Shut up, I like tasting menus.
As many times as I've done the Tuesday Tasting at the Empress, it never occurred to me how much I like the concept.
Two of us decided to give their Southern Italian tasting a whirl tonight and joined a small but enthusiastic group of diners doing the same.
Tarczal Dry Moscato was just dry enough to cut the rich garlicky pan sauce over roasted squid stuffed with white beans, spinach and garlic.
Conversation revolved around the stages of a post-relationship friendship. How much is too much?
I'm always thrilled to find fresh anchovies, so the next course of them served with black olive puree, lemon zest, spicy caper sauce and cherry tomato confit pleased me no end.
A Villa Pozzi Pinot Grigio delivered honeysuckle and fruit and got a thumbs up from the nearest Southern Italian.
Then it was time for the third course and Cantina Zaccagnini Montepulciano suited my penchant for a full-bodied red while only slightly intimidating my table mate.
It was paired beautifully with mussels in a red wine, tomato, garlic and pepper flake sauce over gluten-free linguine.
My gluten-intolerant friend would have been over the moon with that dish.
Last up was fried veal sweetbreads with veal jus, roasted green tomato puree and fried sage leaf.
And if you're going to eat innards, you need a luscious and velvety wine like Layer Cake Primitivo to keep things properly primal.
And that's when it occurred to me. How great would it be if a restaurant did this every night?
You pay your twenty bucks and you get four two-ounce pours of different wines with a small plate paired with each.
And not a small plate two people could pick off of, but a true small plate. A few bites of four different dishes.
Call me fickle, call me a Gemini, but know that I enjoy savoring as many different tastes as possible.
So naturally I see a lot of sense in a four-course tasting/pairing, something that offers me both fresh anchovies and sweetbreads in the same meal.
Not to mention squid and mussels.
Plus just enough wine to make it work. Brilliant.
But since no one's calling me for restaurant concept ideas, I'll set that aside for now.
Instead of stopping while we were ahead, we opted for the chocolate/banana crepe to round out our meal.
Between listening to the XX on the restaurant sound system and saying hello to the friend (who thinks of himself as Princess Di) busy plotting with his cohorts how to rule the world ("We want you to be the social director," he insisted), I used my finger to finish up the last of the chocolate sauce on the plate.
Therein lies the beauty of a tasting menu. You not only have room for dessert but time for finger licking.
You know, in case you have bigger fish to fry later.
Showing posts with label the empress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the empress. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Friday, December 2, 2011
Choose with Care
You grow up with five sisters and you end up needing very few girlfriends.
That said, I couldn't live without the few female friends I am really close to and a long lunch is an ideal way to do the girly thing when we can both make it happen.
That's how we ended up at The Empress today, tucked into a back table where we were out of the way and could share the stories for which neither of us has another outlet.
While I pigged out over chorizo pizza made on a nice, thick herb focaccia, she went virtuous with a veggie sampler that looked delicious and way more green than anything on my plate.
But unlike a sister, she didn't judge me for it.
After some much-needed talk, we decided to head out into the sunshine for a walk and if we ended up somewhere for dessert, all the better.
In less than four blocks, we were in front of Garnett's and although every table was taken, two stools were free.
Over chocolate coconut cake (me) and pecan pie (her), we discussed past loves, online commenting and morning breath, with a hefty dose of why neither of us qualifies as joiners in between.
A former River City Roller Girl saw me eating the cake and came up to tell me that she and her husband had come there for lunch specifically so she could order that cake afterwards.
That thick layer of coconut icing in the center, the two kinds of chocolate frosting, the moistness of the cake, she rhapsodized and I agreed with it all.
I understood her point about planning a meal around what comes at the end. My own mother taught me that life skill, among others.
And the ones she didn't teach me, I learned from girlfriends.
Today's friend can be credited with teaching me how to hold my liquor and how to be a night person, two skills I lacked before I met her.
Praise be for girlfriends. Unlike sisters, you get to choose the ones you want.
That said, I couldn't live without the few female friends I am really close to and a long lunch is an ideal way to do the girly thing when we can both make it happen.
That's how we ended up at The Empress today, tucked into a back table where we were out of the way and could share the stories for which neither of us has another outlet.
While I pigged out over chorizo pizza made on a nice, thick herb focaccia, she went virtuous with a veggie sampler that looked delicious and way more green than anything on my plate.
But unlike a sister, she didn't judge me for it.
After some much-needed talk, we decided to head out into the sunshine for a walk and if we ended up somewhere for dessert, all the better.
In less than four blocks, we were in front of Garnett's and although every table was taken, two stools were free.
Over chocolate coconut cake (me) and pecan pie (her), we discussed past loves, online commenting and morning breath, with a hefty dose of why neither of us qualifies as joiners in between.
A former River City Roller Girl saw me eating the cake and came up to tell me that she and her husband had come there for lunch specifically so she could order that cake afterwards.
That thick layer of coconut icing in the center, the two kinds of chocolate frosting, the moistness of the cake, she rhapsodized and I agreed with it all.
I understood her point about planning a meal around what comes at the end. My own mother taught me that life skill, among others.
And the ones she didn't teach me, I learned from girlfriends.
Today's friend can be credited with teaching me how to hold my liquor and how to be a night person, two skills I lacked before I met her.
Praise be for girlfriends. Unlike sisters, you get to choose the ones you want.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
First Rule of the Blogosphere
Be careful who you blog about for you may run into him the next night.
After a catch-up date with a good friend on the patio of The Empress in the balmy (84-degree!) late afternoon air (where I professed that a certain female chef would be my choice should I decide to jump the proverbial fence), I headed downtown for a birthday celebration dinner for a friend.
We were gathering at the bar of Bistro Bobette for drinks before dinner and I was the second arrival.
First there was a female chef (she's a great friend but not one I'm hypothetically lusting after), who was drinking a Cosmo and welcomed my company as we waited for the others.
I was poured a glass of the Barren Ridge Chardonnay, an unusual offering for Bobette because it's a Virginia wine, but one from the winery to be featured in their local oyster dinner next week.
When our quintet of four women and one guy was assembled, we moved to a table to begin the evening in earnest.
Since I am usually a bar-sitter at Bobette, I found it interesting to be in the middle of the dining room, surrounded tonight by a lot of large parties.
Which was a good thing because we were not a quiet table.
Of course the advantage of being part of a group was all the good things I got to taste: sauteed calf liver, veal tenderloin, crispy veal sweetbreads, rainbow trout and smoked trout tart, all beautifully executed.
The one newcomer to the restaurant at our table marveled at finding calf liver on the menu and then was thrilled with its tender, flavorful delivery.
The birthday girl regaled us with pictures and tales of her recent trip to Puerto Vallarta, where she and her boyfriend stayed in a pricey resort (and pricey is not a relative term here; the room was $2,000 per night).
She assured us that she'd used points, not cash, to make the trip happen.
Still, towels folded to look like swans, rose petals floating in the bathtub and private pool and ocean views out all the windows made it clear that this was a world away from any vacation I've taken.
As we were sitting there sipping wine after the meal, a lone diner walked in looking remarkably familiar.
It was the same lone diner who'd come into Bistro 27 last night and stolen everyone's attention.
Bluntly put, this town is lousy with actors from that "Lincoln" movie.
Rather than allow the ubiquitous Bruce McGill to capture the attention of everyone in this restaurant too, I headed over to accuse him of following my restaurant lead.
And don't you know that rather than admitting to being a copycat, we ended up talking restaurants. He also said that he loves to cook.
I asked how he was managing to end up at all the restaurants I frequented and he said he uses his nose to make his dining decisions.
It's a method that's hard to argue with.
So now that I've met the man, I can't go on and on about people fawning over him while I get ignored.
He agreed with several of my takes on local restaurants, so he's clearly a smart cookie and not just an attention-seeker.
But if he shows up tomorrow night, I'm going to be a tad suspicious.
After saying goodnight to him (and the bartender and the chef and the regular and his college roommate), I left to join my friends at Rowland for dessert.
Once we got through the birthday song and chocolate torte, I was pushed off on an unsuspecting restaurant guest by the birthday girl.
The poor guy had tried to engage her in food talk and she'd abdicated to someone with a wider palate (actually that's anyone who eats more than beef, grits and potatoes).
It worked out well for me because he was enjoyable to talk to and not only knew Richmond restaurants, but Washington's as well.
We got off on a tangent about the wild and inappropriate things some guys say to girls.
He shared an incident from his own past that involved his fingers around a guy's throat after the guy invaded his ex-girlfriend's personal space.
I shared a few hysterical examples from my own life as he listened in amazement.
"On behalf of men everywhere, please let me apologize," he said, taking personal responsibility for his people.
It was a sweet but unnecessary gesture.
True, I've been told some crazy stuff, but I'm not ready to jump the proverbial fence as long as there are still guys out there who like to talk, kiss well and like to eat.
Some of them even cook, I hear.
After a catch-up date with a good friend on the patio of The Empress in the balmy (84-degree!) late afternoon air (where I professed that a certain female chef would be my choice should I decide to jump the proverbial fence), I headed downtown for a birthday celebration dinner for a friend.
We were gathering at the bar of Bistro Bobette for drinks before dinner and I was the second arrival.
First there was a female chef (she's a great friend but not one I'm hypothetically lusting after), who was drinking a Cosmo and welcomed my company as we waited for the others.
I was poured a glass of the Barren Ridge Chardonnay, an unusual offering for Bobette because it's a Virginia wine, but one from the winery to be featured in their local oyster dinner next week.
When our quintet of four women and one guy was assembled, we moved to a table to begin the evening in earnest.
Since I am usually a bar-sitter at Bobette, I found it interesting to be in the middle of the dining room, surrounded tonight by a lot of large parties.
Which was a good thing because we were not a quiet table.
Of course the advantage of being part of a group was all the good things I got to taste: sauteed calf liver, veal tenderloin, crispy veal sweetbreads, rainbow trout and smoked trout tart, all beautifully executed.
The one newcomer to the restaurant at our table marveled at finding calf liver on the menu and then was thrilled with its tender, flavorful delivery.
The birthday girl regaled us with pictures and tales of her recent trip to Puerto Vallarta, where she and her boyfriend stayed in a pricey resort (and pricey is not a relative term here; the room was $2,000 per night).
She assured us that she'd used points, not cash, to make the trip happen.
Still, towels folded to look like swans, rose petals floating in the bathtub and private pool and ocean views out all the windows made it clear that this was a world away from any vacation I've taken.
As we were sitting there sipping wine after the meal, a lone diner walked in looking remarkably familiar.
It was the same lone diner who'd come into Bistro 27 last night and stolen everyone's attention.
Bluntly put, this town is lousy with actors from that "Lincoln" movie.
Rather than allow the ubiquitous Bruce McGill to capture the attention of everyone in this restaurant too, I headed over to accuse him of following my restaurant lead.
And don't you know that rather than admitting to being a copycat, we ended up talking restaurants. He also said that he loves to cook.
I asked how he was managing to end up at all the restaurants I frequented and he said he uses his nose to make his dining decisions.
It's a method that's hard to argue with.
So now that I've met the man, I can't go on and on about people fawning over him while I get ignored.
He agreed with several of my takes on local restaurants, so he's clearly a smart cookie and not just an attention-seeker.
But if he shows up tomorrow night, I'm going to be a tad suspicious.
After saying goodnight to him (and the bartender and the chef and the regular and his college roommate), I left to join my friends at Rowland for dessert.
Once we got through the birthday song and chocolate torte, I was pushed off on an unsuspecting restaurant guest by the birthday girl.
The poor guy had tried to engage her in food talk and she'd abdicated to someone with a wider palate (actually that's anyone who eats more than beef, grits and potatoes).
It worked out well for me because he was enjoyable to talk to and not only knew Richmond restaurants, but Washington's as well.
We got off on a tangent about the wild and inappropriate things some guys say to girls.
He shared an incident from his own past that involved his fingers around a guy's throat after the guy invaded his ex-girlfriend's personal space.
I shared a few hysterical examples from my own life as he listened in amazement.
