I have been thanked in the liner notes of two albums, but I have never been heard on a recording.
After a sufficient amount of bubbly, that was corrected tonight.
At the suggestion of my wine-making friend, we went to Mezzanine to hang out and discuss life.
A bottle of Thibaud Janisson Virginia Fizz had our name on it and we enjoyed our first glasses with the addition of enough Pama to make for a pretty and pink cocktail.
As we discussed the recent spate of Southern-themed restaurants, we snacked on tempura-fried local mushrooms which had been brought in by the purveyor today after a morning gathering trip in the woods.
They were lightly battered and fried and accompanied by a local kale, apple and onion saute.
We were happily wallowing in local.
Over talk of the safety hazards of bottling bubbly, we enjoyed braised beef short ribs with Byrd Mill grits (thank you, Ashland) and hoison jus.
I'm a sucker for short ribs, long cooked and with bits of fat clinging to the meat, while the grits benefited from the addition of cheese.
Our last course was crispy fried barcat oysters, making for a completely local pairing. It is, after all, Virginia Wine and Dine month.
Not to mention ideal with our Fizz.
Walking back to our cars, we chatted about Charlottesville restaurants and the necessity of music to feed one's soul.
You know, the usual stuff people talk about when they're walking through Carytown.
I'd had to cut our evening short because I'd agreed to be part of a recording session tonight.
Let me be clear, it's not like anyone wanted to hear me sing but fortunately singing ability was not a prerequisite.
Walking up to Gallery 5 a few minutes late, I saw Lobo Marino bandleader Jameson out front talking to a few people.
Whew. So the recording wasn't underway, I was happy to see.
"We wouldn't start without you," he grinned, warning me that I'd have to remove my shoes when I got upstairs.
Once up there, I took off my very disco era-looking rope wedges and found a spot on the floor near other barefoot friends.
The shoeless Lobo Marino took their places by their instruments, explaining that they'd been laying down tracks since noon today.
Jameson began by reading us the riot act, so to speak.
"This is now a live recording studio, so if you're the person who knocks over your drink and makes a noise, everyone will look at you."
No pressure.
Luckily my water bottle was plastic, so I wasn't worried about being the culprit.
For the first song, we were asked to hum/sing a chant sound, even harmonize if we wanted to.
Like I could harmonize. As my Richmond grandmother used to tell me as a child, "Karen, you couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."
Sigh. It took years for me to realize how honest she was.
Even so, I om'd along with the group.
Things got more complicated for the next song, which began with the audience being divided into three groups, one to follow the vocals of each of the band members.
Thankfully, I was assigned to Nathaniel's group, meaning I sang the simplest melody.
Not that my singing mattered next to the amazing tribal-sounding drumming Jameson and Nathaniel were doing.
The beauty of it was the high ceilings and the reverb created in the space with our voices and all that percussion.
Three photographers documented the evening, shooting the band, the audience and the instruments from behind, above and the floor.
During a break between songs, Jameson informed us, "This is also part of the studio experience, just chillaxing."
I was actually quite good at that part.
The beautiful "Young and Old" provided the lyric about kites that gives the new album its name.
Then it happened. A beer bottle fell over.
"You know, on the first song of "Thriller," someone knocked something over but it was on the tempo and Quincy Jones said "Just leave it." So if anyone else knocks something over, do it on rhythm," Jameson informed us.
Our last assignment was to provide the crowd noise for the exit song which required nothing more than talking amongst ourselves.
I was a natural.
And then we were through, having provided all the extra sound needed to begin mixing the album.
Best of all, we'd done so in less time than expected.
As a reward, Lobo Marino did a couple of songs off the new album for us as a thank you.
"Celebrate," which boasted drum, trombone and harmonium, was such a great dance song that a few people in the crowd couldn't resist standing up and letting loose.
The song was so short I didn't have time to put my perfect dancing shoes back on and join in.
Too bad.
It would have made for a great picture of my legs celebrating in the liner notes next to my name.
Showing posts with label mezzanine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mezzanine. Show all posts
Friday, March 30, 2012
Friday, March 18, 2011
Call Me a Guinness-Fueled Groupie
Sometimes, I discovered, it pays to be a groupie.
A friend had e-mailed me that he was playing at Positive Vibe Cafe on St. Patrick's Day and that "I'd love to see you." So naturally I went.
