crumpets were next and they introduced themselves as, "We're those dudes who take way too long to make your sandwich."

The crowd laughed. "But they taste real good, don't they?" Much cheering and applause followed because they do.

They got off to a slow start but the guitarist locked into a groove and the singer (who'd said beforehand that she had no idea what she was going to sing) let loose and before long the crowd shut up and took note.

Ipanema's band turned out to be only Jonathan who said his missing band mates were "either working or already playing."

With typical Ips ingenuity, he proceeded to play guitar, loop it, get up and go play drums, loop that and return to guitar.

In other words, he filled in for everybody else, getting an A for effort alone.

Sticky Rice's trio Bonsai were energetic and melodic and especially appropriate for the evening's theme, given they had a female guitarist and drummer.

Duo Fat Side Up came from Alamo Barbecue and they played covers, one from Sublime and another from Fiona Apple ("Criminal").

For their last song, the singer announced he had brought ribs to eat as he sang, and he also waved bones over his head as he finished each one.

Returning from the bathroom mid-show, I ran into a favorite guitarist/server who sweatily informed me, "I'm too old for this shit. I used to do these shows and I remember how they smell."

It was more than a tad warm in Strange Matter tonight, but then a good percentage of the restaurant world was in the house.

Favorite t-shirt: "It's a lifestyle, not a fad."

Selba's Pregenators had a front man who was dying to show off his moves.

Dressed in low-slung jeans, an open black vest and medallion, he showed off his best pelvic thrusts while singing to a bass and drums.

The show closed with the Roosevelt's quartet (who got my vote for best band name), A Consensual Evening with Winston Stablock.

With a smoke machine obliterating bartender and drummer T, they pulled off two well-crafted R & B songs (written by Josh, natch) with him and fellow server Brandon singing back up.

And while I'd heard Mark singing along in the kitchen of the Roosevelt before, I had no idea he had it in him to be a rock star.

Favorite lyric: "I couldn't have you, I had to get you."

After a whole lot of applause, Mark closed by saying, "One more time for the smoke machine" and don't you know the crowd gave it up for the machine.

The audience had thinned considerably by the time the judges got up to award prizes.

The rib-eating Fat Side Up took third place (accepting, the singer said, "I'll bring more ribs next year"), Angry Chef and the Lowboys took second (no doubt for their clever lyrics and only acoustic guitars) and Bonsai took first (maybe being two thirds female helped their odds).

Personally, I'd have also given awards to the two people who had never been on stage before and totally won over the audience.

The guitarist for Funky Crumpets and the singer for A Consensual Evening were both playing their first shows ever.

So, like the aspiring musicians of Girls Rock RVA, they'd practiced, screwed up their nerve and taken the stage only to impress strangers and friends alike.

Because, let's face it, if you want to get good at music (or cooking or anything), you gotta make it a lifestyle, not a fad.

That's the only way I got so good at eating and going to shows.

Swagger and Figs

Go out Monday nights and avoid the crowds, but run into industry people everywhere.

Today's beautiful weather landed me at Lamplighter for some outside conversation with a couple of restaurant types and where I ran into a couple of the Balliceaux crew.

There's nothing like running into a trendy bartender and hearing that he's on his way home to spend the evening reading Harry Potter #4 to reassure me that all is right with the world.

Honestly, I mean that.

Next up was Secco because Mondays are a great night to go and enjoy a lively bar when most places are closed.

Greeting me on arrival was a Bistro 27 staffer enjoying his day off. We chatted on the sidewalk for a bit before he left and I went in.

As always at Secco, the hard part is picking a pink.

With a notation that it tasted like Capri Sun (in a good way) and was made with love, how could I resist Grange Tiphaine Rimage Tournant Touraine Rose with its deep pink color and fruity taste?

I couldn't.

I was lonely for company at the bar when I arrived, but that quickly changed with the arrival of a swaggering man (his words) and the steady company of talkative staff.