"On behalf of men everywhere, please let me apologize," he said, taking personal responsibility for his people.
It was a sweet but unnecessary gesture.
True, I've been told some crazy stuff, but I'm not ready to jump the proverbial fence as long as there are still guys out there who like to talk, kiss well and like to eat.
Some of them even cook, I hear.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Moving Beyond Green Eggs & Lamb
Brunch on a holiday weekend is always a crap shoot. You never know who'll be open.
When I'd gotten home last night, I'd found an invitation from a friend saying only "Breakfast tomorrow?"
He wanted to eat at the ungodly hour of 10, so I guess that disqualified it as brunch.
We struck out at Ettamae's because they're on vacation, although Chef Matt was there working away.
He did share that they're debuting a new dinner menu starting next week, so that was worth hearing about.
But where to go now?
Keeping with the "E" theme, we drove down Broad to The Empress, spotted a couple sitting in the window and went in to choose our own window seat.
Our two talkative tables must have been just the incentive people needed because tables continued to be filled from then on.
Today's menu had a breakfast section and a lunch section, but no Green Eggs and Lamb, long my go-to on their brunch menu.
Owner Melissa explained that the price of lamb had tripled, so she'd taken my favorite off the menu. And understandably so.
It was probably a good thing, forcing me to try something different, so I ordered the Chorizo pizza with fresh Mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on herb focaccia.
My friend considered the Manly Man's Breakfast (two fried eggs over bison gravy and mashed potatoes) but chose instead the Simply Breakfast of bacon, seasoned potatoes, two poached eggs and toast with jam.
I didn't consider him any less of a manly man because of his decision. Or maybe I'm just not into manly men.
Of course we got a side of bacon. The two of us try never to go to breakfast or brunch and not have a plate of bacon to nosh on.
My pizza turned out to be an inspired choice; the thick bread made a savory bed for the sliced Chorizo and cheese topping and I scarfed it down like I hadn't eaten all day.
I hadn't. And I'm the type who usually gets up and eats within minutes, so I was starved.
Spying my suddenly empty plate, our server came over and offered to take it, saying, "But I won't take that one because there's still bacon on it."
Good thinking if you don't want a fork in the back of your hand.
My friend's breakfast suited him just as well with perfectly poached eggs, addictive potatoes and The Empress' usual exceptional bread.
Once the bacon was finished, we had a lingering salty taste that could only be cured by dessert.
I'm sure some people would look askance at dessert after breakfast/brunch, but we're not two of them.
When our server offered us the chocolate chile pate, we gave him the "Is that a rhetorical question?" look and soon after it appeared.
There's a good reason their pate took first prize at Broad Appetit last year; the combination of dark chocolate and the heat of the chiles on the finish is sublime.
Not to be overly optimistic, but I think it bodes well for the rest of the day when you've already had dessert by noon.
My friend chalked it up to a bacon/chocolate endorphin high.
I say whatever gets you through a Sunday...
When I'd gotten home last night, I'd found an invitation from a friend saying only "Breakfast tomorrow?"
He wanted to eat at the ungodly hour of 10, so I guess that disqualified it as brunch.
We struck out at Ettamae's because they're on vacation, although Chef Matt was there working away.
He did share that they're debuting a new dinner menu starting next week, so that was worth hearing about.
But where to go now?
Keeping with the "E" theme, we drove down Broad to The Empress, spotted a couple sitting in the window and went in to choose our own window seat.
Our two talkative tables must have been just the incentive people needed because tables continued to be filled from then on.
Today's menu had a breakfast section and a lunch section, but no Green Eggs and Lamb, long my go-to on their brunch menu.
Owner Melissa explained that the price of lamb had tripled, so she'd taken my favorite off the menu. And understandably so.
It was probably a good thing, forcing me to try something different, so I ordered the Chorizo pizza with fresh Mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on herb focaccia.
My friend considered the Manly Man's Breakfast (two fried eggs over bison gravy and mashed potatoes) but chose instead the Simply Breakfast of bacon, seasoned potatoes, two poached eggs and toast with jam.
I didn't consider him any less of a manly man because of his decision. Or maybe I'm just not into manly men.
Of course we got a side of bacon. The two of us try never to go to breakfast or brunch and not have a plate of bacon to nosh on.
My pizza turned out to be an inspired choice; the thick bread made a savory bed for the sliced Chorizo and cheese topping and I scarfed it down like I hadn't eaten all day.
I hadn't. And I'm the type who usually gets up and eats within minutes, so I was starved.
Spying my suddenly empty plate, our server came over and offered to take it, saying, "But I won't take that one because there's still bacon on it."
Good thinking if you don't want a fork in the back of your hand.
My friend's breakfast suited him just as well with perfectly poached eggs, addictive potatoes and The Empress' usual exceptional bread.
Once the bacon was finished, we had a lingering salty taste that could only be cured by dessert.
I'm sure some people would look askance at dessert after breakfast/brunch, but we're not two of them.
When our server offered us the chocolate chile pate, we gave him the "Is that a rhetorical question?" look and soon after it appeared.
There's a good reason their pate took first prize at Broad Appetit last year; the combination of dark chocolate and the heat of the chiles on the finish is sublime.
Not to be overly optimistic, but I think it bodes well for the rest of the day when you've already had dessert by noon.
My friend chalked it up to a bacon/chocolate endorphin high.
I say whatever gets you through a Sunday...
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Broad Street al Fresco
I'm not ashamed to say that I got adopted at a tasting.
It had been months since I'd last gone to one of the Empress's Tuesday tastings and I definitely picked the right one to climb back on board.
Given the recent weeks' heat and humidity, the Empress had put their tastings on hiatus.
With today's beautiful weather, they'd bought red umbrellas, set out the blue glasses and opened up their new patio to the tasting crowd.
I arrived to a mostly full patio, but stopped to chat with Chef Carly before choosing a two-top and only occupying one seat.
Did you really think I could scrounge up a date?
Well, I hope you'd give me first shot.
Why? You're taken!
Yea, but I have a car and I still drive by the lots.
But I was lucky; before the tasting even got underway, the three women at the next table kindly invited me to join them for the evening's entertainment.
I'd heard one of them mention a beagle, so I knew they couldn't be all bad.
Like the other Tuesday tastings I'd attended at the Empress, this one showcased stellar wines and the most interesting food with a ridiculous price tag of $20.
We started with 2008 Inspiracion Pampano Rueda, a blend of Verdedjo and Viura paired with a golden honeydew and white peach gazpacho.
The wine's acidity was pucker-worthy until we tasted it after the soup, at which point all the sharp edges smoothed out.
The ginger notes in the lovely gazpacho echoed the same in the wine.
Enjoying our first course, it was hard not to appreciate the lovely evening and the light breeze as we savored our food and wine al fresco.
My new friends were far from all bad; in fact, they were all theater people so I'd seen a lot of the productions they'd worked on.
I could actually participate in the conversation about recent plays. Score!
Our next course involved Martin Codax 2010 Albarino Rias Baixas, a peachy and citrusy wine that paired beautifully with a scallop ceviche with pear chips.
Stop the world, everybody needs to taste pear chips before they die.
Midway through our meal, one of the group asked me flat out if I was "I could go on and on." A second woman seconded her thought.
How does this happen? How do people know? I never cease to be amazed when this happens.
We got a big buildup from owner Melissa about the next wine, a 2008 Las Rocas Garnacha, for its gorgeous nose and sumptuous long finish.
Melissa didn't lie. This wine did not even need food to appreciate how well crafted it was, but a dish of pink peppercorn and Thai basil frozen cream with raspberry coulis elicited sounds of satisfaction from the entire table.
While the concept of a savory ice cream may not be everyone's expectation for a pre-meat course, this combination of pepper and basil was to die for.
Several people asked the chef when this creamy delight would appear on the menu, but an answer wasn't immediately forthcoming.
And it was as pretty as it was delicious.
Our final wine course was the older woman to the previous wine's pretty young thing.
The 2008 Las Rocas Vinas Viejas Garnacha came from 80-year old vines versus 30-year old vines.
And while the last one had been wonderful, this one had a depth and structure that told you it had been around long enough to get the hang of things.
It was downright elegant.
Carly paired it with smoked filet Mignon with roasted cherries which matched the cherry flavor in the wine note for note.
As we savored our last course, the conversation turned to dating, ineffectual co-workers and the trials and tribulations of excessive use of Foursquare.
Not an issue for me. I will never be mayor of anywhere.
I found a kindred wine soul in one of the women (who runs 17 miles a day) who happily agreed to share a glass of the final magnificent wine with me.
It was impossible to let something so good go by at that point in the evening. Chances are, that's not a wine they'll be pouring again by the glass.
So we sat on the patio as it gradually cleared out, chatting and sipping as the traffic on Broad Street lessened.
If you're going to be adopted, expressive, hand-gesturing, well-spoken theater types are the way to go.
I may never be an actress, but I hope I have enough depth and structure and that I've been around long enough that I can stand in as one of their friends.
Actually, I'm shooting for downright elegant.
It had been months since I'd last gone to one of the Empress's Tuesday tastings and I definitely picked the right one to climb back on board.
Given the recent weeks' heat and humidity, the Empress had put their tastings on hiatus.
With today's beautiful weather, they'd bought red umbrellas, set out the blue glasses and opened up their new patio to the tasting crowd.
I arrived to a mostly full patio, but stopped to chat with Chef Carly before choosing a two-top and only occupying one seat.
Did you really think I could scrounge up a date?
Well, I hope you'd give me first shot.
Why? You're taken!
Yea, but I have a car and I still drive by the lots.
But I was lucky; before the tasting even got underway, the three women at the next table kindly invited me to join them for the evening's entertainment.
I'd heard one of them mention a beagle, so I knew they couldn't be all bad.
Like the other Tuesday tastings I'd attended at the Empress, this one showcased stellar wines and the most interesting food with a ridiculous price tag of $20.
We started with 2008 Inspiracion Pampano Rueda, a blend of Verdedjo and Viura paired with a golden honeydew and white peach gazpacho.
The wine's acidity was pucker-worthy until we tasted it after the soup, at which point all the sharp edges smoothed out.
The ginger notes in the lovely gazpacho echoed the same in the wine.
Enjoying our first course, it was hard not to appreciate the lovely evening and the light breeze as we savored our food and wine al fresco.
My new friends were far from all bad; in fact, they were all theater people so I'd seen a lot of the productions they'd worked on.
I could actually participate in the conversation about recent plays. Score!
Our next course involved Martin Codax 2010 Albarino Rias Baixas, a peachy and citrusy wine that paired beautifully with a scallop ceviche with pear chips.
Stop the world, everybody needs to taste pear chips before they die.
Midway through our meal, one of the group asked me flat out if I was "I could go on and on." A second woman seconded her thought.
How does this happen? How do people know? I never cease to be amazed when this happens.
We got a big buildup from owner Melissa about the next wine, a 2008 Las Rocas Garnacha, for its gorgeous nose and sumptuous long finish.
Melissa didn't lie. This wine did not even need food to appreciate how well crafted it was, but a dish of pink peppercorn and Thai basil frozen cream with raspberry coulis elicited sounds of satisfaction from the entire table.
While the concept of a savory ice cream may not be everyone's expectation for a pre-meat course, this combination of pepper and basil was to die for.
Several people asked the chef when this creamy delight would appear on the menu, but an answer wasn't immediately forthcoming.
And it was as pretty as it was delicious.
Our final wine course was the older woman to the previous wine's pretty young thing.
The 2008 Las Rocas Vinas Viejas Garnacha came from 80-year old vines versus 30-year old vines.
And while the last one had been wonderful, this one had a depth and structure that told you it had been around long enough to get the hang of things.
It was downright elegant.
Carly paired it with smoked filet Mignon with roasted cherries which matched the cherry flavor in the wine note for note.
As we savored our last course, the conversation turned to dating, ineffectual co-workers and the trials and tribulations of excessive use of Foursquare.
Not an issue for me. I will never be mayor of anywhere.
