Disco Diner

A seldom-scene friend was in a celebratory mood today and called me at the last minute.

Today was the two-year anniversary of when he gave up smoking and discovered he had cancer.

After an appointment this morning confirming that he's now cancer-free, he wanted to have lunch and celebrate himself.

Usually he lets me choose our destination, but today he announced that we were going to Third Street Diner, a place I haven't been since before it reopened a few years back.

It turned out that we were going for memory's sake.

Back in his radio days in the 90s, he said, he'd spent a lot of time at Third Street, "Upstairs, snorting lines, drinking coffee and eating pancakes."

Let's just say he led a far more colorful life than I could ever imagine, so I just wait for the tales.

The decor was (how do I say this?) interesting.

The curvy black fake fur banquettes with matching faux fur chairs looked like they came from the disco era.

In my cantaloupe-colored dress, I created quite the Halloween effect against all that black.

But other than that and the new candy machine up front, it was all pretty much the same.

They still had the rotating dessert case, the dim bar, the plastic menus.

I'm not even sure that the menu items have changed.

But it's pure diner food, which is my friend's favorite.

He got his usual hamburger (never with cheese!) with lettuce, tomato, mayo and fries.

They were the old-fashioned crinkle cut fries which he loves to douse in mayo.

I've known this guy for over 15 years and I've seen him eat this exact lunch more times than I could count.

I'll tell you what, though, he seems to take pleasure in it every single time.

I played it safe with a grilled cheese with bacon and onion rings on the side.

The onion rings were not freshly made for me, but the sandwich was perfectly satisfying.

I mean, if a diner can't make a decent grilled cheese, all the fuzzy banquettes in the world aren't going to make a bit of difference.

I can't speak to how good the pancakes were back in the day, but from the sound of the stories, I don't think it mattered much.

Hollywood Cemetery in the Hot, Hot Heat

The Richmond restaurant world is almost as incestuous as its musical world; you're likely to see a member of either group at another place or in another configuration somewhere.

So it was that on walking into Perly's today that the waitress eating at the end of the bar looks up and says, "Hi, Karen."

It's not that I go in Perly's often, because I don't, but I actually know the waitress from the Belvidere.

Later as I'm leaving, I hear a voice from the corner table, "Hey, Karen!"

It's a fellow Census worker and waitress from Tarrant's. It's 11:45 in the morning and the familiar faces are everywhere.

I ordered a turkey sandwich because their menu said that they roast their own turkey (I asked to verify), but it can't compare to the turkey sandwich at Comfort, which I had just last week.

Ideally, I want big, irregularly-shaped chucks of turkey to mimic a day-after-Thanksgiving Day turkey sandwich; Comfort gives me that, but Perly's doesn't.

Still, it's a perfectly fine turkey sandwich, with chips on the side, another post-Turkey Day requirement. I'm satisfied.

I am having lunch with my long-time friend from Williamsburg, here, and it's good hearing his stories after so long; he was in radio forever so he has a Voice with a capital V.

We couldn't be more opposed politically, but we have plenty to talk about without that (and I do try to avoid it).

And in all the years I've had lunch with him, I've never seen him eat anything except either eggs and sausage or a hamburger with fries and mayo.

He's an odd one, but unusual in a fascinating sort of way. He calls himself "the last of his kind" which may very well be true for a host of reasons.

Afterwards we went to Hollywood Cemetery, a favorite place of his and one he hadn't visited in several years.

Because of the heat and his health, we drove it rather than walked it, parking periodically under a shady tree to roll down the windows, admire the view and chat.

We could see all the people sunning themselves on the rocks and enjoying the water at Belle Isle.

I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that at least a few of them were restaurant workers I know, but it was too hot to walk over there and find out.

And no one was shouting, "Hey Karen" from across the river.

So the last of his kind and I stayed in the shade, amongst the past, talking about the present and hoping the best for the future.

Radio Rats Reunite

I worked in radio back in the 90s, a job that taught me how to drink tequila, encouraged me to share my opinions on new music and provided opportunities to meet some interesting characters along the way. One of my favorite oddballs, the former production director, is in from Minneapolis this week so we made plans to meet for dinner tonight.

My friend is gay, a fact I mention only to explain a compliment he gave me years ago which is still one of my favorites. When he first moved to the frigid state of Minnesota, he met a girl who was unaware of his preferences and tried hitting on him. When he realized what she was doing, he stopped her cold by saying, "Honey, if I was going to cross to the dark side, I'd have married Karen years ago." Now that, my friends, is high praise.