One of tonight's specials was a salad of arugula, figs, goat cheese and fried almonds in a 20-year old sherry vinaigrette.

Since I'm fig-obsessed lately, I found this combination to be a delightful one, with the peppery arugula balancing the sweetness of the figs.

I ended up talking to the swaggerer who boasted of wearing salmon colored shirts (the bartender had on lavender and that had been the starting point) as a way of making statements about himself.

It turns out that people questioned him for wearing such colors to work, but he told them that he was "working it," so he was entitled to wear whatever he wanted to.

He said it's all about the swagger, an attitude with which I have some familiarity in men.

He was also enthusiastically eating cheese, so I decided to follow suit with the Cabecou, described as "goaty, gooey and gorgeous."

It boggles the mind how many things besides cheese those adjectives could apply to.

Two of the servers described it as their current favorite, and after tasting its buttery creaminess, I could see why they'd praised it.

I couldn't decide whether it was better with the plum chutney or the onion jam, so I ate both with it.

But it wasn't just about cheese; I was meeting up with a friend who got the evening off to a great start by loaning me a book she highly recommended.

Yes it's a love story which I probably have no business reading, but it's hard to resist a book recommended for its beautiful language.

As another friend and I recently discussed, when it comes to love and potential mates, not knowing the difference between "your" and "you're" is a deal breaker.

And let's not even talk about "should of."

Language matters, at least to a certain nerdy set.

Meanwhile, a big-name chef came in with his lawyer; they were in the neighborhood checking out potential locations.

His bluster may have sucked  a bit of air out of the room, but we managed to carry on with our girl talk in spite of him.

Nerds have always had a way of tuning out the popular people.

It used to be about self-preservation. Now it's just choice.

Doughnut Deliverance

It's a classic good news/bad news situation.

Now that Lamplighter is carrying Country Style doughnuts, I don't have to drive out Williamsburg Road for my doughnut fix.

But unless you're at Lamplighter pretty early, the selection gets pretty limited.

I don't get much of anywhere early anymore. Which means when I arrived at Lamplighter for a doughnut around 11:15, there were no more cake doughnuts.

And while I'll eat a yeast doughnut (this morning's was toasted coconut), my preference is always for a cake doughnut.

Ideally, I like a chocolate cake doughnut with chocolate icing, but a plain cake doughnut with chocolate icing is almost as good.

There's something about the heaviness of a cake doughnut that satisfies on a level that a yeast doughnut doesn't.

I used to work with a woman who would go into Krispy Kreme when the "Hot" sign was on, order a dozen glazed doughnuts with a hot chocolate and eat them all there in one sitting.

She was part proud and part ashamed of this fact.

I don't know anyone, male or female who could eat a dozen cake donuts in one sitting. Nor would I want to.

Today's toasted coconut yeast doughnut was enjoyed outside Lamplighter sitting in a pale blue school desk/chair under the prayer flags and shaded from the late morning sun.

It occurred to me that a couple of hours earlier and it could have been a cake doughnut.

Looks like I'll have to revert to the Williamsburg Road location if I'm going to remain a slugabed with a penchant for cake doughnuts.

Walk, Pray, Eat, Pray

Walking down Grace Street this morning, a woman spoke to me out of the blue. "Want a cookie?"

Lost in thought and barely half an hour after breakfast, I wasn't expecting the question and I declined. "Lemonade?" she asked, gesturing toward a big plastic container. Again I shook my head, but it must have been with a look of puzzlement.

"The church is open," she said by way of explanation, pointing to a sign saying that it was the National Day of Prayer. Ahh, now I understood. I didn't go in, but at least I got why a stranger was trying to entice me with cookies and lemonade.

When my friend and I pulled up at Lamplighter for lunch a few hours later, the first thing I saw was the dozens of flags tied to ropes on the roof. What in the world?

"Prayer flags," my friend explained when I pointed them out. Apparently they're used to promote things like peace, compassion, strength, and wisdom, not to send prayers to the gods.