I found a kindred wine soul in one of the women (who runs 17 miles a day) who happily agreed to share a glass of the final magnificent wine with me.
It was impossible to let something so good go by at that point in the evening. Chances are, that's not a wine they'll be pouring again by the glass.
So we sat on the patio as it gradually cleared out, chatting and sipping as the traffic on Broad Street lessened.
If you're going to be adopted, expressive, hand-gesturing, well-spoken theater types are the way to go.
I may never be an actress, but I hope I have enough depth and structure and that I've been around long enough that I can stand in as one of their friends.
Actually, I'm shooting for downright elegant.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Yolks and Oats Took the Cake
It's amazing I could even fit in seeing a film between all the eating that we did tonight.
I was meeting a favorite couple at Amuse and they were bringing her mother, on a visit here from Ukraine.
With the beautiful day pulling people out to the balcony, I had no problem scoring four stools at the bar and was rewarded with a glass of Montand Sparkling Brut Rose.
While I awaited their arrival, I admired a nearby server's dinner, one of the evening's specials.
Byrd Mill grits supported pork belly and a fried egg from Ayrshire Farms, with Brussels sprouts and Hanover tomato jam on the side. I wanted to face-plant in her plate, but refrained.
The color of the yolk was so brilliant that I knew that the egg hadn't been long out of the chicken. But we were not there to eat because the Friday Film started at 6:30.
Of course once my friends arrived, I glowingly described what I'd witnessed and we ordered it as a pre- movie snack.
Every element was perfection from the just-laid-yesterday egg oozing over it all to the tantalizing sweetness of the tomato jam complementing the slight bitterness of the sprout leaves.
We pig lovers appreciated that the piece of pork belly was large and meaty with just enough of a layer of fat to make it decadent without being able to actually hear your arteries hardening as you ate.
Best of all, Chef Greg Hanley wandered out to introduce himself, so I got a chance to go on and on about the sublime creation we'd just inhaled.
After so many good meals at Amuse, it was a real pleasure to finally put a face and personality to the man's impressive output. He already knew how much I eat.
Before long he was off to the kitchen and we were off to the movies. Showing this evening was local filmmaker Sonali Gulati's film "I Am."
Several years ago, I'd seen her film "Nalini By Day, Nancy By Night" about the double lives of Indian call center employees and had been impressed with her storytelling ability.
When I'd gotten my ticket for tonight's film, the guy selling it to me had said, "It's a really good film. I just got to see it in film class. You're going to like it."
He was correct. Gulati's documentary about returning to India after her mother died and after she'd come out as a lesbian was moving, funny and well-done.
She began by thanking her partner for sitting through it again tonight, "For the 140th time." As I like to remind myself, no sacrifice is too great for love.
Six years in the making, it told the stories of other gays as well as herself, and the difficulties they faced in a country where homosexuality was outlawed until 2009.
The film traced her going to a doctor who said he could cure her of her lesbianism with a serum. She admitted that she hesitated taking it because, "What if it worked?"
It was heartening to see how many Indian parents got over their initial reactions to learning their children were gay.
After homosexuality was decriminalized, the scenes of celebrants included parents proudly supporting their children in a way that seemed unlikely at the start of the film.
As one placard said, "Proud to be Indian. Proud to be gay. No need to choose."
The film got a standing ovation from the very diverse straight and gay crowd.
After the screening, Gulati took questions from the audience, many of whom were curious about how traumatic it had been for her never to have come out to her mother before her untimely death. She handled all questions with poise, humor and honesty.
Then we had to skedaddle before the museum closed and we turned into pumpkins, but not before discussing a desire to see the VMFA (and Amuse) open on additional evenings. Members can hope, can't they?
We decided on dinner at the Empress, settled into a front booth and prepared to eat more than we needed to.
I started with an organic wine, Haut-Poitou Sauvignon Blanc, fresh and crisp and not too fruity (insert corny gay joke here).
An amuse bouche of a tiny slice of sweet potato with a dollop of cream, lemon verbena and volcanic sea salt was a bite of heaven. We were ready for the kitchen to bring it on.
Truffle vichyssoise (looking like a bowl of whipped cream it was so thick and dense), tuna tartare (with a ginger-honey sauce that was irresistible), Meaty Caprese (roll ups of cured meat, Mozzarella and basil over chopped tomatoes and pomegranate molasses), bison lasagna (surprisingly and deliciously spicy with a strong red pepper element), pistachio-crusted duck breast (boasting a habanero-blueberry sauce and feta/mushroom oats, both of which were the undisputed stars of the meal) and the evening fish special (king clip over kale with a tomato pan sauce).
Good thing we'd had a snack before the movie to tide us over. True, there were four of us, but we ate a lot of food for four people, even with two Ukrainians amongst us.
Afterwards, we agreed that dessert was unnecessary, but that we'd listen to the choices. Big mistake.
One of the evening's specials was a lavender and local honey creme brulee. The honey was from Nelson County and the lavender was from their herb garden out behind the restaurant.
My preference is for chocolate creme brulee, but this delicately nuanced version was like inhaling a summer day in the garden. Everyone agreed that it had a beautiful, fresh taste.
And then we all exploded from over-eating and that was the end of the night.
No, no, actually I came home and sat on the porch admiring the full moon and trying to make sense of life on such a beautiful night.
I laughed when a friend recently told me, "Reading your life is like watching a great TV show."
That's one way of looking at it.
I was meeting a favorite couple at Amuse and they were bringing her mother, on a visit here from Ukraine.
With the beautiful day pulling people out to the balcony, I had no problem scoring four stools at the bar and was rewarded with a glass of Montand Sparkling Brut Rose.
While I awaited their arrival, I admired a nearby server's dinner, one of the evening's specials.
Byrd Mill grits supported pork belly and a fried egg from Ayrshire Farms, with Brussels sprouts and Hanover tomato jam on the side. I wanted to face-plant in her plate, but refrained.
The color of the yolk was so brilliant that I knew that the egg hadn't been long out of the chicken. But we were not there to eat because the Friday Film started at 6:30.
Of course once my friends arrived, I glowingly described what I'd witnessed and we ordered it as a pre- movie snack.
Every element was perfection from the just-laid-yesterday egg oozing over it all to the tantalizing sweetness of the tomato jam complementing the slight bitterness of the sprout leaves.
We pig lovers appreciated that the piece of pork belly was large and meaty with just enough of a layer of fat to make it decadent without being able to actually hear your arteries hardening as you ate.
Best of all, Chef Greg Hanley wandered out to introduce himself, so I got a chance to go on and on about the sublime creation we'd just inhaled.
After so many good meals at Amuse, it was a real pleasure to finally put a face and personality to the man's impressive output. He already knew how much I eat.
Before long he was off to the kitchen and we were off to the movies. Showing this evening was local filmmaker Sonali Gulati's film "I Am."
Several years ago, I'd seen her film "Nalini By Day, Nancy By Night" about the double lives of Indian call center employees and had been impressed with her storytelling ability.
When I'd gotten my ticket for tonight's film, the guy selling it to me had said, "It's a really good film. I just got to see it in film class. You're going to like it."
He was correct. Gulati's documentary about returning to India after her mother died and after she'd come out as a lesbian was moving, funny and well-done.
She began by thanking her partner for sitting through it again tonight, "For the 140th time." As I like to remind myself, no sacrifice is too great for love.
Six years in the making, it told the stories of other gays as well as herself, and the difficulties they faced in a country where homosexuality was outlawed until 2009.
The film traced her going to a doctor who said he could cure her of her lesbianism with a serum. She admitted that she hesitated taking it because, "What if it worked?"
It was heartening to see how many Indian parents got over their initial reactions to learning their children were gay.
After homosexuality was decriminalized, the scenes of celebrants included parents proudly supporting their children in a way that seemed unlikely at the start of the film.
As one placard said, "Proud to be Indian. Proud to be gay. No need to choose."
The film got a standing ovation from the very diverse straight and gay crowd.
After the screening, Gulati took questions from the audience, many of whom were curious about how traumatic it had been for her never to have come out to her mother before her untimely death. She handled all questions with poise, humor and honesty.
Then we had to skedaddle before the museum closed and we turned into pumpkins, but not before discussing a desire to see the VMFA (and Amuse) open on additional evenings. Members can hope, can't they?
We decided on dinner at the Empress, settled into a front booth and prepared to eat more than we needed to.
I started with an organic wine, Haut-Poitou Sauvignon Blanc, fresh and crisp and not too fruity (insert corny gay joke here).
An amuse bouche of a tiny slice of sweet potato with a dollop of cream, lemon verbena and volcanic sea salt was a bite of heaven. We were ready for the kitchen to bring it on.
Truffle vichyssoise (looking like a bowl of whipped cream it was so thick and dense), tuna tartare (with a ginger-honey sauce that was irresistible), Meaty Caprese (roll ups of cured meat, Mozzarella and basil over chopped tomatoes and pomegranate molasses), bison lasagna (surprisingly and deliciously spicy with a strong red pepper element), pistachio-crusted duck breast (boasting a habanero-blueberry sauce and feta/mushroom oats, both of which were the undisputed stars of the meal) and the evening fish special (king clip over kale with a tomato pan sauce).
Good thing we'd had a snack before the movie to tide us over. True, there were four of us, but we ate a lot of food for four people, even with two Ukrainians amongst us.
Afterwards, we agreed that dessert was unnecessary, but that we'd listen to the choices. Big mistake.
One of the evening's specials was a lavender and local honey creme brulee. The honey was from Nelson County and the lavender was from their herb garden out behind the restaurant.
My preference is for chocolate creme brulee, but this delicately nuanced version was like inhaling a summer day in the garden. Everyone agreed that it had a beautiful, fresh taste.
And then we all exploded from over-eating and that was the end of the night.
No, no, actually I came home and sat on the porch admiring the full moon and trying to make sense of life on such a beautiful night.
I laughed when a friend recently told me, "Reading your life is like watching a great TV show."
That's one way of looking at it.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Talking Marriage and Long
What do you do when you don't know what to do with yourself?
I started by meeting a girlfriend at The Empress to hear about her recent pirate wedding at the VMFA (she's an artist so it made perfect sense).
We took advantage of "Wine Enthusiast" hours to drink Oveja Negra chardonnay/viognier and L'Enclos des Bories Minervois (okay, mostly the minervois) at a discount.
Talk centered around pre-wedding jitters, bad ball and chain jokes and their lovely wedding dinner at Amuse.
Why have a stealth wedding somewhere that doesn't have great food?
Bacon-wrapped dates in a local honey/Gorgonzola sauce lasted nicely because we were so busy talking; ordinarily they would have been gobbled up for their tantalizing sweet and salty allure, made all the more decadent by that rich sauce.
I wish I could say I had something to equal her stories, but it's tough to top love and marriage.
After she left to work on party preparations (her reception is this weekend), I went home to change and ended up on the phone for two hours.
Those who know me well may want to reread that sentence because my usual phone limit is about two minutes. Simply put, my phone skills suck.
But yesterday was my best friend's birthday and although I'd called her then she'd been out, so tonight was our chance to catch up.
She, a California girl, lives temporarily in god-forsaken North Dakota where there is a two-month summer (she hates snow and being cold), no gay community (so no chance of her dating) and the biggest excitement for the locals is the new Applebee's about to open (they're treating it like a major event).
Shudder. Just when I think my life could use some improvement, I realize how good I have it.
Because we don't talk nearly as often as two women who have been best friends since college should, we had a lot of ground to cover.
Still, that two-hour call may be a lifetime record for me.
By the time we finished chatting, she marveled that I was not out somewhere doing something cultural, an impossibility in her small North Dakota town.
I explained that I was heading out as soon as we finished to listen to music.
I could have just stayed in at that point, but Tuesdays are jazz night at the Camel and there's no cover, so why would I?
To quote a Broadway tune, what good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play.
The Abinnet Berhanu Group was going at it when I arrived.
Like so many incestuous local jazz groups, it contained members I knew from other projects (sax player Marcus Tenney and keyboardist Devonne Harris) and attracted some familiar jazz-loving faces.