Their specials menu of Irish dishes (New England Boiled Dinner, Corned Buffalo Dinner, Sheppard's Pie and Guinness Irish Stew) were all too tempting for a half Irish lass. Knowing that they'd corned the brisket themselves made my decision all the tougher.
I was torn between the corned bison and the Guinness stew, but I didn't have to decide until my friend finished playing and his girlfriend arrived and we could all eat together, so I had plenty of time. Meanwhile, the restaurant was filling to capacity with people in green attire.
The guy at the table next to me wanted green beer, so his server asked what kind of beer he wanted. When he requested a very dark beer, his server explained that it was not a good candidate for greening and he settled for something more dye-worthy. Is this what St. Patrick's Day has come to?
My friend was playing viola ("for the mid-range") to Russel's guitar and vocals. The set began with Russel saying, "Karen, can you hear the guitar?" Yes, and the viola Dave was playing, too, but why ask a know-nothing like me?
They started with "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" and segued nicely into, as Russell put it, "the Irish poet Van Morrison's" Moondance. Irishman Donovan followed with "Colors," one of several of his songs covered tonight.
I clapped enthusiastically for each song, not just because of my friend's viola playing, but because it was fun to hear these old Irish standards. Later I was thanked for clapping loud enough "for multiple people."
Their second set ended with that American-written vaudeville classic, "Danny Boy" and by then the girlfriend had arrived and it was finally time to eat.
The unexpected heartbreak was that the restaurant had been so slammed that they'd run out of all the Irish specials except the stew. So, Irish beef stew it was for the three of us and we were more than happy to have it.
Full of meat, potatoes and carrots, the Guinness gave it a nice sweetness and even the chef said he planned to have a bowl himself (that and make sure that he overplanned for Mother's Day business after leaning his lesson tonight). So the fact is, I did have Guinness for the first time in my life.
We finished with the fudge brownie topped with Bailey's Irish cream mousse (a tasty but sickening green color, but 'tis the day for such) before deciding to head somewhere decidedly un-Irish to finish out the evening. Mezzanine was our agreed-upon destination.
Packed when we arrived, first two stools and then a third opened up to accommodate us. We began with a bottle of the MacMurray Ranch Pinot Noir (with Dave humming the "My Three Sons" theme as it was being poured) and a rehashing of the evening at Positive Vibe.
By the time the second bottle arrived, we were deep in discussion of Belmont Food shop (located in their neighborhood, but I was the only one who'd yet to visit), driving to Ashland for music (Dave and I have a history there) and the fact that she and I are the only two females alive without pierced ears (no, really).
In our ears was Pandora, set to Deerhunter, which provided an earwigging mix of Kings of Leon, the Arcade Fire and the Killers. When Band of Horses came on, Dave's ears pricked up. "Who is this?" he asked me. "I would like this."
I told him, I elaborated on the band, shared my impressions of seeing them live and all the while our bartender must have been paying attention. Soon we were hearing Pandora with Band of Horses as a starting point. Bravo for server attentiveness.
Dave insisted on the next course being tequila and while his love demurred, I of course did not. Herradura for him and Hornitos for me were our substitutions for Irish whiskey on this Gaelic night of being surrounded by guys in bad green wigs and hats.
"My treat!" he proclaimed at the end of the evening. "You were nice enough to come hear me play and you clapped the loudest."
But I do that any time I enjoy well-done music; it's a rare occasion that I get anything but an audio treat for being a groupie.
Maybe this is the reward for being a groupie to a friend. If so, I like it.
A friend had e-mailed me that he was playing at Positive Vibe Cafe on St. Patrick's Day and that "I'd love to see you." So naturally I went.
Their specials menu of Irish dishes (New England Boiled Dinner, Corned Buffalo Dinner, Sheppard's Pie and Guinness Irish Stew) were all too tempting for a half Irish lass. Knowing that they'd corned the brisket themselves made my decision all the tougher.
I was torn between the corned bison and the Guinness stew, but I didn't have to decide until my friend finished playing and his girlfriend arrived and we could all eat together, so I had plenty of time. Meanwhile, the restaurant was filling to capacity with people in green attire.
The guy at the table next to me wanted green beer, so his server asked what kind of beer he wanted. When he requested a very dark beer, his server explained that it was not a good candidate for greening and he settled for something more dye-worthy. Is this what St. Patrick's Day has come to?