It was beautiful; flags of various shapes, colors and designs snapped smartly in the wind above the restaurant. It could have been an art installation as far as I was concerned (perhaps that's the heathen in me speaking), but in any case, it was very cool.

We took our lunch of the Lamplighter salad with chicken salad (I asked the girl taking our order which was better, the tuna or chicken salad. "Uh, I don't eat meat, so...") and the Fat Tony (spicy Italian sausage with roasted red peppers, grilled onion and fresh Mozzarella) outside to a picnic table to enjoy in the sunshine, surrounded by others doing the same.

I could almost believe that the blessings depicted on the flags (things like hope and peace) were actually being carried to people for miles around in the stiff breeze. And isn't that the idea?

If not, it was an unexpected and appealing art exhibit. Heathen or not, it sounds like a win/win situation no matter what day it is.

Mezzotints and Mistresses

Have you heard about the blockbuster show at the VMFA? No, not him!

Whereas the P-Man's show features his many periods, this one features a variety of big-name artists.

Even the less art-savvy will recognize rock stars like Rembrandt, Matisse, Whistler, Manet, Turner, Lautrec, Goya, and Corot.

Perhaps most surprisingly, the poet William Blake is represented.

If it sounds like an artistic party, it is. "A Celebration of Print: 500 Years of Graphic Art" is as much an overview of the printmaking tangents of art's biggest names as it is an overview of the 10,000-piece gift to the VMFA of Richmond-raised Frank Raysor.

And this show is a mere 100 pieces out of that 10,000.

I see years of stellar printmaking shows in VMFA's future, a fact which makes me very happy.

And as impressed as I was with seeing how so many talented painters fared as print makers, it was the lesser-known print makers who had me lingering in front of the brilliance.

Hailing from Scotland, James McBey's etching "Venetian Night" showed the atmospheric effects of the darkened canals; it was stunningly beautiful and had none of the crisp lines so typical of etchings.

Englishman Frank Short's mezzotint "Orion over Thames at Ranelagh," with its subtle gradations of tone was almost photographic and absolutely stunning. With a step back, it was completely believable as a drawing.

Richmond-born Nell Blaine's "Window Still Life" immediately called to mind painters Pierre Bonnard and Eduoard Vuillard's busy canvasses.

The charming scene was full of domestic details: a drink with a straw, a candle holder, a window table.

A more recent etching and aquatint, Richard Haas' 2007 "57th Street Looking East" was also almost photographic in its detail and overall impression.

Only in the sky portion did it appear to be an etching.

This ability of print makers to create nearly perfect images was no doubt the impetus for print maker Felix Bracquemond to found the Society of Etchers in 1862, intended to preserve that art form against the encroachment of photography.

Fortunately for people like me who appreciate both, they were able to co-exist.

I'd gone to the show with a friend after a delightful al fresco lunch at Lamplighter (he tried to tell me how good the a/c felt inside, but I was having none of it).

What we were having was the Goatherd's Mistress (leeks, asparagus, goat cheese and ham on ciabatta) and the Lamplighter (apples, strawberries, nuts, bleu cheese, mesclun, chicken salad) in the warm spring air.

Nearby, a toddler was contained under a picnic table and a couple discussed another couple guilty of too much PDA.

Meanwhile, we were still talking about his breakup and his relationship future, which is roughly the same conversation we were having about me a couple of years ago.

Even so, I'm no expert on the subject.

Friend was unable to resist treating himself to a whoopee pie for dessert but then said he was too full to eat it, so he bagged it to take home.

Or maybe he was punishing me for making him sweat outside while we ate.

Entering the museum, he acknowledged that he was a tad sweaty.

"Smells like boy!' he said, quoting a co-worker who'd told him that when he'd gotten sweaty at work.

Pshaw, I told him, no girl's going to care about boy smell when he's got a whoopee pie to share.

I still didn't get a bite.

Go, Kale Earnhardt, Go!