The band played original material along with Ellis Marsalis and Wayne Shorter.
My only complaint with them was how long it took them to break down after their set (maybe they were operating on jazz time) while the audience waited for the Scott Clark 4-Tet.
I'm a big fan of these guys with their drums, sax, trumpet and bass lineup.
A guy at the show tonight told me that they are trying to take musician Gerry Mulligan's chordless sound in new directions, whatever that meant.
Personally, I just love how interesting sounding the music is, but then, I'm no musician, unlike probably 90% of the other people in the room.
And I'd bet that every one of them could talk on the phone for two hours and not expect a gold star for it.
My only consolation is that I might have a skill set they don't, although I have absolutely no idea what that might be.
I'll give it some thought and get back to you. But not on the phone.
I started by meeting a girlfriend at The Empress to hear about her recent pirate wedding at the VMFA (she's an artist so it made perfect sense).
We took advantage of "Wine Enthusiast" hours to drink Oveja Negra chardonnay/viognier and L'Enclos des Bories Minervois (okay, mostly the minervois) at a discount.
Talk centered around pre-wedding jitters, bad ball and chain jokes and their lovely wedding dinner at Amuse.
Why have a stealth wedding somewhere that doesn't have great food?
Bacon-wrapped dates in a local honey/Gorgonzola sauce lasted nicely because we were so busy talking; ordinarily they would have been gobbled up for their tantalizing sweet and salty allure, made all the more decadent by that rich sauce.
I wish I could say I had something to equal her stories, but it's tough to top love and marriage.
After she left to work on party preparations (her reception is this weekend), I went home to change and ended up on the phone for two hours.
Those who know me well may want to reread that sentence because my usual phone limit is about two minutes. Simply put, my phone skills suck.
But yesterday was my best friend's birthday and although I'd called her then she'd been out, so tonight was our chance to catch up.
She, a California girl, lives temporarily in god-forsaken North Dakota where there is a two-month summer (she hates snow and being cold), no gay community (so no chance of her dating) and the biggest excitement for the locals is the new Applebee's about to open (they're treating it like a major event).
Shudder. Just when I think my life could use some improvement, I realize how good I have it.
Because we don't talk nearly as often as two women who have been best friends since college should, we had a lot of ground to cover.
Still, that two-hour call may be a lifetime record for me.
By the time we finished chatting, she marveled that I was not out somewhere doing something cultural, an impossibility in her small North Dakota town.
I explained that I was heading out as soon as we finished to listen to music.
I could have just stayed in at that point, but Tuesdays are jazz night at the Camel and there's no cover, so why would I?
To quote a Broadway tune, what good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play.
The Abinnet Berhanu Group was going at it when I arrived.
Like so many incestuous local jazz groups, it contained members I knew from other projects (sax player Marcus Tenney and keyboardist Devonne Harris) and attracted some familiar jazz-loving faces.
The band played original material along with Ellis Marsalis and Wayne Shorter.
My only complaint with them was how long it took them to break down after their set (maybe they were operating on jazz time) while the audience waited for the Scott Clark 4-Tet.
I'm a big fan of these guys with their drums, sax, trumpet and bass lineup.
A guy at the show tonight told me that they are trying to take musician Gerry Mulligan's chordless sound in new directions, whatever that meant.
Personally, I just love how interesting sounding the music is, but then, I'm no musician, unlike probably 90% of the other people in the room.
And I'd bet that every one of them could talk on the phone for two hours and not expect a gold star for it.
My only consolation is that I might have a skill set they don't, although I have absolutely no idea what that might be.
I'll give it some thought and get back to you. But not on the phone.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Love is in the Air at The Empress
Going out to eat on Mother's Day is like going out on Valentine's Day or St. Patrick's Day. You've got to carefully pick your spot.
So we carefully picked The Empress and timed brunch for almost 2:00, figuring the worst of the hordes would be finishing up and we were right.
It was a beautiful day for brunching on Broad Street and the open door allowed the warm-smelling air into the bustling dining room.
Our little two-top was the oddball in a room full of large groups. We saw some very sweet grandmotherly types, one in the kind of pale pink knit pants that only grandmothers can pull off.
Settled in with rose hibiscus iced tea, we opted for both breakfast and lunch, ordering the challah French toast with peanut butter sauce and fresh whipped cream and the arugula salad with chickpeas, sunflower seeds, chicken and Edam cheese in a red wine vinaigrette, thus satisfying both cravings.
We finished with chocolate/strawberry crepes placed on a plate of chocolate sauce poured to look like a daisy, making for a very groovy and rich ending to a lovely meal.
Owner Melissa was waiting tables and when I inquired as to why, she explained that she was allowing each of her employees to leave for a few hours to celebrate with their mothers, a very sweet gesture for a boss, we thought.
But then, The Empress is the only place I know where the menu clearly states (as do the servers if you ask why something is so good) that they offer love-infused social cuisine, so apparently there's a lot of love floating around the place.
Hell, I'm all about the love, wherever I may find it.
So we carefully picked The Empress and timed brunch for almost 2:00, figuring the worst of the hordes would be finishing up and we were right.
It was a beautiful day for brunching on Broad Street and the open door allowed the warm-smelling air into the bustling dining room.
Our little two-top was the oddball in a room full of large groups. We saw some very sweet grandmotherly types, one in the kind of pale pink knit pants that only grandmothers can pull off.
Settled in with rose hibiscus iced tea, we opted for both breakfast and lunch, ordering the challah French toast with peanut butter sauce and fresh whipped cream and the arugula salad with chickpeas, sunflower seeds, chicken and Edam cheese in a red wine vinaigrette, thus satisfying both cravings.
We finished with chocolate/strawberry crepes placed on a plate of chocolate sauce poured to look like a daisy, making for a very groovy and rich ending to a lovely meal.
Owner Melissa was waiting tables and when I inquired as to why, she explained that she was allowing each of her employees to leave for a few hours to celebrate with their mothers, a very sweet gesture for a boss, we thought.
But then, The Empress is the only place I know where the menu clearly states (as do the servers if you ask why something is so good) that they offer love-infused social cuisine, so apparently there's a lot of love floating around the place.
Hell, I'm all about the love, wherever I may find it.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sufferin' Succotash
"Come hungry and loquacious."
Could there be a better invitation to dinner than that for a person like me who lives to eat and talk? I even got to pick our destination, with my companion's only request being "somewhere new to him" and he readily admitted to having little knowledge of the Richmond restaurant scene. The field was wide open.
We met at The Empress, although he was well into his wine and an order of sauteed calamari in garlic and herb sauce when I arrived under my umbrella, fresh from a meeting with a bunch of actors who now knew far too much about me.
Chef Carly greeted me and was kind enough to bring me some Hob Nob Pinot Noir to get my cold and damp blood moving. What happened to Spring again and can we get it back?
I took advantage of his invitation to partake of the appetizer and enjoyed the buttery, garlicky sauce on both calamari and bread before inhaling a crumb of bread and coughing in a most unladylike manner for ten minutes.
Only then was I fit to peruse the menu, urged on by owner Melissa to try something new ("What haven't you had before?" she challenged me. Not much, I had to admit).There was only one order of lamb chops left and everyone there knows how I feel about those chops, but I willed myself to branch out.
Unable to resist the lure of bison, my companion went with the buffalo lasagna and I, a sucker for succotash, picked the grilled scallops with green bean and corn succotash with sauteed fingerling potatoes.I could see Melissa's approval in her eyes.
He loved his lasagna; I scarfed down my scallops and all the while we discussed curtailing risk-taking (his and mine), his time spent as part of the East Village scene in the 80s (Television and Talking Heads), and using it or losing it (that would be any and all parts of it). Loquacious does not begin to cover it.
He made a strong case for adding the Seville April Fair to my bucket list (except that I don't have one) and, based on his description, he may be right about it being something I need to experience. If Byron could admire its women and oranges, so could I.
We followed food and wine with wine and dessert, but I deferred to his choices, what with him being an Empress virgin and me willing to eat just about anything. Besides, there are no bad choices on that dessert menu.
Like all first-timers, the award-winning chili chocolate pate blew his mind (that heat on the finish always has that effect on first-timers) but the chocolate/banana crepes disappeared just as quickly. We traded plates until both were gone. I have no dessert shame whatsoever.
Even more impressively, we outlasted the ten-top, the four-top and the deuces, but eventually even we had to go. Before we left, I was complimented on my conversational skills and although my eating talent went unremarked, I feel certain I had fulfilled both requests of his invitation as I had promised earlier.
"Rest assured, I am always both."
But to really challenge me, you'll have to ask me to do something more difficult than breathing...aka eating and talking. That's just too easy.
Could there be a better invitation to dinner than that for a person like me who lives to eat and talk? I even got to pick our destination, with my companion's only request being "somewhere new to him" and he readily admitted to having little knowledge of the Richmond restaurant scene. The field was wide open.
We met at The Empress, although he was well into his wine and an order of sauteed calamari in garlic and herb sauce when I arrived under my umbrella, fresh from a meeting with a bunch of actors who now knew far too much about me.
Chef Carly greeted me and was kind enough to bring me some Hob Nob Pinot Noir to get my cold and damp blood moving. What happened to Spring again and can we get it back?
I took advantage of his invitation to partake of the appetizer and enjoyed the buttery, garlicky sauce on both calamari and bread before inhaling a crumb of bread and coughing in a most unladylike manner for ten minutes.
Only then was I fit to peruse the menu, urged on by owner Melissa to try something new ("What haven't you had before?" she challenged me. Not much, I had to admit).There was only one order of lamb chops left and everyone there knows how I feel about those chops, but I willed myself to branch out.
Unable to resist the lure of bison, my companion went with the buffalo lasagna and I, a sucker for succotash, picked the grilled scallops with green bean and corn succotash with sauteed fingerling potatoes.I could see Melissa's approval in her eyes.
He loved his lasagna; I scarfed down my scallops and all the while we discussed curtailing risk-taking (his and mine), his time spent as part of the East Village scene in the 80s (Television and Talking Heads), and using it or losing it (that would be any and all parts of it). Loquacious does not begin to cover it.
He made a strong case for adding the Seville April Fair to my bucket list (except that I don't have one) and, based on his description, he may be right about it being something I need to experience. If Byron could admire its women and oranges, so could I.
We followed food and wine with wine and dessert, but I deferred to his choices, what with him being an Empress virgin and me willing to eat just about anything. Besides, there are no bad choices on that dessert menu.
Like all first-timers, the award-winning chili chocolate pate blew his mind (that heat on the finish always has that effect on first-timers) but the chocolate/banana crepes disappeared just as quickly. We traded plates until both were gone. I have no dessert shame whatsoever.
Even more impressively, we outlasted the ten-top, the four-top and the deuces, but eventually even we had to go. Before we left, I was complimented on my conversational skills and although my eating talent went unremarked, I feel certain I had fulfilled both requests of his invitation as I had promised earlier.
"Rest assured, I am always both."
But to really challenge me, you'll have to ask me to do something more difficult than breathing...aka eating and talking. That's just too easy.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
St. Patrick's Day at the Empress
What was I thinking eating breakfast at 10:30 when I had lunch plans at 11:30? And, let me assure you, 11:30 lunching was not my idea.
But I made the best of practically overlapping meals by choosing one of my favorite places, The Empress for us to eat. My friend had never been in and was tired of hearing me sing its praises (the food, the pricing, the relaxed ambiance) without some practical experience of her own.
We walked in to find only one other table occupied and they were ordering wine at 11:45, so my friend was sold right off the bat. It wasn't long before other tables began to fill up, including one of green-dressed women (and that would include one who had on a green shirt, green bracelets, green necklace and green earrings). Happy St. Patrick's Day overkill!
My friend chose the Prosciutto panini with sun-dried tomato, Gruyere and basil pesto on challah with a side of brocolini; I got the always-excellent arugula salad with garbanzo beans, sunflower seeds, chicken, aged Fontina and red wine vinaigrette, but in the half portion given my all too-recent breakfast. In the spirit of the day, we both had lots of green on our plates.