He's a native Chicagoan who fell in love with East Coast seafood during the five years he lived in rva, so when I asked if he had any preferences for dinner, all he required was a place he could get crab cakes. I took him to Bonvenu in Carytown, knowing he'd enjoy the feel of the place as well as the food.

I know it's corny, because the place is called Bonvenu and all, but the staff always recognizes me and says things like 'welcome back' and 'nice to see you again.' It seems very gracious and I always appreciate it because I am by no means a regular (this was maybe my sixth visit). Perhaps it's because I usually sit at the bar and they have a close-up view of me and I talk a lot. Or maybe they appreciate the fact that I bring someone different every time I come.

I began with the seared ahi tuna with avocado soy ginger over greens, something my Midwestern friend wouldn't think of eating. He went southern with the wild mushrooms with smoked Gouda grits, although when the plate came, he asked me what the white stuff was (which was actually pretty cute). On a related note, he's still grateful that I introduced him to sun-dried tomatoes back in 1993.

He'd known going in that he was going to have the crab cakes and they pleased him exceedingly. I enjoyed the PEI mussels in a spicy tomato garlic broth with grilled flat bread. I don't usually order mussels in a tomato-based broth but was rewarded for doing so. The mussels came atop a giant square of flat bread bigger than the bowl, so the broth sopped through it on the bottom and stayed warm, dry and crusty on the top and sides. It was built in dipping bread and absolutely delicious.

Over dinner my friend wanted life and love details from the past six years since he'd last been to Richmond, so I delivered the highs and lows. He told me about his adventures since arriving Saturday, including an afternoon on Belle Isle admiring the human scenery today. He was especially proud of his sunburned face.

He told me of having lunch at Joe's Inn with the former music director from the station where we worked and couldn't wait to tell me what the guy had said about me. When my friend mentioned we were having dinner tonight, the guy said, "I would have had an affair with that woman." As my friend put it, "All those years we worked together, not once did he tell me he lusted after you in his heart." Nor did he tell me, but he was married, so that's actually a very good thing.

Dropping me off at a decent hour, my friend was eager to get back to his hotel to watch baseball, so I headed over to a neighborhood joint for chocolate and wine. The restaurant owner wanted to discuss his disdain for a recent online piece about his restaurant; I read it and had to agree that his points were all valid. His only consolation was how few people would even read it, but such are the headaches of living in an online world.

It was so much simpler back when we were working in radio in the 90s. If you said something that was unnecessary or bad form on the air, sure, the people listening heard it, but it didn't live on in perpetuity. I have to say, there's a lot of appeal to that.

Of course, there was a lot of appeal to having a station manager who kept a large bottle of good tequila on his desk to smooth out the rough days, but that's a story for another day.

I Used My Best Phone Voice, Too

What better use of my unemployed time could I make than volunteering?

With that in mind, I spent 3 hours today at WRIR (93.1) as a phone volunteer for their fund drive. I'm pleased to say I took three pledges, 2 messages for the staff and l long-winded call from a woman wanting to know why her radio couldn't hold the signal for 105 point something.

I guess she thought all the radio stations are in cahoots and know what's up with each other...or something.

There were a couple other volunteers there when I arrived and, lo and behold, they were both unemployed too. One guy had just been laid off after 34 years with the same company. 34 years! He started that job part-time in high school! It's the only thing he's ever done and now he's got to find another job at 53. He wasn't optimistic but at least he had 6 months of severance pay to tide him over while he looks.

The other guy was 28 and desperately seeking work. Just while I was there, he filled out online applications for 3 different jobs. He said he always followed up submitting applications with calling the company. Daily. Finally one woman told him that she was tired of hearing his voice and not to call anymore.

Employment etiquette aside, I don't think he helped his job chances any.

While I was there, a former neighbor came in to make a pledge; turns out he's unemployed also. I was beginning to feel like I was in the Laid Off Twilight Zone, so it was particularly gratifying when a girl came in with her laptop to do some work for her part-time job. Finally! Someone in the room with gainful employment...maybe I should touch her for good luck?

What I learned today: Even in the tough times, people are still giving of their time and limited funds for the worthwhile causes.

And WRIR, you know, "radio for the rest of us," is surely that.