Let's be clear; I know next to nothing about NASCAR and care even less.

But when I walk into Lamplighter and see that one of the specials is 3 Kale Earnhardt (pork barbecue with kale slaw), I am smart enough to order it without hesitation. And like every time I go there, I am rewarded with a ridiculously good meal at an absurdly low price ($6).

And don't even get me started on the other reasons I love the place. Where else can I find out about the latest anarchist book reading? Or which juried shows are putting out a call for artists? Or even what the Bookworms of VCU are reading (fyi: Roberto Bolano's "Distant Star")?

Where else does the dirty dish tray have a message scrawled on the side ("Skidz, you are awesome. Don't you go changing.")? And where does a random server walk by and give you the thumbs up, saying, "The Kale Earnhardt, alright!"?

While waiting for my sandwich to arrive, I went to the neon-painted space scene bathroom, emerging to find a server holding my sandwich and waiting patiently for me. "You were Karen by default," she said smiling and gesturing at the room then handing it to me.

Inside a big, beautiful kaiser knot roll (from Lucille's Bakery just down Cary Street a few blocks) was a sweet barbecue deliciously complemented by a tangy chopped kale slaw; on the side was their distinctive mixed fruit. With the first bite the slaw juice and barbecue sauce were running down my hand. Oh, yes.

As I was leaving, I told the counter guys how much I'd enjoyed the sandwich, despite my lack of NASCAR know-how. I mean, I was guessing that the number 3 in front of the sandwich name was his car number, but I didn't really know.

"But you know enough that barbecue and NASCAR go together," one said, trying to make me sound more informed than I am.

Nope. I knew I couldn't pass up something called the Kale Earnhardt that involved slow-cooked pig. That's about all the credit I can take.

The Big "If"

I had lunch with a music lover today. And not just any music lover, but one who read my blog profile with its endless list of bands I love and actually wrote me that I have perfect taste in music (meaning it mirrored his). Wow, people actually read my profile?

If this doesn't sound monumental, you're not reading between the lines. My music taste is all over the place and plenty of people who love Muse wouldn't be caught dead listening to Teenagers. So when someone is impressed with my eclectic taste and tells me so, I need to talk about it...and maybe see what such a rarity looks like.

We tried messaging about music, but as I told him, I'm much better at face to face conversation than typing. And that's how the plan was conceived; we'd meet for lunch to talk music and if we hit it off, we'd each have a new concert buddy. Of course that was a pretty big "if."

He let me pick and I chose Lamplighter because the food is always good and it's so well priced. After the bacchanalian eating and drinking of my weekend away, all I was craving was salad, so I got the Lamplighter (mixed greens, seasonal fruit, red onions, nuts and Gorgonzola) with chicken salad and the other music fan got the tuna melt.

My salad was delightful in every way with incredibly fresh greens, an abundance of nuts and strawberries and plenty of onion for this onion-lover and further enhanced by a chicken salad tasting of chicken and not overly mayonaised. He was impressed with both the tastiness and the value of his sandwich. Double score.

Lunch took a while because we had so much music to talk about (The Decemberists, Yeasayer, Midlake, Fanfarlo, Band of Horses, Fleet Foxes doesn't begin to cover it) and when we were done with the food, we continued the conversation while strolling the neighborhood. It was a perfect sunny fall afternoon for a music walk and talk.

I've met a few people because they read my blog and I always worry that somehow I'll disappoint in person; after all, I never know what impression a reader has formed of me based on my writing.

But in today's case, he'd already written that he thought I was awesome, so I had even further to fall than usual. That or I was a shoo-in; I couldn't decide which.

We both left with our handwritten lists of recommended music. If I was a disappointment musically, he was too polite to show it.

I just might have a new concert buddy. Epic score.

BLTs and Fishnets

With all kinds of stuff going on this morning and afternoon, I had limited time for lunch, so I ducked into Lamplighter for a quick sandwich.

And wouldn't you just know I'd get sucked in by the art on the walls?