My friend was playing viola ("for the mid-range") to Russel's guitar and vocals. The set began with Russel saying, "Karen, can you hear the guitar?" Yes, and the viola Dave was playing, too, but why ask a know-nothing like me?
They started with "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" and segued nicely into, as Russell put it, "the Irish poet Van Morrison's" Moondance. Irishman Donovan followed with "Colors," one of several of his songs covered tonight.
I clapped enthusiastically for each song, not just because of my friend's viola playing, but because it was fun to hear these old Irish standards. Later I was thanked for clapping loud enough "for multiple people."
Their second set ended with that American-written vaudeville classic, "Danny Boy" and by then the girlfriend had arrived and it was finally time to eat.
The unexpected heartbreak was that the restaurant had been so slammed that they'd run out of all the Irish specials except the stew. So, Irish beef stew it was for the three of us and we were more than happy to have it.
Full of meat, potatoes and carrots, the Guinness gave it a nice sweetness and even the chef said he planned to have a bowl himself (that and make sure that he overplanned for Mother's Day business after leaning his lesson tonight). So the fact is, I did have Guinness for the first time in my life.
We finished with the fudge brownie topped with Bailey's Irish cream mousse (a tasty but sickening green color, but 'tis the day for such) before deciding to head somewhere decidedly un-Irish to finish out the evening. Mezzanine was our agreed-upon destination.
Packed when we arrived, first two stools and then a third opened up to accommodate us. We began with a bottle of the MacMurray Ranch Pinot Noir (with Dave humming the "My Three Sons" theme as it was being poured) and a rehashing of the evening at Positive Vibe.
By the time the second bottle arrived, we were deep in discussion of Belmont Food shop (located in their neighborhood, but I was the only one who'd yet to visit), driving to Ashland for music (Dave and I have a history there) and the fact that she and I are the only two females alive without pierced ears (no, really).
In our ears was Pandora, set to Deerhunter, which provided an earwigging mix of Kings of Leon, the Arcade Fire and the Killers. When Band of Horses came on, Dave's ears pricked up. "Who is this?" he asked me. "I would like this."
I told him, I elaborated on the band, shared my impressions of seeing them live and all the while our bartender must have been paying attention. Soon we were hearing Pandora with Band of Horses as a starting point. Bravo for server attentiveness.
Dave insisted on the next course being tequila and while his love demurred, I of course did not. Herradura for him and Hornitos for me were our substitutions for Irish whiskey on this Gaelic night of being surrounded by guys in bad green wigs and hats.
"My treat!" he proclaimed at the end of the evening. "You were nice enough to come hear me play and you clapped the loudest."
But I do that any time I enjoy well-done music; it's a rare occasion that I get anything but an audio treat for being a groupie.
Maybe this is the reward for being a groupie to a friend. If so, I like it.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Let Me Entertain You
A close friend who's in the service industry once suggested that the ideal business for me would be entertaining out-of-towners.
Her reasoning was that I'm familiar with the local restaurant scene, I always know the interesting cultural stuff that's going on and I can find common conversational ground with anyone.
She was sure that local businesses would hire me to entertain their out-of-town clients in the evening so they wouldn't have to; she was equally as sure that I'd be a natural at it.
So what did I do tonight?
How about spend an evening with an out-of-towner I'd met recently, here, introducing him to places he'd never been and talking about his former hometown Dallas, a city I've visited repeatedly, and his current one, RVA, about which I have a thing or two to say.
I hadn't been hired, but I think that if it had been a job interview, I'd have been offered the position by now.
We began at Mezzanine, a place I hadn't been to since before the Mission of Burma show in February.
That night, there'd been snow on the ground and the girls and I had sat on the heated patio shivering as we gorged.
Tonight, it was so muggy that an inside bar table seemed infinitely more appealing.
Twin Vines Vino Verdhe also helped me forget the heat, while he went with the Villa Pozzi Pinot Grigio.
He started with the fried Washington oyster special (five for $10 and a "steal," according to our server) and I had the tomato stack layered with goat and Feta cheeses.
He hates raw tomatoes and loves red sauce. I love raw tomatoes and can live without red sauce. Between us, we had all the bases covered.
Despite the hot and humid evening, I opted for the braised short ribs with local grits and hoison, mainly because it came in an appetizer-sized portion, although it necessitated I switch to the Alegoria Malbec.