Tucking into our tasty lunches in a sunny window seat, I could see that my friend was completely sold on the place. When Chef Carly came by to see how we'd liked her handiwork, I complimented her inclusion in Style's State of the Plate's favorite dishes section.
Her bacon-wrapped dates, of which I am a devoted fan, were more than worthy of being showcased, but I told her that if it had been up to me to choose an Empress favorite, it would have been the green eggs and lamb. They are a brunch superstar in RVA as far as I'm concerned.
Carly grinned and said, "And if it had been up to me, I'd have picked the stuffed and roasted acorn squash," a delight of wild mushrooms, feta cheese, oats, caramelized onions, and roasted grape tomatoes.
Which just about proved the case I had been making to my friend about The Empress: the range of creative and memorable food will never disappoint.
If it weren't for having just consumed two meals in two hours, I'd have put the final touch on my closing argument by ordering one of the stellar desserts, but I just didn't have it in me.
And then I would have had to make the always-tough choice of which one...the chocolate soup? the chocolate/banana crepes? the award-winning chili chocolate pate?
But that might have been taken as more St. Patrick's Day lunch overkill, just not of the green variety.
But I made the best of practically overlapping meals by choosing one of my favorite places, The Empress for us to eat. My friend had never been in and was tired of hearing me sing its praises (the food, the pricing, the relaxed ambiance) without some practical experience of her own.
We walked in to find only one other table occupied and they were ordering wine at 11:45, so my friend was sold right off the bat. It wasn't long before other tables began to fill up, including one of green-dressed women (and that would include one who had on a green shirt, green bracelets, green necklace and green earrings). Happy St. Patrick's Day overkill!
My friend chose the Prosciutto panini with sun-dried tomato, Gruyere and basil pesto on challah with a side of brocolini; I got the always-excellent arugula salad with garbanzo beans, sunflower seeds, chicken, aged Fontina and red wine vinaigrette, but in the half portion given my all too-recent breakfast. In the spirit of the day, we both had lots of green on our plates.
Tucking into our tasty lunches in a sunny window seat, I could see that my friend was completely sold on the place. When Chef Carly came by to see how we'd liked her handiwork, I complimented her inclusion in Style's State of the Plate's favorite dishes section.
Her bacon-wrapped dates, of which I am a devoted fan, were more than worthy of being showcased, but I told her that if it had been up to me to choose an Empress favorite, it would have been the green eggs and lamb. They are a brunch superstar in RVA as far as I'm concerned.
Carly grinned and said, "And if it had been up to me, I'd have picked the stuffed and roasted acorn squash," a delight of wild mushrooms, feta cheese, oats, caramelized onions, and roasted grape tomatoes.
Which just about proved the case I had been making to my friend about The Empress: the range of creative and memorable food will never disappoint.
If it weren't for having just consumed two meals in two hours, I'd have put the final touch on my closing argument by ordering one of the stellar desserts, but I just didn't have it in me.
And then I would have had to make the always-tough choice of which one...the chocolate soup? the chocolate/banana crepes? the award-winning chili chocolate pate?
But that might have been taken as more St. Patrick's Day lunch overkill, just not of the green variety.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Same Musicians, Different Songs
It isn't often that you can see two musicians perform with the Richmond Symphony and then head to Gallery 5 and see the same two perform in a rock band. But it happens.
But eating usually proceeds music, so I met my couple date at The Empress, a place they'd never been and one I always enjoy.
The Mr. of the couple ordered a bottle of the La Pere La Grolle Beaujolais for our drinking pleasure. The amuse bouche was a cheese wafer stuffed with chopped zucchini and peppers in pico de gallo. Very nice.
After an arugula salad with chick peas, Fontina cheese and pine nuts, I ordered the grilled rosemary lamb chops, crispy horseradish cheddar polenta cakes and roasted grape tomatoes. Is there anything better than gnawing medium rare lamb chops down to the bones? The female half of the couple referred to this as "eating Henry the Eighth style."
Couple dining guarantees extra dessert and tonight was no exception. We told our server not to even bother telling us any of the non-chocolate options and wound up with the chocolate banana crepes and the ginger/chili chocolate pate.
Call us crude, but there was finger-swiping involved to get the last of the chocolate filling off the crepe plate. I didn't say I was proud about it, but it sure was good.
We found a prime parking space at Fifth and Main and enjoyed the balmy walk to CenterStage. We'd barely taken our seats when the lights went down and some of the old men began dozing.
The first piece came courtesy of the Sphinx Organization,a group dedicated to getting more black and Latino composers symphonically performed.
Tonight's was by Haitian-American Daniel Bernard Roumain, also known as DBR, and was based on the 21-second dance between Ellen deGeneres and Barack Obama in 2007. TV-oblivious one that I am, I hadn't even known such a thing had happened.
Conductor Steven Smith introduced the piece, "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" by saying, "Fundamentally, this is a dance piece, so if you feel like it, get up and dance in the aisles."
The piece was interesting, by turn great and just okay. Let's say it was Shaft meets Pink Floyd meets Sufjan Stevens and that should give you some idea of the range of the piece. Sadly, no one danced.
The second piece, "Concerto for Trumpet" featured guest trumpeter Thomas Hooten of the Atlanta Symphony. Although written in 1948 by Tomasi, it had a decidedly 1950s feel and was over in the blink of an eye. What, intermission already?
Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6 in B Minor" was the last thing the composer wrote before dying and an example of High Romanticism in classical music. It also confounded the audience who was never sure exactly what was going on.
A rousing round of applause burst out between movements (a no-no) and yet, when the symphony ended, there was a delayed reaction before the crowd knew to clap. Part of that may have been the way it ended with a whimper rather than the usual big symphonic bang.
As the woman behind me noted to her husband afterwards, "Well that certainly didn't follow the usual format of a symphony!" And while that was true, a lot of the appeal of tonight's program was the oddness of it.
My couple date was kind enough to drop me at Gallery 5 on the way home. I walked in shortly after Horsehead had begun their raucous rock set. Only the suit jackets the band wears give away that they're not straight out of 1975.
I'd missed Harsh Realm's set, but saw band member Jamie and asked him how it had gone. Apparently, the crowd was small and mostly confused about their full-on passionate Iggy Pop-like style. I was sorry to have missed that.
Eventually the handsome Matt, bassist for the Symphony, arrived minus his tux and I got a chance to ask him about the program he'd just played and I'd just heard. His favorite had been the Tchaikovsky for its sweeping romanticism.
Shortly afterwards, more symphony musicians arrived, recognizable for the instruments strapped to their backs, for music of a very different kind. I talked to them, too, to see what their take on the program had been and all agreed that Tchaikovsky was the hands-down favorite. Symphony musicians! They're so predictable.
With bassist Matt and symphony violinist Treesa finally in the house, Prabir and the Goldrush could start their set. Tonight was Prabir's birthday, so the show was even more lively than usual with toasting and drinking and tributes on stage.
Original material soon enough gave way to Beatles covers and guests on stage, including Amanda Robinson, director of Gallery 5, and Kevin Inge of Horsehead. They closed with "I am the Walrus," and it got no more dancers on the floor than "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" had.
Not that it mattered to the band. They were up there going at it, all of them singing, swigging and obviously having a great time.
Rock musicians! They're so predictable.
But eating usually proceeds music, so I met my couple date at The Empress, a place they'd never been and one I always enjoy.
The Mr. of the couple ordered a bottle of the La Pere La Grolle Beaujolais for our drinking pleasure. The amuse bouche was a cheese wafer stuffed with chopped zucchini and peppers in pico de gallo. Very nice.
After an arugula salad with chick peas, Fontina cheese and pine nuts, I ordered the grilled rosemary lamb chops, crispy horseradish cheddar polenta cakes and roasted grape tomatoes. Is there anything better than gnawing medium rare lamb chops down to the bones? The female half of the couple referred to this as "eating Henry the Eighth style."
Couple dining guarantees extra dessert and tonight was no exception. We told our server not to even bother telling us any of the non-chocolate options and wound up with the chocolate banana crepes and the ginger/chili chocolate pate.
Call us crude, but there was finger-swiping involved to get the last of the chocolate filling off the crepe plate. I didn't say I was proud about it, but it sure was good.
We found a prime parking space at Fifth and Main and enjoyed the balmy walk to CenterStage. We'd barely taken our seats when the lights went down and some of the old men began dozing.
The first piece came courtesy of the Sphinx Organization,a group dedicated to getting more black and Latino composers symphonically performed.
Tonight's was by Haitian-American Daniel Bernard Roumain, also known as DBR, and was based on the 21-second dance between Ellen deGeneres and Barack Obama in 2007. TV-oblivious one that I am, I hadn't even known such a thing had happened.
Conductor Steven Smith introduced the piece, "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" by saying, "Fundamentally, this is a dance piece, so if you feel like it, get up and dance in the aisles."
The piece was interesting, by turn great and just okay. Let's say it was Shaft meets Pink Floyd meets Sufjan Stevens and that should give you some idea of the range of the piece. Sadly, no one danced.
The second piece, "Concerto for Trumpet" featured guest trumpeter Thomas Hooten of the Atlanta Symphony. Although written in 1948 by Tomasi, it had a decidedly 1950s feel and was over in the blink of an eye. What, intermission already?
Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6 in B Minor" was the last thing the composer wrote before dying and an example of High Romanticism in classical music. It also confounded the audience who was never sure exactly what was going on.
A rousing round of applause burst out between movements (a no-no) and yet, when the symphony ended, there was a delayed reaction before the crowd knew to clap. Part of that may have been the way it ended with a whimper rather than the usual big symphonic bang.
As the woman behind me noted to her husband afterwards, "Well that certainly didn't follow the usual format of a symphony!" And while that was true, a lot of the appeal of tonight's program was the oddness of it.
My couple date was kind enough to drop me at Gallery 5 on the way home. I walked in shortly after Horsehead had begun their raucous rock set. Only the suit jackets the band wears give away that they're not straight out of 1975.
I'd missed Harsh Realm's set, but saw band member Jamie and asked him how it had gone. Apparently, the crowd was small and mostly confused about their full-on passionate Iggy Pop-like style. I was sorry to have missed that.
Eventually the handsome Matt, bassist for the Symphony, arrived minus his tux and I got a chance to ask him about the program he'd just played and I'd just heard. His favorite had been the Tchaikovsky for its sweeping romanticism.
Shortly afterwards, more symphony musicians arrived, recognizable for the instruments strapped to their backs, for music of a very different kind. I talked to them, too, to see what their take on the program had been and all agreed that Tchaikovsky was the hands-down favorite. Symphony musicians! They're so predictable.
With bassist Matt and symphony violinist Treesa finally in the house, Prabir and the Goldrush could start their set. Tonight was Prabir's birthday, so the show was even more lively than usual with toasting and drinking and tributes on stage.
Original material soon enough gave way to Beatles covers and guests on stage, including Amanda Robinson, director of Gallery 5, and Kevin Inge of Horsehead. They closed with "I am the Walrus," and it got no more dancers on the floor than "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" had.
Not that it mattered to the band. They were up there going at it, all of them singing, swigging and obviously having a great time.
Rock musicians! They're so predictable.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Multiple Dates and Hot Seats
If variety is the spice of life, then I had a well-seasoned evening.
I'd been on an all-day road trip date (details not forthcoming) and by the time I got home, it was time to get cleaned up and figure out what to sandwich around the Listening Room tonight. I must say, it turned out to be a pretty tasty concoction.
And speaking of, Tasting Tuesdays are always a good excuse to go to the Empress, so I decided to get sustenance there.
I must have been earlier than usual because it was still the "wine enthusiast" period, with all glasses $2 off. That was my motivation for ordering organic, the Cuvee Hortense, something I wouldn't have typically gotten, but thoroughly enjoyed.
Anyway, the tasting was forgotten as soon as I spotted the bacon-wrapped dates on the menu. They're a favorite of mine and I'd never had theirs. Instead of the usual five or six, this was nine of them, albeit a bit smaller than I'd seen before.