It took me forever to decide on a sandwich because everything on the menu looked so good to me, but when I got to that very last choice, I knew that was it.

The Quilt is a woven bacon BLT with garlic aioli and fresh greens.

I am a devoted BLT fan even though I've never been able to eat one without tearing up the inside of my mouth.

I'm not quite sure what that's about, but it always happens.

But I am not a mayo fan. It's not about health, either.

I just don't care for the taste.

I've even made mayo from scratch and that was only marginally tastier.

But garlic aioli? Oh, I can do some aioli.

And once you start weaving bacon, you've got it coming and going in both directions.

Upping the bacon quotient always sits well with me.

Likewise, there's not much I don't think is improved by the addition of red onions.

So this truly was a BLT designed for my taste.

And it was very, very good for all the above-mentioned reasons, not to mention large and satisfying.

For my side dish, I got the cucumber salad, consisting of cukes and red onions marinated and tangy.

It was while I was waiting for my sandwich that I noticed the art on the walls.

They were vintage photograph copies on wood and embellished with bits of mostly black ribbon, lace and other decorative bits of fabric.

Many featured old photos of actresses like Jean Harlow, Jane Fonda, Ursula Andress, and Mae West as well as some anonymous women from images used in girly magazines.

Some photographs were credited; others weren't.

These black and white photos were given an even more retro look by the way the were glazed and framed.

Naturally I fell in love with "American Fishnet Tights," by Fernand Fossagrive from 1959.

The image of a woman's lower body in seamed fishnets, laying down and with her legs filling the foreground obliterated the rest of her body.

All you saw was legs.

I fell in love with it, I think, because I could relate to it.

Come on, they're just legs...but just you watch.

I'll end up going back to buy it.

The Noise Ordinance is Pure Bologna

"I do NOT want to go to jail. They call fried bologna bacon."
~Chad of the Florentines

But we'll get back to the noise ordinance. Tonight was a night full of familiar faces, starting at Lamplighter where I met a friend for dinner on the patio. I had the Lamplighter, a mixed green salad with strawberries, nuts, Gorgonzola and red onion with chicken salad and a vanilla balsamic vinaigrette; my friend had his chicken salad as a a sandwich. The problem with Lamplighter is the difficulty of choosing your meal while all those beautiful donuts, pastries and moon pies stare you in the face. I find it's best to turn my back on them while looking at the menu. I can't concentrate on savory when sweet is at hand.

As we sat outside enjoying our meal, a musician friend walked up and I asked if I would see him at Gallery 5 for music tonight. But no, it seems he had a date with a girl who had written her phone number on her check when he was waiting on her the other night (aren't all musicians also servers?). Like me, he doesn't date people who don't enjoy live music, here, but since there had been a band playing that evening, he felt fairly confident about tonight's possibilities. Dating is hard work, I know, so I wished him luck.

Just as I got back to eating, I heard my name shouted from across the street and two friends I hadn't seen in six months rode up. They've been woofing in South America and just got back a few days ago, so it was just wonderful to see them. We made plans to get together and catch up on what they'd been doing down there and what they'd missed in rva. Jameson is one of my very favorite people and it made my day for him to happen on me that way.

Moving on to Gallery 5, I met up with an exhausted girlfriend and, a bit later, a tardy music fanatic friend. I was looking forward to a superb evening showcasing four folk-type bands: Low Branches, Englishman, Jonathan Vassar & Speckled Bird and The Florentines. The band order had been arranged sonically, quietest to loudest, to accommodate the last band using a drum set. That order only became an issue later.

Low Branches' hushed sound could almost be considered lullaby-like in its beauty. Englishman, from Kentucky, have a 70s singer/songwriter sound with just guitar, keyboards and harmonies; I remembered being so impressed the first time I heard them. I've been following JV & SB for almost two years now and their sound just keeps getting richer and more mature. Jonathan even gave me a shout-out from the stage about my comment to him earlier about the line -up (it was essentially the First Listening Room bands with his band also included). Come on, everyone likes to hear their name from the stage, right?

