"If you go to them, you have them for life." ~The Edge aka Josh
I'm not sure there's a heaven, but if there turns out to be one, I think it might have an all-belly menu.
Or maybe that's just what I'm hoping after tonight.
A quick stop at Bistro 27 for a glass of wine got me a taste of mixologist Bobby's latest creation, a Hardywood Mocha Porter frozen custard.
All I was expecting was some Gavi so the mousse-like mocha custard with hints of banana fully engaged my palate with its subtle flavors and creaminess.
And I don't even like beer.
I made sure to clear out well in advance of the first restaurant week reservations of the evening and headed due east to the non-participating Roosevelt.
It was all but empty upon our arrival.
Diving into the Gabrielle Rausse Vin de Gris, that lovely white Pinot Noir I could drink every warm day, it was a fine accompaniment for potato gnocchi, Virginia clams with roasted garlic and herb broth.
My dining companion was so sure the clam and gnocchi combo wouldn't work, so I insisted on ordering it just to prove him wrong.
I think he may have even been glad he was wrong.
We followed that with crab and avocado salad with fennel, grapefruit, radishes and chili aioli. The heat of the oil gave a welcome zing to the subtle crab and avocado.
Putting a bite of the salad into my mouth, I noticed something.
I've been to The Roosevelt enough times to be familiar with their usual music and tonight's was not it.
Asking the bartender where the music was coming from, he said, "Good or bad?"
Turns out it was his iPod and he feared for his taste. Not to worry, it was right up my alley.
Tuna belly with bacon jam was our next course and while it was my first tuna belly, I feel certain it was superior tuna belly.
Of course, anything served with bacon jam is going to be worth eating, but the combination proved once again how much I like pig and things that live in the water.
I saw a friend whose show I'd missed last week by mere minutes, which led to a discussion of playing music and fans.
He told me once that his band has a good-sized soccer mom contingent and tonight for the first time, he explained why.
His band had played shows in their subdivisions and the moms were hooked.
Now they came into the city to see them. Because apparently, once you take the music to the moms, they are yours forever.
After digesting that nugget, we went on to our second belly of the evening, lamb belly with tomatoes and capers.
Surely this is what heaven tastes like. Fatty, but not overly so and with a depth of flavor well complemented by the salty capers, we were in love.
With belly.
Dessert was apple blackberry pie with glasses of King Family Loreley to make a sweet course sweeter.
When we left, every seat was taken but no one's grins were bigger than the two of us after our two-belly meal.
Music followed at The Nile with a triple bill and a small but enthusiastic crowd.
Harrisonburg's Malatese had been billed as post-rock, a personal favorite, but turned out to be more post-punk.
So I got more driving energy but with unexpected vocals.
Tungs were local, even louder and more aggressive, more rock, less indie.
After full-on thrash, we got to the reason I was there, Chicago's Netherfriends.
I'd seen this guy play a house show a while back and been blown away by his hooky, poppy sound and mad dance skills.
Using a guitar, drum pad and Casio keyboard, Shawn (because Netherfriends is really Shawn, shh, don't tell) played a dancier set than I'd seen last time, but every bit as fun.
My favorite moments were when he came out from behind the keyboard to dance across the front of the room.
This is possible because he loops so the music can carry on while he does a mean James Brown.
He finished with "You Gotta Fight (for your right to party)" because, well, because he could and wanted to.
This is a guy who puts his hand out to emphasize a lyric (stop in the name of showmanship!), so clearly he enjoys his work.
And I enjoyed him.
Not quite as much as all that belly, but close. Very close.
I'd asked my partner in crime what part of me he'd want to eat after I'm dead (no, I don't know how I come up with these things) and he didn't hesitate.
His answer had been my belly, probably because he saw its potential for being well marbled.
Ever canny, he'd suggested that I stipulate in my will that belly rights went to him.
I may want to add a codicil that it must be served with bacon jam.
Just like in heaven.
Showing posts with label loreley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loreley. Show all posts
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
You Again?
No matter how you try to explain the Roosevelt to a newbie, they never get it.
So when I tell my friend to pick me up at 5:15 and she arrives at 5:40, we have already missed the window of opportunity to find seats at the bar on a Saturday night.
But that's okay. We find a lone unoccupied stool and camp out on it like it's our last hope, which it is.