But they came atop a local honey and Gorgonzola sauce that was to die for. As much as I love the sweet/salty combination of bacon and dates, they were elevated to something truly exceptional with this rich sauce. I even sopped the decorative micro-greens in it.
Just as I was finishing the last date, my server came by and I asked for the grilled asparagus, not even sure where that desire came from. They were perfectly cooked and seasoned with a bit of heat. And they made me want protein.
So next I asked for the beef carpaccio with shaved Manchego, arugula, black sea salt, chili-infused oil and slices of grilled sourdough.
Of note was the thickness of the raw beef, which is usually paper thin. Not so this, but it was none the worse for it and the generous and extremely flavorful serving satisfied on every level.
Because I'd taken my time deciding and then eating sequentially, all of a sudden it was time to get to the Listening Room's new digs, the Firehouse Theater.
Not sure what to expect with a new venue, I wanted to get there early enough to score a good seat and have time to visit before the music began; I succeeded on both counts. I mean, some of these people I hadn't seen in 18 hours.
One of the three bands was not playing due to a car accident, so the first to be introduced was Dogs on Main Street. MC Chris said that he wasn't going to tell us anything about the performer because "he prefers to remain mysterious."
I think his name was Mac (it was spoken quickly) and he came out cracking wise about himself as he tuned his guitar. "I wish my songs were as funny as I am," he lamented. "Sorry, Mom."
He had a compelling voice, kind of growl-like, but not in an affected way. This guy was a self-deprecator par excellence, too, questioning why he was on stage and why people were clapping for him. Because we like talented singer/songwriters?
The Hot Seats played next and they'd brought their fans with them. The bluegrass-loving locals are a big favorite live what with upright bass, drums, guitar, fiddle, banjo (sometimes two) and occasional mandolin. They also get bonus points for frequent trading of instruments and multiple vocalists.
They introduced a cover by saying, "Here goes. This is as straight ahead bluegrass as we do. As we can. As we will," and played a Scruggs and Flatt tune. John Prine was not far behind. It was a lot of strings, a lot of voices and the audience loved it.
The move to the Firehouse meant that there's now a bar for the Listening Room (but, alas, no donuts; they were sacrificed for the sake of beer and wine), so some of us hung around afterwards to mingle and talk about the first show at the new space (Antonia: "Change is hard").
The consensus was that it was different but good. Not as intimate, but better and more comfortable viewing. And a lot less work for the crew that sets up and breaks down each show, which is a very good thing.
I topped off my evening sandwich by walking up a few doors to the Camel for jazz, for which there's no cover charge on Tuesdays. With a rotating cast of local jazz musicians, it's a tempting way to end any Tuesday night.
By the time I arrived, I only caught the last couple songs of the Larry Branch Agenda's set, both originals, which sounded good. I'd brought a friend with me, saw a few repeats from the Listening Room and met up with another jazz lover.
Next up was keyboard man Steve Kessler, playing with drums, bass and sax. He explained right off the bat that the entire evening would be free jazz, totally improvised. Now things were getting interesting.
You never knew which member of the quartet was going to lead things off and then it was just a matter of time before the other bobbing heads came in behind and around to fill things out.
Frequently when one player went off on an obscure tangent, the others laughed out loud or smiled broadly as if to say, "WTF?" A few times the music actually stopped and a quick low-volume discussion ensued as suggestions were made.
But mostly it was a set of musical interplay between a bunch of guys that captured the audience's ears and eventually rewarded them. At the close of the set, Kessler said, "Thanks for coming to listen to our rehearsal." Happy to oblige. I love seeing a room full of blissed-out jazz geeks.
Evening sandwich gone, I brushed aside the crumbs and licked my lips. That certainly worked out well.
I'd been on an all-day road trip date (details not forthcoming) and by the time I got home, it was time to get cleaned up and figure out what to sandwich around the Listening Room tonight. I must say, it turned out to be a pretty tasty concoction.
And speaking of, Tasting Tuesdays are always a good excuse to go to the Empress, so I decided to get sustenance there.
I must have been earlier than usual because it was still the "wine enthusiast" period, with all glasses $2 off. That was my motivation for ordering organic, the Cuvee Hortense, something I wouldn't have typically gotten, but thoroughly enjoyed.
Anyway, the tasting was forgotten as soon as I spotted the bacon-wrapped dates on the menu. They're a favorite of mine and I'd never had theirs. Instead of the usual five or six, this was nine of them, albeit a bit smaller than I'd seen before.
But they came atop a local honey and Gorgonzola sauce that was to die for. As much as I love the sweet/salty combination of bacon and dates, they were elevated to something truly exceptional with this rich sauce. I even sopped the decorative micro-greens in it.
Just as I was finishing the last date, my server came by and I asked for the grilled asparagus, not even sure where that desire came from. They were perfectly cooked and seasoned with a bit of heat. And they made me want protein.
So next I asked for the beef carpaccio with shaved Manchego, arugula, black sea salt, chili-infused oil and slices of grilled sourdough.
Of note was the thickness of the raw beef, which is usually paper thin. Not so this, but it was none the worse for it and the generous and extremely flavorful serving satisfied on every level.
Because I'd taken my time deciding and then eating sequentially, all of a sudden it was time to get to the Listening Room's new digs, the Firehouse Theater.
Not sure what to expect with a new venue, I wanted to get there early enough to score a good seat and have time to visit before the music began; I succeeded on both counts. I mean, some of these people I hadn't seen in 18 hours.
One of the three bands was not playing due to a car accident, so the first to be introduced was Dogs on Main Street. MC Chris said that he wasn't going to tell us anything about the performer because "he prefers to remain mysterious."
I think his name was Mac (it was spoken quickly) and he came out cracking wise about himself as he tuned his guitar. "I wish my songs were as funny as I am," he lamented. "Sorry, Mom."
He had a compelling voice, kind of growl-like, but not in an affected way. This guy was a self-deprecator par excellence, too, questioning why he was on stage and why people were clapping for him. Because we like talented singer/songwriters?
The Hot Seats played next and they'd brought their fans with them. The bluegrass-loving locals are a big favorite live what with upright bass, drums, guitar, fiddle, banjo (sometimes two) and occasional mandolin. They also get bonus points for frequent trading of instruments and multiple vocalists.
They introduced a cover by saying, "Here goes. This is as straight ahead bluegrass as we do. As we can. As we will," and played a Scruggs and Flatt tune. John Prine was not far behind. It was a lot of strings, a lot of voices and the audience loved it.
The move to the Firehouse meant that there's now a bar for the Listening Room (but, alas, no donuts; they were sacrificed for the sake of beer and wine), so some of us hung around afterwards to mingle and talk about the first show at the new space (Antonia: "Change is hard").
The consensus was that it was different but good. Not as intimate, but better and more comfortable viewing. And a lot less work for the crew that sets up and breaks down each show, which is a very good thing.
I topped off my evening sandwich by walking up a few doors to the Camel for jazz, for which there's no cover charge on Tuesdays. With a rotating cast of local jazz musicians, it's a tempting way to end any Tuesday night.
By the time I arrived, I only caught the last couple songs of the Larry Branch Agenda's set, both originals, which sounded good. I'd brought a friend with me, saw a few repeats from the Listening Room and met up with another jazz lover.
Next up was keyboard man Steve Kessler, playing with drums, bass and sax. He explained right off the bat that the entire evening would be free jazz, totally improvised. Now things were getting interesting.
You never knew which member of the quartet was going to lead things off and then it was just a matter of time before the other bobbing heads came in behind and around to fill things out.
Frequently when one player went off on an obscure tangent, the others laughed out loud or smiled broadly as if to say, "WTF?" A few times the music actually stopped and a quick low-volume discussion ensued as suggestions were made.
But mostly it was a set of musical interplay between a bunch of guys that captured the audience's ears and eventually rewarded them. At the close of the set, Kessler said, "Thanks for coming to listen to our rehearsal." Happy to oblige. I love seeing a room full of blissed-out jazz geeks.
Evening sandwich gone, I brushed aside the crumbs and licked my lips. That certainly worked out well.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Lunching with Scum at The Empress
Fully two weeks ago, I ran into a friend and we talked about getting together for lunch that week. I heard nothing from him, so I finally took the bull by the e-mail horns.
Me: Whatever happened to us having lunch soon? Hmmm?
Him: Why, yes, I am scum. This scum has to eat today, though, if a certain dreamboat would like to accompany him.
And although I had already scheduled a noon interview, I agreed to a late lunch with said scum at The Empress. Who can resist such wit, especially apropos of nothing?
Because we got such a late start, there was only one other customer when we arrived. But the music mix was good and just the right volume and our front booth gave us a great view of passers-by and the sunny blue sky.
We were both having a tough time deciding what to eat; he was trying to decide between breakfast and lunch and I was trying to decide between a big salad and beef brisket, something my friend loves as much as I do.
So the decision was made for us when our server informed us that the beef brisket had just come out of the oven this morning. Sold.
But first we started with half salads, he with the grilled Romaine and me with the chopped arugula, aged Fontina, garbanzo beans, sunflower seeds and red wine vinaigrette with seared rare ahi tuna. We then shared the smoked beef brisket panini with horseradish cheddar and dill aioli on sourdough bread.
It was my first panini at The Empress, so I had no idea that it would be the size of a book; we were very glad we had already decided to share it since no one needs a sandwich that large if they're planning to have salad first and dessert after. And we had and we were.
The punch of the horseradish was slow to show itself, but terrific when it did, especially in tandem with the tender brisket. As we ate, we talked about guests who drink all your liquor, art openings with the black-clad crowds and the problems of keeping cilantro fresh in the fridge.
When we were asked if we wanted dessert, we both nodded, surprising owner Melissa, who clearly wasn't expecting two people who'd just eaten so much to want more. Please, the two of us would start with dessert if it were socially acceptable.
I've enjoyed the Empress' chocolate soup and we've both shared the chili and ginger-infused chocolate pate, which meant that we had to try something different today, namely the chocolate and strawberry crepes.
The chocolate filling was magnificent, as rich as a ganache, the strawberries abundant and all contained by a crispy crepe. My friend made embarrassingly loud sounds of satisfaction as he ate his half.
I was amazed that the staff even needed to ask if we were enjoying our dessert. You don't think he makes these sounds for nothing, do you, people? I mean, maybe he makes them at other times, although I only hear them when we're eating, but they clearly indicate great pleasure.
They whisked away the licked-clean plate and we sat chatting about the fullness of my dance card. An old Blondie song came on and my friend began softly singing along with a big smile on his face. I've never seen the scum look so satisfied.
So it took longer than it should have to make it happen; the end justified the delay, at least at that moment.
Me: Whatever happened to us having lunch soon? Hmmm?
Him: Why, yes, I am scum. This scum has to eat today, though, if a certain dreamboat would like to accompany him.
And although I had already scheduled a noon interview, I agreed to a late lunch with said scum at The Empress. Who can resist such wit, especially apropos of nothing?
Because we got such a late start, there was only one other customer when we arrived. But the music mix was good and just the right volume and our front booth gave us a great view of passers-by and the sunny blue sky.
We were both having a tough time deciding what to eat; he was trying to decide between breakfast and lunch and I was trying to decide between a big salad and beef brisket, something my friend loves as much as I do.
So the decision was made for us when our server informed us that the beef brisket had just come out of the oven this morning. Sold.
But first we started with half salads, he with the grilled Romaine and me with the chopped arugula, aged Fontina, garbanzo beans, sunflower seeds and red wine vinaigrette with seared rare ahi tuna. We then shared the smoked beef brisket panini with horseradish cheddar and dill aioli on sourdough bread.
It was my first panini at The Empress, so I had no idea that it would be the size of a book; we were very glad we had already decided to share it since no one needs a sandwich that large if they're planning to have salad first and dessert after. And we had and we were.
The punch of the horseradish was slow to show itself, but terrific when it did, especially in tandem with the tender brisket. As we ate, we talked about guests who drink all your liquor, art openings with the black-clad crowds and the problems of keeping cilantro fresh in the fridge.