By the time the Florentines came on, it was nearing the bewitching hour of 11 and the lead singer acknowledged the noise ordinance that is being enforced of late, with musicians being charged with misdemeanors. "I've been to jail once and I don't want to go back," he said, explaining why they would do two loud songs and then switch to quiet mode for the rest. It was when he heard that it was 11:02, that he made the comment about bologna.

Even a music lover like me wouldn't expect a guy to pump up the volume when he risks a bacon-less stay in jail. Life, even a few days, without bacon? That's asking too much of anyone.

In fact, that seals it. I won't be having a second visit to the City Jail.

Lamplighter Lunch and a Western

I believe it's called creative reuse when you take a former garage and make it into a coffee and sandwich shop.

I've been by what is now Lamplighter plenty of times when it was the garage and it doesn't look all that different now because cars were parked everywhere out front as if waiting to be serviced.

It was so crowded when we arrived around noon today that some people were actually huddled out there eating and drinking.

We got a perky greeting from one of the owners, who told us to take our time at the counter perusing the paper menu.

When my friend asked for the breakfast menu, I grabbed one of the laminated menus from the holder on the wall, causing him to ask her why it was laminated.

"So you can lick it," the owner said laughing, which my friend pretended to do.

"I can't say that to just anyone," she teased. I already liked the place a lot.

My friend had only been awake for 20 minutes by the time we arrived, so he was looking for breakfast and a huge coffee.

For me, there was a nice selection of paninis, sandwiches (including sweet-tooth sammies like pb &
j and Fluffernutters), salads and soups.

He ordered the egg sandwich with Capicola, provolone and tomato and by the time he finished enjoying it and his mondo coffee, was starting to feel human.

When I spotted a Muffuletta (salami, Capicola and provolone with olive tapenade)) on the menu, that New Orleans classic, I had to get it to see how close it was to the original sandwich.

It was grilled, which is not usually the case and not made on the traditional round, flat Sicilian bread, but most of the required ingredients were there (no mortadella) and it was absolutely delicious and way bigger than I needed.

It came with a side of fruit salad, which was a perfect sweet contrast to the saltiness of the sandwich.

I loved their bike emphasis, with a picture of a tall bike on the to-go cups, and bike delivery service.

Their website is tallbikecoffee.com, which makes for a very Richmond association (those sculpture degrees in use!).

Today at least, though, we saw no bikes locked up out front, but it was only noon.

Afterwards, we got nerdy over at the Historical Society for a VMFA showing of "Sergeant Rutledge," a 1960 John Ford movie about the Buffalo soldiers.

I don't know that I've ever seen a John Ford western, or any western for that matter, but this one had all the kinds of scenes I'd imagined they would: Indians, gunfights, damsels in distress.

The difference was this was about the court martial of a black soldier, considered one of the finest of the Buffalo Soldiers, for accusations involving a white woman (naturally).

Of course, it was seen through the prism of 1960 and in technicolor, so it was only so honest, but most of the audience appreciated the noble depiction of the soldiers in the film.

Afterwards, there was an interactive panel discussion of the movie and African American history.

The audience, including a motorcycle group called Buffalo Soldiers, was quite verbal on both topics.

It turns out that the film only played in RVA for one week and even so, it was at the National Theater, a segregated movie house.

The RTD ads for it showed no black actors, only a couple kissing, probably so as to not offend a genteel audience.

I was genuinely surprised to learn that it hadn't shown at any of the black theaters in Jackson Ward where it would have almost certainly garnered a huge audience.

Buffalo Soldiers: thank you for your trail-blazing efforts.

I only hope we are teaching our youth about your contribution to history...and not just during African-American History month.

And Lamplighter: definitely worth a return visit for the great vibe, interesting choices and because we were too stuffed to try any of their alluring pastries.

And because I never know when I'll have a craving to lick a menu. Don't judge.