When the bar madness dies down enough that we can place an order, it's for a bottle of the Chester Gap Cabernet Franc.
At least with a bottle, we won't have to bother the bartender again any time soon.
When we finally see a couple paying their bar bill, we hover over them, appropriating their stools while they're still warm.
It feels good to sit. By now the crowds are seemingly endless as they continue to stream in the door.
Some wait and others leave once they hear the wait time.
To tide us over, we get an order of cornbread with honey vanilla butter and inhale it like we've been there for hours, which we practically have.
And it's the perfect lead in to my meal of seared rabbit terrine over lentils and roasted beets, a dish so succulent you'd think there had to be pig involved.
I follow that with fried chicken skin with shark sauce and spicy honey mustard; a miniature bottle of Tabasco arrives on the plate.
If I died tonight and went to heaven, there would be fried chicken skin waiting for me in heaven.
My friend eventually stopped eating the skin out of guilt, but I had no such remorse.
We talked about dating and about men dating younger rather than their own age.
I made a crack about guys preferring younger and my friend quickly corrected me.
"Not every man would rather have a Beaujolais Nouveau when he could have a Bordeaux," she said, sounding serious but really just chiding me for my miscalculation.
We chatted up the couple next to us who were out for a rare date night having left their kids to a sitter. Their nervousness was written all over her face.
She tried the cocktail with bourbon and bacon only to find that she was out of practice with cocktailing.
I felt a tap on mu shoulder and turned to find my friend Rob who has been stalker-like in his appearances in my life this week.
He was at the storytelling at Balliceaux, fine. Naturally he was at the Sponge show the next night.
But there he was at the Lion King backstage tour I'd been invited on.
And now, again, he was grinning at me guiltily at the Roosevelt.
But I was glad to see him and he teased me about following my calendar, a feat few could manage.
By the time we brought our attention back to the bar, we were thinking dessert.
Since my friend was a first-timer, we got the buttermilk panna cotta in a Mason jar.
The presentation is the most charming of any dessert I know.
With it, we had glasses of the King Family Loreley, a dessert wine I'd had at the winery last fall.
It has a a candied fruit quality that I love despite a usual resistance to sweeter wine.
And it was delightful with the panna cotta.
When our four-hour adventure at the Roosevelt ended, we decided to head to Amour for a nightcap.
They were busy, too, but the bar was empty and two stools had our name on them.
After tasting the Whitehall Viognier, we settled on the Domaine de Salices Viognier for its beautiful nose and complexity.
And while we needed no further food, we went with a cheese plate just to ensure that we were doing something other than drinking and talking.
Both of us laughed when we looked up to find a friend we'd seen at the Roosevelt, except that now he was dateless.
Apparently she hadn't made the cut and he'd stopped by for a much-needed nightcap.
We finished out the night talking to him about dating; he claimed that women over 40 have too many deal breakers, women in their thirties all want to have babies and twenty-something women are the most open to whatever.
If it hadn't already been an eight hour plus evening, I might have gone ahead and argued the point with him.
But he knew enough; he was at least clear on the essential part of any relationship.
I know I am.
So when I tell my friend to pick me up at 5:15 and she arrives at 5:40, we have already missed the window of opportunity to find seats at the bar on a Saturday night.
But that's okay. We find a lone unoccupied stool and camp out on it like it's our last hope, which it is.
When the bar madness dies down enough that we can place an order, it's for a bottle of the Chester Gap Cabernet Franc.
At least with a bottle, we won't have to bother the bartender again any time soon.
When we finally see a couple paying their bar bill, we hover over them, appropriating their stools while they're still warm.
It feels good to sit. By now the crowds are seemingly endless as they continue to stream in the door.
Some wait and others leave once they hear the wait time.
To tide us over, we get an order of cornbread with honey vanilla butter and inhale it like we've been there for hours, which we practically have.
And it's the perfect lead in to my meal of seared rabbit terrine over lentils and roasted beets, a dish so succulent you'd think there had to be pig involved.
I follow that with fried chicken skin with shark sauce and spicy honey mustard; a miniature bottle of Tabasco arrives on the plate.
If I died tonight and went to heaven, there would be fried chicken skin waiting for me in heaven.
My friend eventually stopped eating the skin out of guilt, but I had no such remorse.
We talked about dating and about men dating younger rather than their own age.
