Eating Off the Menu at Cellar Door

It was such a nice day that I had the brilliant idea to stroll the Monument Avenue medians, something I hadn't done in a couple of years.

But every time I do it, I'm a amazed at how completely different it feels to be in the center of the street rather than on either side of it. There's something about being on the wide grassy expanse that makes the traffic seem distant.

And if I'm going to walk Monument Avenue, it only made sense to have lunch there, too. Of course, that leaves one option, but my last two visits to the Cellar Door had been delicious, so I wasn't adverse to a third.

When I walked in, I was pleasantly surprised to find four tables full and a couple at the bar deep in conversation. Things were looking up; tat's more than the combined number of people on my last two visits.

Maybe they'd heard about the Peruvian chicken I'd had on my last two visits, first by itself and then on a salad. Today I broke bad and got the Manchester, a sandwich of that chicken, tomato, avocado, Provolone and caramelized onions with Mediterranean potato salad.

The music was classic rhythm and blues (Al Green, Marvin Gaye, Jackson 5) and I enjoyed listening to it while waiting for my food. It soon became obvious that I must have arrived only a short time after the eight-top, the four-top and one of the two-tops.

The kitchen was clearly very busy making everyone's food, but I was in no hurry and my server was nice enough to chat me up in the interim. I asked about them doing music shows and he said they frequently happened on Mondays. I consider this a good thing since Mondays can be slow days and he agreed. Sprout is good about that, too.

He told me that Chiocca's was one of his favorite places to eat because of the enormous sandwiches. The vintage vibe at Chiocca's came up and he said that somehow the bar regulars at Chiocca's manage to seem less questionable than the ones at the Village, despite the fact that they could be the same people.

It's true: whenever I'm in Chiocca's, I feel like I'm in a time warp and it could be 20 or 40 years ago. Nothing much changes down there (okay, there was the addition of the ATM machine, but even that's old news now).

When my sandwich finally arrived, it was with profuse apologies from my server. I told him I understood that I had been in line behind fourteen other orders and felt the kitchen's pain and he thanked me for understanding.

My sandwich was an absolutely terrific combination of flavors, although not exactly as it had been billed. The onions were raw, not caramelized, which was still fine with me and the Provolone was missing in action, but that didn't matter to me, either.

The heat of the Peruvian chicken's jalapeno sauce paired with the coolness of the tomatoes and avocado and the crunch of the onion on thick ciabatta was a really delicious combination and I wasn't the least bit sorry for the changes from the menu's description.

As I was eating, a woman from the eight-top came over to pay and tell my server that, "Word is getting out about this place. My neighbor told us about it and then one of our guests over there arrived already wanting to come here."

I'm not surprised. A place that can give a customer something different than what she ordered and still impress knows what they're doing.

Now I'll just have to check out one of their shows and see if they're as good at that. Somehow I'm willing to bet that they are.

Merci for the Eye Catchers

The postcard from the National Museum of Modern Art had arrived last week, which meant my friend was back from Paris.

That also meant a welcome back lunch so he could present me with the foreign tights he'd secured for me (as well as Bourdain's Medium Raw because he wants someone to discuss it with), always part of his souvenir-gathering when he's abroad.

He works on Monument Avenue, so he invited me to stop by his office to collect my gifts and we'd walk from there. The tights, called "Leo," are labeled in five languages as "an extravagant eye catcher" and "a walk on the wild side," and will undoubtedly be lots of fun to wear in a place far removed from Parisian streets (I think I'm up for the job).

This beautiful weather made for a glorious walk the short distance to the Cellar Door; the leaves were deep on the sidewalk but the temperature was 77. That's my kind of autumn.

We started with the spicy zucchini fritters after my friend asked if I was interested (I told him I've never in my life turned down a fritter. Fact.). They were not what I expected, but that wasn't a bad thing. Slices of zucchini had been coated in a crunchy crust and fried up crisp and hot. Eaten immediately at their peak, they were sliced fried goodness.

My friend had to get the quarter Peruvian chicken since I'd recommended it so highly to him, but I did a slight variation by getting the Mansion, a salad of lettuces, cukes, tomatoes, red onions and olives with that same chicken on top of it. The Peruvian ranch dressing, made with the same spices used on the rotisserie chicken, was a big hit with him and great on the salad, too.

I heard all about his trip: the transit strike that prevented his trip to Versailles, the offal he ate at a no-star bistro, his all-day walks (he knows what I like) and lots of wine anecdotes. His stories about the beer-swilling costumed student demonstrators sounded (and, according to him, looked) like something out of Mad Max.