When we were asked if we wanted dessert, we both nodded, surprising owner Melissa, who clearly wasn't expecting two people who'd just eaten so much to want more. Please, the two of us would start with dessert if it were socially acceptable.
I've enjoyed the Empress' chocolate soup and we've both shared the chili and ginger-infused chocolate pate, which meant that we had to try something different today, namely the chocolate and strawberry crepes.
The chocolate filling was magnificent, as rich as a ganache, the strawberries abundant and all contained by a crispy crepe. My friend made embarrassingly loud sounds of satisfaction as he ate his half.
I was amazed that the staff even needed to ask if we were enjoying our dessert. You don't think he makes these sounds for nothing, do you, people? I mean, maybe he makes them at other times, although I only hear them when we're eating, but they clearly indicate great pleasure.
They whisked away the licked-clean plate and we sat chatting about the fullness of my dance card. An old Blondie song came on and my friend began softly singing along with a big smile on his face. I've never seen the scum look so satisfied.
So it took longer than it should have to make it happen; the end justified the delay, at least at that moment.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Musical Treats at Sprout
I am so glad the holidays are over and things are starting to pick back up again. I was going crazy with so little happening (other than parties) for the past two weeks.
Happily, tonight was a satisfying kick-off to a new year. I started at the Empress to meet a friend for their Tuesday tasting, which, due to it being the first week back, had been scaled back. Not to worry, it was still superb.
Friend arrived first and had already ordered a bottle of the Ferrande Sauvignon Blanc, a surprise upon my first taste because she never goes French (and ended up none too fond of it, but manged to drink it anyway). She'd spent the day addressing body part needs and I heard the stories to prove it.
We were one of only two tables there for the tasting, which offered three pairings instead of the usual four (reducing the price form a very reasonable $15 to a mere $10).
On the menu: crabcake with Granny Smith apple slaw paired with Dry Creek Chenin Blanc, Manchego and English pea risotto served with Lunetta Prosecco and finally sweet potatoes with a garlic zucchini saute and the Hob Nob Pinot Noir.
When I got there, the music was absent and there was no way I could deal with that, so I asked our server about it. Technical difficulties, she assured me, but they were working on it. At last, David Bowie's "Young Americans" became audible (and later "Rebel, Rebel") but when the CD finished, it came on a second time and a third. Oops. Vintage if you must, but variety essential.
Friend also ordered the decadent white truffle potato soup, a side of English peas (her first ever; she was overcome with the wonder of them), and the dessert trio with a side of English peas to go. I had chocolate/chili pate, always a delightfully spicy way to end a meal there.
Peas became the emblem of the evening when Chef Carly told our server that there was pea in the ladies' room and that she needed to clean it up. She disgustedly walked in to find a single English pea on the floor. That's chef humor for you (full disclosure: we laughed).
After a three-hour meal, we parted ways so I could go to Sprout for a show and she could go home to rest up before returning to work tomorrow after a long break; her dread was palpable.
At Sprout, owner Laurie told me that Victory farms is taking over the market portion of the restaurant, a situation sure to be a win/win for both. It'll begin next month with full market goodness by May.
In the back room, the bands were setting up and the guy responsible for their label, Crafty Records, was designing his merch table. I chatted with some of the musicians while everything got fully formed.
I must have shown my true colors because later Crafty guy asked me, "Want a bookmark?" to which I responded, "What makes you think I read?"
"Cause you're wordy," he said, nailing this stranger. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?
Crazy and the Brains, from Jersey, got the ball rolling with their high-energy odes to the Ramones and the Clash. Songs were short, hard and full-on (some kid said to his friend, "This is really loud," and I just looked at him in pity).
I was really impressed with the fact that they had a xylophone player, Jeffrey, whose percussion added such an interesting sound to their music, which included a cover of Bow Wow Wow's 1982 cover "I Want Candy." Now when's the last time you heard that gem?
After the volume and energy of C&TB, up came folkie Gabriel Gall of Relatives, but minus his band for the first time tonight. He had a hushed and appealing voice and was accompanied by his brother Jacob on percussion for a few songs.
During one, he said, "In my head, this is where I hear everybody singing along." Measured beat. "Please don't do that." Most interesting lyric: "I am dying to say what's on my mind. I will make a lampshade of my love."
Isaac Gillespie and his improvised band came next and since he'd been one of the musicians I'd talked to before the show, I knew that his sound had been compared to that of the Band, which was right on.
It had a raw-edged Americana feel to it and this time Jeffrey the xylophone player was on drums. Turns out he was a drummer before going to school for percussion, so now he hits anything (well, I might add).
Isaac began by acknowledging, "There's nothing more pathetic than the sound of guitars tuning." A tuner was brought in. He encouraged a singalong for the title track of their new CD, "I Will Wreck Your Life," promising that the wrecking wouldn't be as bad as heroin, but more like booze. Forewarned is forearmed.
They finally got some (limited) dancing going when Isaac said, "We'd like to play a song by the godfather of soul, Steve Miller" and then did a cover of 1976's "Rockin' Me." We were covering some vintage ground tonight, kids.
Headlining was local favorite Ben Shepherd, one of the many who left RVA for NYC and (fortunately) returned. All of the musicians who preceded him acknowledged their respect for his amazing songwriting skills.
He took the stage simply with an acoustic guitar and launched into a song about being mugged. From there, his songs meandered all over the place, always with a compelling storyline. Example: "What I can't fathom or really understand is the world that existed before I was born."
It was unfortunate that so many people didn't stay for the entire show. The first three bands, with their changing players, were a huge treat for the Tuesday night audience that stayed put. Add in that it was a free show and it's even tougher to understand why more music-lovers didn't show up for an excellent show.
Oh, well, their loss, not mine. Of course, as I was discussing with a few of the musicians just before I left, considering that the top-grossing tour of 2010 was Bon Jovi, one has to wonder what's going on in the music appreciation world anyway.
Living on a prayer, indeed. My prayer would be that we continue to be lucky enough to host talent, both traveling and local, for low and no cost in Richmond.
That would keep on rockin' my world.
Happily, tonight was a satisfying kick-off to a new year. I started at the Empress to meet a friend for their Tuesday tasting, which, due to it being the first week back, had been scaled back. Not to worry, it was still superb.
Friend arrived first and had already ordered a bottle of the Ferrande Sauvignon Blanc, a surprise upon my first taste because she never goes French (and ended up none too fond of it, but manged to drink it anyway). She'd spent the day addressing body part needs and I heard the stories to prove it.
We were one of only two tables there for the tasting, which offered three pairings instead of the usual four (reducing the price form a very reasonable $15 to a mere $10).
On the menu: crabcake with Granny Smith apple slaw paired with Dry Creek Chenin Blanc, Manchego and English pea risotto served with Lunetta Prosecco and finally sweet potatoes with a garlic zucchini saute and the Hob Nob Pinot Noir.
When I got there, the music was absent and there was no way I could deal with that, so I asked our server about it. Technical difficulties, she assured me, but they were working on it. At last, David Bowie's "Young Americans" became audible (and later "Rebel, Rebel") but when the CD finished, it came on a second time and a third. Oops. Vintage if you must, but variety essential.
Friend also ordered the decadent white truffle potato soup, a side of English peas (her first ever; she was overcome with the wonder of them), and the dessert trio with a side of English peas to go. I had chocolate/chili pate, always a delightfully spicy way to end a meal there.
Peas became the emblem of the evening when Chef Carly told our server that there was pea in the ladies' room and that she needed to clean it up. She disgustedly walked in to find a single English pea on the floor. That's chef humor for you (full disclosure: we laughed).
After a three-hour meal, we parted ways so I could go to Sprout for a show and she could go home to rest up before returning to work tomorrow after a long break; her dread was palpable.
At Sprout, owner Laurie told me that Victory farms is taking over the market portion of the restaurant, a situation sure to be a win/win for both. It'll begin next month with full market goodness by May.
In the back room, the bands were setting up and the guy responsible for their label, Crafty Records, was designing his merch table. I chatted with some of the musicians while everything got fully formed.
I must have shown my true colors because later Crafty guy asked me, "Want a bookmark?" to which I responded, "What makes you think I read?"
"Cause you're wordy," he said, nailing this stranger. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?
Crazy and the Brains, from Jersey, got the ball rolling with their high-energy odes to the Ramones and the Clash. Songs were short, hard and full-on (some kid said to his friend, "This is really loud," and I just looked at him in pity).
I was really impressed with the fact that they had a xylophone player, Jeffrey, whose percussion added such an interesting sound to their music, which included a cover of Bow Wow Wow's 1982 cover "I Want Candy." Now when's the last time you heard that gem?
After the volume and energy of C&TB, up came folkie Gabriel Gall of Relatives, but minus his band for the first time tonight. He had a hushed and appealing voice and was accompanied by his brother Jacob on percussion for a few songs.
During one, he said, "In my head, this is where I hear everybody singing along." Measured beat. "Please don't do that." Most interesting lyric: "I am dying to say what's on my mind. I will make a lampshade of my love."
Isaac Gillespie and his improvised band came next and since he'd been one of the musicians I'd talked to before the show, I knew that his sound had been compared to that of the Band, which was right on.
It had a raw-edged Americana feel to it and this time Jeffrey the xylophone player was on drums. Turns out he was a drummer before going to school for percussion, so now he hits anything (well, I might add).
Isaac began by acknowledging, "There's nothing more pathetic than the sound of guitars tuning." A tuner was brought in. He encouraged a singalong for the title track of their new CD, "I Will Wreck Your Life," promising that the wrecking wouldn't be as bad as heroin, but more like booze. Forewarned is forearmed.
They finally got some (limited) dancing going when Isaac said, "We'd like to play a song by the godfather of soul, Steve Miller" and then did a cover of 1976's "Rockin' Me." We were covering some vintage ground tonight, kids.
Headlining was local favorite Ben Shepherd, one of the many who left RVA for NYC and (fortunately) returned. All of the musicians who preceded him acknowledged their respect for his amazing songwriting skills.
He took the stage simply with an acoustic guitar and launched into a song about being mugged. From there, his songs meandered all over the place, always with a compelling storyline. Example: "What I can't fathom or really understand is the world that existed before I was born."
It was unfortunate that so many people didn't stay for the entire show. The first three bands, with their changing players, were a huge treat for the Tuesday night audience that stayed put. Add in that it was a free show and it's even tougher to understand why more music-lovers didn't show up for an excellent show.
Oh, well, their loss, not mine. Of course, as I was discussing with a few of the musicians just before I left, considering that the top-grossing tour of 2010 was Bon Jovi, one has to wonder what's going on in the music appreciation world anyway.
Living on a prayer, indeed. My prayer would be that we continue to be lucky enough to host talent, both traveling and local, for low and no cost in Richmond.
That would keep on rockin' my world.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Epiphanies Are Us
It was a slow night for finding fun in River City and, believe me, I looked.
Even tomorrow night has more going on than tonight did. But I managed, through perseverance and dumb luck, to find enough to keep me occupied.
VCU's Fishbowl Gallery was presenting "Interaction 37," an exhibit of painting (of which there was only one) and printmaking work by sixteen graduating seniors.
The work was striking for its modernity.
There were lithographs, laser-cut prints, Epson prints, screen prints and, yes, even digital prints.
And, while I hate to admit it, my personal "best in show" would have gone to a digital print.
Patrick Quinn's "Negro Art" was created by stacking transparencies, photocopies, scraps and other studio debris and then scanning the pile to create the final flat composition.
The assorted debris comprised a visually satisfying graphic arrangement with the words "Negro Art" written horizontally near the bottom and the words "The Art of Africa" written vertically on the opposite side.
I spent as much time admiring this one piece as I did looking at all the others combined.
I only wish I could have justified spending the money so I could look at it every day.
Stopping briefly at home, I got a message from musician and man-about-town Prabir asking what was going on tonight.
Wine and then not much, I told him regretfully.
What was he up to?
His only plans were to go running and break up with a girl, so he suggested meeting later to assess our evenings.
Why not?