I made a crack about guys preferring younger and my friend quickly corrected me.
"Not every man would rather have a Beaujolais Nouveau when he could have a Bordeaux," she said, sounding serious but really just chiding me for my miscalculation.
We chatted up the couple next to us who were out for a rare date night having left their kids to a sitter. Their nervousness was written all over her face.
She tried the cocktail with bourbon and bacon only to find that she was out of practice with cocktailing.
I felt a tap on mu shoulder and turned to find my friend Rob who has been stalker-like in his appearances in my life this week.
He was at the storytelling at Balliceaux, fine. Naturally he was at the Sponge show the next night.
But there he was at the Lion King backstage tour I'd been invited on.
And now, again, he was grinning at me guiltily at the Roosevelt.
But I was glad to see him and he teased me about following my calendar, a feat few could manage.
By the time we brought our attention back to the bar, we were thinking dessert.
Since my friend was a first-timer, we got the buttermilk panna cotta in a Mason jar.
The presentation is the most charming of any dessert I know.
With it, we had glasses of the King Family Loreley, a dessert wine I'd had at the winery last fall.
It has a a candied fruit quality that I love despite a usual resistance to sweeter wine.
And it was delightful with the panna cotta.
When our four-hour adventure at the Roosevelt ended, we decided to head to Amour for a nightcap.
They were busy, too, but the bar was empty and two stools had our name on them.
After tasting the Whitehall Viognier, we settled on the Domaine de Salices Viognier for its beautiful nose and complexity.
And while we needed no further food, we went with a cheese plate just to ensure that we were doing something other than drinking and talking.
Both of us laughed when we looked up to find a friend we'd seen at the Roosevelt, except that now he was dateless.
Apparently she hadn't made the cut and he'd stopped by for a much-needed nightcap.
We finished out the night talking to him about dating; he claimed that women over 40 have too many deal breakers, women in their thirties all want to have babies and twenty-something women are the most open to whatever.
If it hadn't already been an eight hour plus evening, I might have gone ahead and argued the point with him.
But he knew enough; he was at least clear on the essential part of any relationship.
I know I am.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tasting Like a Girl
Sometimes it's not where you go, but just that you're getting away.
A friend was in need of a road trip and sent me a list of options (National Zoo, Natural History Museum, river, Southern MD for crabs, and on and on), telling me to choose our destination.
I chose wineries and dinner in Charlottesville and we set off shortly after mid-day with ham biscuits and cookies in the cooler.
The bitch of it was that we hit a nearly one hour back-up twenty minutes outside of C-ville. So we sat, munched and chatted while waiting for the traffic to merge and move.
The delay changed our plans and we began our odyssey at King Family Vineyards, a stunning location from the moment we pulled in.
Bellying up to the tasting bar, we agreed to taste whatever they were pouring; sadly, that did not include the Cab Franc or Petite Verdot, two of my favorite grapes.
I liked the Crose' Rose' done in the Provence style, and the 2009 Meritage done in a Bordeaux style, but surprisingly, my/our favorite was the Loreley, a 2009 dessert wine.
Not to gush, but this "straw wine" (rather than an ice wine), a blend of Viognier and Petit Manseng, had to be one of the most delicately beautiful wines I've ever tasted.
Before I could self-edit, I described it as, "Tasting like a girl," and both our pourer and my companion agreed enthusiastically that that was a perfect description.
Tasting of tangerine, peach and gingerbread, it had the most beautiful aroma and a creamy mouth feel, but none of the excessive sugar you'd expect.
We were so impressed with it that we got two glasses of it and went outside to find a shaded table and enjoy it at our leisure.
King Family has a beautiful piece of property at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and we watched horses on the polo field as we sipped (they have weekly polo matches there on Sunday) and chatted.
A glass apiece was not sufficient, however, and we got two bottles so we could each have access to this creamy delight at home.
From there we backtracked across C-ville to Keswick Vineyards to see what they had to offer.
Their Italian grape Verdejo impressed us greatly with its drinkability and grassy notes. It was the best kind of summer wine.
The 2009 Petite Verdot had a big nose smelling of violets and with good tannins. I could see why it had won a Silver at the Virginia Governor's Cup.
But once again, we were blown away by their dessert offering, the 2009 Nektar, a dessert wine of 100% Viognier.