We lingered, talking to the owner about their plans for a brick oven for their rotisserie ("The problem is the ten-story chimney." Indeed, that would be a problem.), the appeal of using their jalapeno sauce on practically everything ("I may be addicted. I'm considering putting it in my coffee," he admitted) and Thursday's Halloween throwdown there.

Walking back down Monument Avenue, friend asked when I expected I'd be wearing the wild Leo tights. Who knows, they might be perfect for the Night of the Living Dead Bands show when I go to see Led Zepplica.

It won't be Paris, but somehow I don't think they'll seem quite so outrageous in that crowd.

Lunch Period at The Cellar Door

Back-to-school week. Labor Day. Signing a petition for the Richmond Transit Riders Union. Who knows what inspired me to check out the gallery walk at the Virginia Historical Society today for the new exhibit Organized Labor in Virginia?

And considering my knowledge base on the subject of labor and unions, I was bound to learn something, always a good thing. As is typical of me (or perhaps anyone), I was most engrossed in the things I could relate to.

A 1948 strike by the Virginia Dairy milk delivery men was caused by the dairy raising product prices but not milkmen's wages. The picture of a milkman in his uniform, sleeves rolled up and holding a rack containing eight glass bottles of milk next to a horse-drawn dairy wagon reminded me of my milkman grandfather.

Another enormous image of menhaden fishermen on the Northern Neck, part of the Reedville menhaden fleet, was captivating. The old boat, with laundry strung up to dry and surrounded by fishermen working for a pittance under deplorable conditions was a reminder of the fishing culture that, for many years, sustained the area where my parents now live.

Despite the disruption of many people's daily routines, there was apparently overwhelming support for the streetcar strike against Virginia Passenger and Power Company. The headline showed the strikers with a headline proclaiming "Yesterday's Scene of Excitement at 7th and Main." They don't write headlines like they used to, that's for sure.

The whole exhibit was enlightening and fascinating in that way that history tends to be when well-presented. And now I know what a whitesmith does, something I didn't know when the gallery walk began. Nerds love that kind of satisfaction.

After history class, it was lunch period and I was eager to check out Monument Avenue's only restaurant. That would be the Cellar Door in the basement of the big white apartment building at Stuart Circle, home to countless previous incarnations.

The last time I'd been in there was when it was still Artists' Underground Cafe and it had been for a show on a hot, sweaty summer night. The first band thrashed hard and loud two feet from me, they only served beer and the place was sticky with sweat and beer. The band I'd come to hear, though, delivered a great set in a room almost too crowded to move. Ah, memories.

The Cellar Door is nothing like that. The place has undergone a renovation that leaves it looking sleek and somehow warm at the same time (a nearby bar sitter told me "You should see it at night. The walls just glow."). It even seems bigger without the tables in the center.

The star of the menu is Pollo a la Brasa, Peruvian style chicken served with two sauces. A variation of that chicken also came in soup, salad and sandwich options, but I figured it best to try it in its basic form first.

That meant I ordered the quarter chicken, a thigh/drumstick combination (it also comes as a half chicken) and for my side, went with the roasted white corn salad (other sides: steak fries, potato salad, jicama "fries" or rose kettle chips).

The crispy-skinned chicken "packed some heat" as the bartender told me, and both sauces had something to recommend them. The red was a Peruvian Ranch with the same spices as the chicken's rub. The green was a jalapeno, cilantro, olive oil and garlic sauce. I couldn't decide which I liked better, so I alternated dipping bites in both, all the while wishing I'd ordered the half chicken so I could keep eating longer, not that I didn't have more than enough to eat.

Worth mentioning is how fresh and well-seasoned that roasted white corn salad was and while corn is still so good, it's an atypical side worth checking out. It was a perfect accompaniment to the chicken, flavor-wise.

I had the pleasure of sitting next to the electrician who'd done the work there and at Sprout (although I would have guessed he was a student because he looked so young), so he'd already eaten there repeatedly and made several recommendations for my future visits, including how terrific the desserts were.

The four sweet options included two chocolate choices: Godiva Chocolate Bombe and Mexican Chocolate Torte and he personally loves the Espresso Cheesecake; they also had a Southern Pecan Tart. Not to be overlooked is a wine list that runs $6-$8 a glass and $18 - $30 a bottle.

Clearly I need to go back for dessert, wine and the glowing walls. And in all likelihood, that chicken again.