He had another special, the seared sashimi-grade tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes and a stir-fried veggie medley.
Both portions were overly-generous and neither of us cleaned our plates.
Although I had not finished my dinner, I did order dessert (chocolate Kahlua mousse with toffee bits), breaking my mother's cardinal rule that you had to eat everything on your plate or you didn't get dessert.
I think I'm entitled; I choked down more than a few gray green beans in my childhood for the sake of some chocolate pudding.
Afterwards, the man from Dallas suggested a walk down Cary Street and we ended up at Bin 22 for a couple of glasses of Bigi est Montefiascone (he attributed his affinity for Pinot Grigio to his family's roots in the region) and a discussion of the nature of South Africans (his employer has an office there) and people-watching in NYC.
Walking back up Cary Street, I felt optimistic that I had been both informational and good company.
As a result of the evening, he now knew of two new restaurants.
He'd also added the First Fridays Artwalk to his calendar and had the scoop on the Richmond Forum, both new bits of information to him and gleaned from me tonight.
I'll tell you what, as far-fetched as it sounds, my friend may have been on to something.
Her reasoning was that I'm familiar with the local restaurant scene, I always know the interesting cultural stuff that's going on and I can find common conversational ground with anyone.
She was sure that local businesses would hire me to entertain their out-of-town clients in the evening so they wouldn't have to; she was equally as sure that I'd be a natural at it.
So what did I do tonight?
How about spend an evening with an out-of-towner I'd met recently, here, introducing him to places he'd never been and talking about his former hometown Dallas, a city I've visited repeatedly, and his current one, RVA, about which I have a thing or two to say.
I hadn't been hired, but I think that if it had been a job interview, I'd have been offered the position by now.
We began at Mezzanine, a place I hadn't been to since before the Mission of Burma show in February.
That night, there'd been snow on the ground and the girls and I had sat on the heated patio shivering as we gorged.
Tonight, it was so muggy that an inside bar table seemed infinitely more appealing.
Twin Vines Vino Verdhe also helped me forget the heat, while he went with the Villa Pozzi Pinot Grigio.
He started with the fried Washington oyster special (five for $10 and a "steal," according to our server) and I had the tomato stack layered with goat and Feta cheeses.
He hates raw tomatoes and loves red sauce. I love raw tomatoes and can live without red sauce. Between us, we had all the bases covered.
Despite the hot and humid evening, I opted for the braised short ribs with local grits and hoison, mainly because it came in an appetizer-sized portion, although it necessitated I switch to the Alegoria Malbec.
He had another special, the seared sashimi-grade tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes and a stir-fried veggie medley.
Both portions were overly-generous and neither of us cleaned our plates.
Although I had not finished my dinner, I did order dessert (chocolate Kahlua mousse with toffee bits), breaking my mother's cardinal rule that you had to eat everything on your plate or you didn't get dessert.
I think I'm entitled; I choked down more than a few gray green beans in my childhood for the sake of some chocolate pudding.
Afterwards, the man from Dallas suggested a walk down Cary Street and we ended up at Bin 22 for a couple of glasses of Bigi est Montefiascone (he attributed his affinity for Pinot Grigio to his family's roots in the region) and a discussion of the nature of South Africans (his employer has an office there) and people-watching in NYC.
Walking back up Cary Street, I felt optimistic that I had been both informational and good company.
As a result of the evening, he now knew of two new restaurants.
He'd also added the First Fridays Artwalk to his calendar and had the scoop on the Richmond Forum, both new bits of information to him and gleaned from me tonight.
I'll tell you what, as far-fetched as it sounds, my friend may have been on to something.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
That's When I Reach for My Revolver
Could there be a more incongruous show than Mission of Burma at the UR Commons? How is it that the post-punk pioneers who influenced everyone from REM to the Pixies to Nirvana ended up at such an unlikely location? And why is that campus like the Devil's Triangle?
My girlfriends and I started at Mezzanine for dinner and wound up on the heated patio due to a full dining room and half an hour wait inside. We made a meal of an array of starters: fried risotto balls with Parmesan and broccolini over marinara sauce, kale salad, Mobjack Bay oysters, noodle-wrapped shrimp, a beet stack with goat and bleu cheeses, and Portabella pizza (with the mushroom subbing for the crust).