Neither of us are particularly inclined to dessert wines, but this high alcohol (14%) and high sugar (10%) beauty tasted like liquid apricots. Two more bottles were purchased, along with some Verdejo,
In spite of ourselves, we had become dessert wine fiends for a day and we had no idea what that was about.
While our charming pourer was having us taste Chocolate/Norton sauce over cookies (divine, really, but then I've always been a fan of the Norton grape), it occurred to me that he could be of assistance in our dinner plans.
We'd planned to return to C-ville for dinner, but I began to think that we were actually closer to Gordonsville. Correct, he confirmed. That settled it.
So it was that we went to the charming French bistro Pomme for dinner, a place I hadn't been in over five years, despite having had a superb meal there last time.
We were given the front window seat and our young server Ben was eager to be of assistance.
I asked for a glass of Ma Couleur Cotes de Provence Rose after teasing him about the few Virginia wines on the list. My friend settled on a Cotes de Rhone.
Young Ben told us the specials and there was no resisting the fish terrine, made with monkfish, sole, shrimp, scallops and red and yellow peppers with a basil aioli. I am a complete sucker for a seafood terrine.
And it was delightful, creamy ad tasting of the sea with big chunks of peppers and a house-made mayonnaise drizzled over the whole slice.
With some crusty bread, it made for a delicacy of a first course.
Ben kept trying to move us along and we kept taking our time, assuring him that we had no place to be, which seemed to perplex him.
We ordered the Hugl Gruner Veltliner to give him something to do and he ended up abdicating this responsibility to someone else. Apparently locating Austrian wine was beyond him.
House salads followed next, elevated by the soft butter lettuces and the chopped beets. They were so perfectly dressed that it led to a discussion of the scourge of overdressed restaurant salads.
The two of us negotiated about entrees, finally settling on the classic fillet de sole St. Germain (lightly breaded sole with Meuniere butter) and one of the evening's specials, fillet Mignon with lobster.
We shared these two dishes, admiring the perfection of the sole and wishing the fillet had been a tad more rare. The lobster meat was sweet and plentiful.
Eventually we stopped eating to save room for dessert, although they were out of two of their best.
The manager stopped by to pour us more wine and I commented to him on the absence of a good Virginia dessert wine on their list.
As it turned out, they were only temporarily out of the Loreley and would soon have it back on the dessert wine listing. Their stock grew hugely in our eyes when we heard this.
Despite the holes in the dessert menu, we made do with a special, Edelweiss cake (white chocolate and raspberry cake), and the perennial standby, chocolate lava cake.
The Edelweiss was the star, impressing my friend (who had visited Austria and come back desolate about dessert here) and even me, the white chocolate hater.
My friend had a coffee since he had to drive back, but being the considerate and thoughtful friend that he is, he chose a route to please me.
Instead of the obvious I-64, we came back on a secondary road, Route 33, winding our way rhrough countryside and small towns.
With daylight lasting so long, we had wonderful views of heat lightening and hills as we tore around curves and over rickety bridges (he has a fast car and a lead foot).
And he's a good and long-time friend. Did I tell him that I had a a fun day? I did, because I had.
Could I also have imagined spending that day doing the exact same thing with another? I could.
Sometimes people need to get away and the "with whom" has multiple options.
Sometimes just getting away is enough.
A friend was in need of a road trip and sent me a list of options (National Zoo, Natural History Museum, river, Southern MD for crabs, and on and on), telling me to choose our destination.
I chose wineries and dinner in Charlottesville and we set off shortly after mid-day with ham biscuits and cookies in the cooler.
The bitch of it was that we hit a nearly one hour back-up twenty minutes outside of C-ville. So we sat, munched and chatted while waiting for the traffic to merge and move.
The delay changed our plans and we began our odyssey at King Family Vineyards, a stunning location from the moment we pulled in.
Bellying up to the tasting bar, we agreed to taste whatever they were pouring; sadly, that did not include the Cab Franc or Petite Verdot, two of my favorite grapes.
I liked the Crose' Rose' done in the Provence style, and the 2009 Meritage done in a Bordeaux style, but surprisingly, my/our favorite was the Loreley, a 2009 dessert wine.
Not to gush, but this "straw wine" (rather than an ice wine), a blend of Viognier and Petit Manseng, had to be one of the most delicately beautiful wines I've ever tasted.
