I'll Have the Lobster and the Bacon

Come on in, honey, and get some of this A/C. I see you finally found a parking space!

It's so nice when a guard oversees your arrival.

I was headed to the Virginia Historical Society's banner lecture, "The Jefferson Hotel: The History of a Richmond Landmark" by Paul Herbert.

"It's packed back there!" my new best friend warned me as I headed down to the talk.

Sure enough, the room was already near capacity, with an audience that looked to have a median age of about 70.

No problem. I never mind being on the young side of the demographic.

The VHS blurb had said that Herbert had "loved the Jefferson since his first visit there more than 20 years ago" and I would have guessed that most of this crowd's memories went back two or three times that far.

Hell, my first visit was 21 years ago (for a local radio station's dance night) and I'm not even a local.

Clearly Herbert didn't know that 20 years is nothing in this town.

He'd brought over 50 slides relating to the Jefferson Hotel and proceeded to tell us all kinds of arcane information, a lot of which got the crowd smiling and nodding in agreement.

Starting with how Lewis Ginter, the man who'd originally built the hotel, had made his third fortune in tobacco by selling pre-rolled cigarettes that came with trading cards, he told us about what a model hotel it was when it opened in 1895.

The roof garden shows were a big hit, but only for a while because the Jefferson charged 50 cents while the other venues in town only charged a quarter.

When he got on the subject of the Jefferson being known for the alligators in its Palm Court, the blue hair next to me stated to no one in particular, "I've seen the alligators."

Apparently a common method to herd the baby alligators was sticking the bristle end of a broom in their mouth and dragging them back to the pond.

And despite certain northern newspaper assumptions, the hotel had not been named after Jefferson Davis. Duh.

Herbert mentioned the big-names visitors, essentially "everyone famous who came to the east coast between 1900 and 1960," people like Winston Churchill and John D. Rockefeller (both named "honorary Virginians"), Charles Lindbergh and Elvis (who mortified the Jefferson's manager by eating bacon with his fingers).

I was surprised to learn that the Jefferson had so many full-time residents (80 when it closed in 1980 and as many as 100 before then), including Horace Ganz, its most famous.

Of course, back in those days, the manager and his family lived on site, too.

We heard how the opening of the nearby Hotel John Marshall at the beginning of the Great Depression hurt the Jefferson as people fled further downtown to the fancy new kid on the block.

Prices told the most unbelievable story, with rooms $1.50 in 1895 (with another $1 for a bathroom), a full dinner for $2.50 in 1930, a lobster dinner for $8.50 in 1970 and $7.50 for Mother's Day dinner in 1975.

And, yes, Billy Joel was a 25% owner of the Jefferson for a while, even showing up behind the piano on his occasional visits to town to sing and play.

Sure, that would have been an unexpected treat, but personally, I'd rather sit with Elvis and eat bacon with my fingers.

Historical anecdote aside, is there another way to eat bacon?

Italians and the Jefferson

I figured if I was going to hear tales of the Jefferson, I should go with someone I met at the Jefferson.

The Library of Virginia was hosting author Paul Herbert as he spoke about his book, "The Jefferson Hotel: The History of a Richmond Landmark."

And while the title is snooze-worthy, the subject was overdue for re-examination since the last book on the Jefferson had been in 1941.

As it turned out, the stories he shared were fascinating.

When he heard that the Jefferson had used a 12-year old clock cleaner, he tracked down the now 72-year old man to get the story.

When he was told a story of two young girls being asleep in the hotel when it caught on fire, he tracked down the girls.

"The thing about history is," he said with understated but obvious enthusiasm, "If you can find the people who were there."

Most of his stories ended with him meeting or talking to the person something happened to as a way yo corroborate the tales told in the book.

He clarified once and for all that the Jefferson's famed alligators lasted only until 1948, except for special occasions.

Billy Joel was an investor in the Jefferson, albeit a silent one. Herbert said he did once visit and play the piano, though.

I learned that the check-in desks used to be downstairs by the Main Street entrance, in front of what is now TJ's.

That there was a writing room in the lobby.

And, when it opened in 1895, a rooftop garden where entertainment was held.

Vaudeville from the roof of the Jefferson, can you imagine?

In the hotel's restaurant, Elvis ate bacon with his fingers, to the horror of one of the employees.

At one point in the evening, Herbert looked at the crowd and said, "In Richmond, everything ties back to the Jefferson. Everyone has a connection. It's like that seven degrees of separation with Kevin Bacon game. Everyone has a Jefferson story."

Who was I to argue?

I was sitting next to someone I'd met at the Jefferson two decades ago. Clearly there's a story there.

Dinner followed further east at Maximo's, the new tapas place in the Bottom.

It was livelier than I'd expected and the Spanish music was, too.

The menu was a bit of a split personality with tapas on one side and Italian on the other.

With a bottle of Verdejo, we ate around the tapas side, trying apple salad, chorizo in cherry sauce and a soft shell crab in a white wine cream sauce.

The people watching was colorful inside and outside the restaurant, with both Italian and New Jersey being spoken.

We finished with Warre's "Warrior" Port, leaving some Verdejo to go.

Our eager sever rushed off to get a bag for it, returning with a large brown grocery bag and saying apologetically, "We have one size bag: giant!"

So it was that we left with a giant bag with our leftover Verdejo and full bellies.

As if the evening needed any further enhancement, we made for Strange Matter to see an Italian band, Sultan Bathery.

What are young guys from Venice playing these days, you wonder?

Let me tell you. The best kind of lo-fi, garage (almost surf) pop in two to three minute bursts.

The bass player wore a long orange scarf wrapped around his forehead in that Steven Tyler-kind of way.

The guitarist would have looked right at home in the Trillions. Even better, he sang every song peering through curly bangs.

The drummer's non-stop arms were encased in a Cramps t-shirt with sleeves so short it looked like a girl's t-shirt.

In other words, they were adorable. And very young.

Even so, what came through was their Euro-swagger as they rocked hard and fast without ever really losing it.

And everyone, repeat, everyone in that room was constitutionally unable to stand still as a result.

After their 45-minute set (fact: you can only go so hard so long), the band made a plea in mostly Italian for support.

"We have not so much money," the singer said sweetly.

I bet they have no place finding a place to stay tonight, either.

And while I doubt it'll be the Jefferson, no doubt they'll find southern hospitality in Richmond.

I figure if I got to see a dynamite Italian band here on a Wednesday night, they're going to be just as lucky.

Cute can take Italians a long way.