There was enough of a variety of flavors and textures to satisfy all three of us. Cocktails accompanied the meal and a chocolate mousse with toffee bits finished it. We joked about the difference in this pre-show meal compared to what we might have had before a concert in the past, but no one was complaining, either.
We piled tightly into one truck for the trip and, armed with GPS assistance to help us locate the Commons, we eventually found not only the building, but a front row parking space. Walking through the automatic doors though, we were met by a surprisingly small crowd enjoying openers the Amoeba Men. It was striking how few people were there.
When I ran into an acquaintance, I lamented the lack of advertising for this show; a guy passing by agreed heartily and said he'd written to the RTD's music critic to lambast her for not even acknowledging the show. My reaction was, would she even know who Mission of Burma was? That made him laugh, but acknowledge that it was unlikely.
Fortunately, by the time MOB came on, more VCU and city types had arrived, but the crowd was still nowhere near what it should have been. As was to be expected, a fair percentage of the crowd was of an age to have owned Mission of Burma on vinyl. There did seem to be some UR students there; I heard a group discussing Husker Du, so they obviously knew enough to be there (although they were agog when a friend told them that she'd seen Husker Du in '85). The UR crowd could be best summed up in the attire of the student standing in front of us: a yellow popped-collar polo shirt with a flannel-lined hoodie over it. Enough said.
I could complain about the sound op who was clearly out of his league despite precise direction from the band, but I'd rather focus on how enjoyable it was to hear the energy, tape effects and hooks of the band. Their sense of humor and obvious pleasure in what they were doing didn't hurt, either. At one point, they told the audience, "Now more songs to dance at prom to." As if, but it gave the devoted in the audience a chuckle.
An incongruous meal before an unlikely band's performance at an incongruous location...that's the beauty of Richmond on a Friday night.
My girlfriends and I started at Mezzanine for dinner and wound up on the heated patio due to a full dining room and half an hour wait inside. We made a meal of an array of starters: fried risotto balls with Parmesan and broccolini over marinara sauce, kale salad, Mobjack Bay oysters, noodle-wrapped shrimp, a beet stack with goat and bleu cheeses, and Portabella pizza (with the mushroom subbing for the crust).
There was enough of a variety of flavors and textures to satisfy all three of us. Cocktails accompanied the meal and a chocolate mousse with toffee bits finished it. We joked about the difference in this pre-show meal compared to what we might have had before a concert in the past, but no one was complaining, either.
We piled tightly into one truck for the trip and, armed with GPS assistance to help us locate the Commons, we eventually found not only the building, but a front row parking space. Walking through the automatic doors though, we were met by a surprisingly small crowd enjoying openers the Amoeba Men. It was striking how few people were there.
When I ran into an acquaintance, I lamented the lack of advertising for this show; a guy passing by agreed heartily and said he'd written to the RTD's music critic to lambast her for not even acknowledging the show. My reaction was, would she even know who Mission of Burma was? That made him laugh, but acknowledge that it was unlikely.
Fortunately, by the time MOB came on, more VCU and city types had arrived, but the crowd was still nowhere near what it should have been. As was to be expected, a fair percentage of the crowd was of an age to have owned Mission of Burma on vinyl. There did seem to be some UR students there; I heard a group discussing Husker Du, so they obviously knew enough to be there (although they were agog when a friend told them that she'd seen Husker Du in '85). The UR crowd could be best summed up in the attire of the student standing in front of us: a yellow popped-collar polo shirt with a flannel-lined hoodie over it. Enough said.
I could complain about the sound op who was clearly out of his league despite precise direction from the band, but I'd rather focus on how enjoyable it was to hear the energy, tape effects and hooks of the band. Their sense of humor and obvious pleasure in what they were doing didn't hurt, either. At one point, they told the audience, "Now more songs to dance at prom to." As if, but it gave the devoted in the audience a chuckle.
An incongruous meal before an unlikely band's performance at an incongruous location...that's the beauty of Richmond on a Friday night.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Restaurants Not the Usual Suspects
Sunday's Washington Post Travel section had not one, but two articles about eating in RVA.
While I'm always happy to see word of our fair city in the larger press, I'm beginning to wonder about the sources for their destinations.