Before I could self-edit, I described it as, "Tasting like a girl," and both our pourer and my companion agreed enthusiastically that that was a perfect description.
Tasting of tangerine, peach and gingerbread, it had the most beautiful aroma and a creamy mouth feel, but none of the excessive sugar you'd expect.
We were so impressed with it that we got two glasses of it and went outside to find a shaded table and enjoy it at our leisure.
King Family has a beautiful piece of property at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and we watched horses on the polo field as we sipped (they have weekly polo matches there on Sunday) and chatted.
A glass apiece was not sufficient, however, and we got two bottles so we could each have access to this creamy delight at home.
From there we backtracked across C-ville to Keswick Vineyards to see what they had to offer.
Their Italian grape Verdejo impressed us greatly with its drinkability and grassy notes. It was the best kind of summer wine.
The 2009 Petite Verdot had a big nose smelling of violets and with good tannins. I could see why it had won a Silver at the Virginia Governor's Cup.
But once again, we were blown away by their dessert offering, the 2009 Nektar, a dessert wine of 100% Viognier.
Neither of us are particularly inclined to dessert wines, but this high alcohol (14%) and high sugar (10%) beauty tasted like liquid apricots. Two more bottles were purchased, along with some Verdejo,
In spite of ourselves, we had become dessert wine fiends for a day and we had no idea what that was about.
While our charming pourer was having us taste Chocolate/Norton sauce over cookies (divine, really, but then I've always been a fan of the Norton grape), it occurred to me that he could be of assistance in our dinner plans.
We'd planned to return to C-ville for dinner, but I began to think that we were actually closer to Gordonsville. Correct, he confirmed. That settled it.
So it was that we went to the charming French bistro Pomme for dinner, a place I hadn't been in over five years, despite having had a superb meal there last time.
We were given the front window seat and our young server Ben was eager to be of assistance.
I asked for a glass of Ma Couleur Cotes de Provence Rose after teasing him about the few Virginia wines on the list. My friend settled on a Cotes de Rhone.
Young Ben told us the specials and there was no resisting the fish terrine, made with monkfish, sole, shrimp, scallops and red and yellow peppers with a basil aioli. I am a complete sucker for a seafood terrine.
And it was delightful, creamy ad tasting of the sea with big chunks of peppers and a house-made mayonnaise drizzled over the whole slice.
With some crusty bread, it made for a delicacy of a first course.
Ben kept trying to move us along and we kept taking our time, assuring him that we had no place to be, which seemed to perplex him.
We ordered the Hugl Gruner Veltliner to give him something to do and he ended up abdicating this responsibility to someone else. Apparently locating Austrian wine was beyond him.
House salads followed next, elevated by the soft butter lettuces and the chopped beets. They were so perfectly dressed that it led to a discussion of the scourge of overdressed restaurant salads.
The two of us negotiated about entrees, finally settling on the classic fillet de sole St. Germain (lightly breaded sole with Meuniere butter) and one of the evening's specials, fillet Mignon with lobster.
We shared these two dishes, admiring the perfection of the sole and wishing the fillet had been a tad more rare. The lobster meat was sweet and plentiful.
Eventually we stopped eating to save room for dessert, although they were out of two of their best.
The manager stopped by to pour us more wine and I commented to him on the absence of a good Virginia dessert wine on their list.
As it turned out, they were only temporarily out of the Loreley and would soon have it back on the dessert wine listing. Their stock grew hugely in our eyes when we heard this.
Despite the holes in the dessert menu, we made do with a special, Edelweiss cake (white chocolate and raspberry cake), and the perennial standby, chocolate lava cake.
The Edelweiss was the star, impressing my friend (who had visited Austria and come back desolate about dessert here) and even me, the white chocolate hater.
My friend had a coffee since he had to drive back, but being the considerate and thoughtful friend that he is, he chose a route to please me.
Instead of the obvious I-64, we came back on a secondary road, Route 33, winding our way rhrough countryside and small towns.
With daylight lasting so long, we had wonderful views of heat lightening and hills as we tore around curves and over rickety bridges (he has a fast car and a lead foot).
And he's a good and long-time friend. Did I tell him that I had a a fun day? I did, because I had.
Could I also have imagined spending that day doing the exact same thing with another? I could.
Sometimes people need to get away and the "with whom" has multiple options.
Sometimes just getting away is enough.
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