The first, "In Richmond, fine dining is in the details" was written by Post food critic Tom Sietsema, a man whose writing I read often and always enjoy, and chronicled his eating journey through our little town. Go ahead, I bet you can guess at least three, if not four, of the places where he chowed down.
Duh. Millie's, Can Can, Acacia and Mezzanine (because of its relative newness and Style's Restaurant of the Year award apparently) made the cut.
His only other stop was Buzz and Ned's Real Barbecue where he was underwhelmed. He also found Millie's lacking, despite having had a good lunch there several years ago. The others he enjoyed.
The second article, "For food shops, it's a capital city" was mainly about Belmont Butchery, but also gave a nod to 821, Comfort, Sally Belle's, Kuba Kuba, Yellow Umbrella Seafood and the brand new Spoonfed (formerly Stonewall Market).
The writer raved about Belmont Butchery with good reason, although Tanya Cauthen is quoted as saying that when she needs additonal counter help, she calls on local chefs from Balliceaux and Pomegranate. I question how a place as new as Balliceaux got lumped in with the defunct Pomegranate.
My question is this: can a piece about eating in RVA be written without mention of Can Can, Acacia, Millie's, Comfort, or Kuba Kuba? And, let's be real here, even 821 and Sally Belle's are semi-regulars when the topic is our restaurant scene. I'm not saying these aren't good places to eat, but who doesn't know that by now?
Clearly even the out-of-towners are aware of these places, so why can't we see an article about eating through Richmond mention some of the less obvious eateries we have to offer?
Yellow Umbrella was an unexpected surprise to see given a nod, as was the barely opened Spoonfed, but it was an article about markets after all. But a truly good story about what's worth checking out during a visit to RVA should inform the reader about the places not mentioned over and over in the travel press.
Or, at the very least, whomever is supplying the suggestions to these out-of-town writers should give them the scoop on the places the locals know are our best -kept secrets.
If anyone should need a good source in the future, I'm happy to provide a list of less obvious places worth a bite or sip, as, I'm sure, would any regular diner in Richmond.
Or are we trying to keep these places to ourselves?
While I'm always happy to see word of our fair city in the larger press, I'm beginning to wonder about the sources for their destinations.
The first, "In Richmond, fine dining is in the details" was written by Post food critic Tom Sietsema, a man whose writing I read often and always enjoy, and chronicled his eating journey through our little town. Go ahead, I bet you can guess at least three, if not four, of the places where he chowed down.
Duh. Millie's, Can Can, Acacia and Mezzanine (because of its relative newness and Style's Restaurant of the Year award apparently) made the cut.
His only other stop was Buzz and Ned's Real Barbecue where he was underwhelmed. He also found Millie's lacking, despite having had a good lunch there several years ago. The others he enjoyed.
The second article, "For food shops, it's a capital city" was mainly about Belmont Butchery, but also gave a nod to 821, Comfort, Sally Belle's, Kuba Kuba, Yellow Umbrella Seafood and the brand new Spoonfed (formerly Stonewall Market).
The writer raved about Belmont Butchery with good reason, although Tanya Cauthen is quoted as saying that when she needs additonal counter help, she calls on local chefs from Balliceaux and Pomegranate. I question how a place as new as Balliceaux got lumped in with the defunct Pomegranate.
My question is this: can a piece about eating in RVA be written without mention of Can Can, Acacia, Millie's, Comfort, or Kuba Kuba? And, let's be real here, even 821 and Sally Belle's are semi-regulars when the topic is our restaurant scene. I'm not saying these aren't good places to eat, but who doesn't know that by now?
Clearly even the out-of-towners are aware of these places, so why can't we see an article about eating through Richmond mention some of the less obvious eateries we have to offer?
Yellow Umbrella was an unexpected surprise to see given a nod, as was the barely opened Spoonfed, but it was an article about markets after all. But a truly good story about what's worth checking out during a visit to RVA should inform the reader about the places not mentioned over and over in the travel press.
Or, at the very least, whomever is supplying the suggestions to these out-of-town writers should give them the scoop on the places the locals know are our best -kept secrets.
If anyone should need a good source in the future, I'm happy to provide a list of less obvious places worth a bite or sip, as, I'm sure, would any regular diner in Richmond.
Or are we trying to keep these places to ourselves?
Monday, September 21, 2009
Mama Zu's Goes South
Ed Vasaio is practically Richmonders' favorite chef, right?
I mean, besides me, who doesn't cite Mamma Zu's as one of their favorite local restaurants?
That aside, Holmes and I honored our reservation at Positive Vibe Cafe tonight to enjoy Guest Chef Night with Ed Vasaio and his culinary meanderings.
The menu was simple enough:
Homemade square pasta in broth with chicory and pate on bruschetta
Homemade Broccoletti and Provolone Sausage and Pork Liver Sausage served with Polenta and Mushrooms
It sounded wonderful and it was, but who knew to expect two sausage links each 8 inches long?
The servings were huge (and only $15.99); the brilliant Holmes intends to take his leftovers to work tomorrow along with assorted mustards and a baguette.
After chowing down, the owner came out to chat with us and made a joke about Ed being back in the kitchen with a cleaver, terrorizing the staff, and creating this cartoon version of a sausage serving to freak customers out.
The soup was sublime and the main course absolutely delicious and very generous, and what's not to love when it's all for a good cause like Positive Vibe?
Nothing that Holmes and I could see.
We indulged in Ed's wine choice as well: a bottle of the Donna Laura 2007 Sangiovese de Toscanna Ali and found it to be the perfect accompaniment to our meal.
Seeing as how the food portion of the evening was complete by 8:30, we moved on to Mezzanine for dessert and libations.
We found a lively bar scene, plenty of Patron and brown spirits for Holmes and a chocolate mousse with nuts and almond brittle.
The bartender's Ipod offered a diverse musical background for discussion: Dylan, Counting Crows, Bon Jovi and Cake, to name but a few.
Sure, I made a few cracks about the music, but all in all, we found an interesting bar crowd, some worthy of conversation, a division game (and a fan in a Riggins jersey! Can you say flashback?) and stayed four hours.
So how bad could it have been?
Luckily, Holmes was merely blocks from home, although my commute was more like two whole miles.
The evening gave us a chance to discuss a variety of blogs, dating (his latest: Bombshell Mama), ponytail growing attempts (Holmes' and the bartender's) and drinking habits.
And, oh, did we laugh about a few choice topics.
Sharing a good story with someone who knows where the bodies are buried makes it all the better, especially on a deliciously full stomach.
I mean, besides me, who doesn't cite Mamma Zu's as one of their favorite local restaurants?
That aside, Holmes and I honored our reservation at Positive Vibe Cafe tonight to enjoy Guest Chef Night with Ed Vasaio and his culinary meanderings.
The menu was simple enough:
Homemade square pasta in broth with chicory and pate on bruschetta
Homemade Broccoletti and Provolone Sausage and Pork Liver Sausage served with Polenta and Mushrooms
It sounded wonderful and it was, but who knew to expect two sausage links each 8 inches long?
The servings were huge (and only $15.99); the brilliant Holmes intends to take his leftovers to work tomorrow along with assorted mustards and a baguette.
After chowing down, the owner came out to chat with us and made a joke about Ed being back in the kitchen with a cleaver, terrorizing the staff, and creating this cartoon version of a sausage serving to freak customers out.
The soup was sublime and the main course absolutely delicious and very generous, and what's not to love when it's all for a good cause like Positive Vibe?
Nothing that Holmes and I could see.
We indulged in Ed's wine choice as well: a bottle of the Donna Laura 2007 Sangiovese de Toscanna Ali and found it to be the perfect accompaniment to our meal.
Seeing as how the food portion of the evening was complete by 8:30, we moved on to Mezzanine for dessert and libations.
We found a lively bar scene, plenty of Patron and brown spirits for Holmes and a chocolate mousse with nuts and almond brittle.
The bartender's Ipod offered a diverse musical background for discussion: Dylan, Counting Crows, Bon Jovi and Cake, to name but a few.
Sure, I made a few cracks about the music, but all in all, we found an interesting bar crowd, some worthy of conversation, a division game (and a fan in a Riggins jersey! Can you say flashback?) and stayed four hours.
So how bad could it have been?
Luckily, Holmes was merely blocks from home, although my commute was more like two whole miles.
The evening gave us a chance to discuss a variety of blogs, dating (his latest: Bombshell Mama), ponytail growing attempts (Holmes' and the bartender's) and drinking habits.
And, oh, did we laugh about a few choice topics.
Sharing a good story with someone who knows where the bodies are buried makes it all the better, especially on a deliciously full stomach.
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