Every Tuesday The Empress does a four-course wine tasting with small plate pairings and tonight's theme was Thanksgiving pairings.
The crowd was smaller than the last one of these I'd attended, no doubt due to traveling and the holiday, but no less enjoyable.
We began with parsnip mashed potatoes with black pepper butter and Dry Creek Chenin Blanc. T
he rich butter was a lovely complement to the wine.
Course #2 was perfectly braised kale with cranberry chutney and the most divine Cantina Zaccagnini, a Montepulciano d'Aruzzo.
Its dry, aromatic qualities made it very food-friendly.
Herb grilled turkey with maple-roasted carrots came with hot sake-spiked apple cider.
The turkey had an unexpectedly spicy crust and although I'm not much of a cider person, the combination worked well.
We finished with a baked Alaska (homemade carrot cake topped by brandy-poached apples and ice cream all in a meringue coating which was then torched).
With it, we had the Empress Hot Tottie, made with Kluge Cru, a fortified (20%!) apperitif wine, sake and lemon juice.
All of a sudden, I'm drinking sake. And mixed drinks.
What's happening here?
These Tuesday tastings, with their mere $15 price tag, are great fun and always well-thought out food and wine-wise.
Next time I'll bring a friend, although the eavesdropping was quite good tonight (what happens at the Empress stays at the Empress) so I never lacked for entertainment.
I'd told a friend I would meet her at Ipanema to try out some of their new cocktails, but I was late and she was gone by the time I arrived.
But only recently gone.
As the bartender put it so succinctly, "Her drink spot is still wet."
Now that's a recent departure.
But I'd missed my second chance at a mixed drink; probably just as well.
Prabir and I had agreed on the Nile for meeting because of its walkability to J-Ward, but I would also add, because of its excellent music and chill vibe.
We shared the highlights of our day, leading to some interesting realizations and causing Prabir to dub this the "Karen/Prabir Epiphany Night.com"
He decreed that it was not just enough to have the epiphanies, but that acting on them was also a requirement.
Sounds like a lot of work to me.
It wasn't long before the rest of the crowd cleared out and the charming bartender joined our discussion of the sexes.
After a bit, a heart-bruised artist who's doing a mural for the Nile made it four and our discussion group was complete.
On the table were such topics as why men choose women on a purely visual basis, the relevance (or lack thereof) of marriage and the advantages of dating girls over the age of 28.
Oh, yes, and the wisdom of not dating members of the opposite sex first encountered in bars.
Someone should have been taking notes.
It's probably worth noting that not one of the four of us is in an actual relationship, so in all likelihood, we knew not of what we spoke, despite several hours of speaking anyway.
Eventually Prabir remembered his early morning meeting and we said our farewells to the other men-folk.
Turns out I was mistaken; there was more than enough to do tonight.
I just had to move around to find it all.
Even tomorrow night has more going on than tonight did. But I managed, through perseverance and dumb luck, to find enough to keep me occupied.
VCU's Fishbowl Gallery was presenting "Interaction 37," an exhibit of painting (of which there was only one) and printmaking work by sixteen graduating seniors.
The work was striking for its modernity.
There were lithographs, laser-cut prints, Epson prints, screen prints and, yes, even digital prints.
And, while I hate to admit it, my personal "best in show" would have gone to a digital print.
Patrick Quinn's "Negro Art" was created by stacking transparencies, photocopies, scraps and other studio debris and then scanning the pile to create the final flat composition.
The assorted debris comprised a visually satisfying graphic arrangement with the words "Negro Art" written horizontally near the bottom and the words "The Art of Africa" written vertically on the opposite side.
I spent as much time admiring this one piece as I did looking at all the others combined.
I only wish I could have justified spending the money so I could look at it every day.
Stopping briefly at home, I got a message from musician and man-about-town Prabir asking what was going on tonight.
Wine and then not much, I told him regretfully.
What was he up to?
His only plans were to go running and break up with a girl, so he suggested meeting later to assess our evenings.
Why not?
Every Tuesday The Empress does a four-course wine tasting with small plate pairings and tonight's theme was Thanksgiving pairings.
The crowd was smaller than the last one of these I'd attended, no doubt due to traveling and the holiday, but no less enjoyable.
We began with parsnip mashed potatoes with black pepper butter and Dry Creek Chenin Blanc. T
he rich butter was a lovely complement to the wine.
Course #2 was perfectly braised kale with cranberry chutney and the most divine Cantina Zaccagnini, a Montepulciano d'Aruzzo.
Its dry, aromatic qualities made it very food-friendly.
Herb grilled turkey with maple-roasted carrots came with hot sake-spiked apple cider.
The turkey had an unexpectedly spicy crust and although I'm not much of a cider person, the combination worked well.
We finished with a baked Alaska (homemade carrot cake topped by brandy-poached apples and ice cream all in a meringue coating which was then torched).
With it, we had the Empress Hot Tottie, made with Kluge Cru, a fortified (20%!) apperitif wine, sake and lemon juice.
All of a sudden, I'm drinking sake. And mixed drinks.
What's happening here?
These Tuesday tastings, with their mere $15 price tag, are great fun and always well-thought out food and wine-wise.
Next time I'll bring a friend, although the eavesdropping was quite good tonight (what happens at the Empress stays at the Empress) so I never lacked for entertainment.
I'd told a friend I would meet her at Ipanema to try out some of their new cocktails, but I was late and she was gone by the time I arrived.
But only recently gone.
As the bartender put it so succinctly, "Her drink spot is still wet."
Now that's a recent departure.
But I'd missed my second chance at a mixed drink; probably just as well.
Prabir and I had agreed on the Nile for meeting because of its walkability to J-Ward, but I would also add, because of its excellent music and chill vibe.
We shared the highlights of our day, leading to some interesting realizations and causing Prabir to dub this the "Karen/Prabir Epiphany Night.com"
He decreed that it was not just enough to have the epiphanies, but that acting on them was also a requirement.
Sounds like a lot of work to me.
It wasn't long before the rest of the crowd cleared out and the charming bartender joined our discussion of the sexes.
After a bit, a heart-bruised artist who's doing a mural for the Nile made it four and our discussion group was complete.
On the table were such topics as why men choose women on a purely visual basis, the relevance (or lack thereof) of marriage and the advantages of dating girls over the age of 28.
Oh, yes, and the wisdom of not dating members of the opposite sex first encountered in bars.
Someone should have been taking notes.
It's probably worth noting that not one of the four of us is in an actual relationship, so in all likelihood, we knew not of what we spoke, despite several hours of speaking anyway.
Eventually Prabir remembered his early morning meeting and we said our farewells to the other men-folk.
Turns out I was mistaken; there was more than enough to do tonight.
I just had to move around to find it all.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
"What a Waste!"
There's an old Rx form hanging in Tarrant's that prescribes a gallon of beer for treatment of diabetes. I'd like to see an Rx that prescribes brunch with a girlfriend for any number of female maladies, particularly machinations of the head and heart.
That's a roundabout way of saying that after three hours at the Empress with a girlfriend, I feel so much better about all the stuff that's been chasing around in my head the past two weeks.
As she pointed out, I have a habit of squaring my shoulders to the world and never letting on when things are occupying my mind, which they most certainly have been of late.
She chose the Empress because she's gluten-intolerant and every single thing on the brunch menu is gluten-free, including French toast and crepes. She ordered my favorite salad with arugula, Edam cheese, grilled chicken, garbanzo bean, sunflower seeds in a red wine vinaigrette, but I wasn't going to let myself go that route again.
Instead, I couldn't pass up the green eggs and lamb (Derby sage scrambled eggs, grilled lamb chops and hash browns), which was every bit as amazing as it sounds.
Props to Dr. Seuss for being the inspiration for something so catchy-sounding and mouth-watering. And how often do you get to suck bones at brunch? I'd say not nearly often enough.
Our server was a delight, relating to us and our conversation every time he stopped by to check on us. For every dilemma we were discussing, he had an anecdote and empathy to offer (men!). After the first hour, we were the only customers left, so we didn't feel like we were taking him from more pressing things.
Dessert was the ginger/cayenne chocolate pate, more because the kind of serious dishing we were doing called for chocolate than because either of us really needed it. Or perhaps it was celebratory since she'd been finally addressing a couple of personal issues in her life and I'd had a couple of almost forward steps in mine.
Which is not to say that either of us is satisfied with where our lives are at the moment, but when we're really honest with each other, maybe there is hope that things will eventually work out. You know, like before we're dead.
Or maybe I just need to quit squaring my shoulders and get my prescription refilled more often.
I need to do something, that's for sure.
That's a roundabout way of saying that after three hours at the Empress with a girlfriend, I feel so much better about all the stuff that's been chasing around in my head the past two weeks.
As she pointed out, I have a habit of squaring my shoulders to the world and never letting on when things are occupying my mind, which they most certainly have been of late.
She chose the Empress because she's gluten-intolerant and every single thing on the brunch menu is gluten-free, including French toast and crepes. She ordered my favorite salad with arugula, Edam cheese, grilled chicken, garbanzo bean, sunflower seeds in a red wine vinaigrette, but I wasn't going to let myself go that route again.
Instead, I couldn't pass up the green eggs and lamb (Derby sage scrambled eggs, grilled lamb chops and hash browns), which was every bit as amazing as it sounds.
Props to Dr. Seuss for being the inspiration for something so catchy-sounding and mouth-watering. And how often do you get to suck bones at brunch? I'd say not nearly often enough.
Our server was a delight, relating to us and our conversation every time he stopped by to check on us. For every dilemma we were discussing, he had an anecdote and empathy to offer (men!). After the first hour, we were the only customers left, so we didn't feel like we were taking him from more pressing things.
Dessert was the ginger/cayenne chocolate pate, more because the kind of serious dishing we were doing called for chocolate than because either of us really needed it. Or perhaps it was celebratory since she'd been finally addressing a couple of personal issues in her life and I'd had a couple of almost forward steps in mine.
Which is not to say that either of us is satisfied with where our lives are at the moment, but when we're really honest with each other, maybe there is hope that things will eventually work out. You know, like before we're dead.
Or maybe I just need to quit squaring my shoulders and get my prescription refilled more often.
I need to do something, that's for sure.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Men, Men Everywhere
"Ruin your Thursday @ the VCA" the invitation read and I had every intention of doing just that. Tonight was the opening of American Ruins, a collection of almost 50 black and white images of ruins from the east coast to the west, showing at the Virginia Center for Architecture.
Arthur Drooker's photographs were artistic beauties, with crumbling walls and roofless columns framed by bare branches and leafy trees. I was shocked to learn that some of the ruins had been destroyed as recently as the last forty years; for some reason, I had presumed that these were long-time ruins, but then we're barely a long-time country. In most cases, fire was the culprit.
The Virginia ruins site represented on the walls was Barboursville and their winery was pouring tonight, but the exhibit is worth checking out even without a touch of the grape. It's up through the end of November. I even took the time to stroll the back garden of the Branch House for the first time tonight. It's a lovely, tranquil place.
As always, the opening was mainly male (architecture being male-dominated, I suppose). Of note was that I only ran into one person I knew (and fortunately I wasn't wearing black), but he knows me well enough to ask what the rest of my evening held. Telling him reminded him that he had also intended to be at my next stop (I'm as good as a calendar reminder sometimes).
That stop was The Empress for the Richmond Business Alliance champagne reception to celebrate the launch of the city's online directory of LGBT-friendly businesses. The Empress was being publicly designated as such tonight and the room was full of other LGBT business people. For the most part, it was a room full of attractive well-dressed men well-versed on all kinds of interesting topics.
I talked theater with actors and directors, restaurants with a real estate agent, and local bands with a writer. I loaned a book about coffee to a fellow blogger. I ate some of Chef Carly's delicious appetizers and sipped bubbles from bottom-heavy glasses. I like to think I was an asset to the party (Kevin, correct me if I'm wrong here).
Everyone wanted to know my connection since I don't own a business, so I shared my ties to the sponsor. My only regret was that I didn't get to stay for the cake, but happily I did satisfy my sweet tooth with a taste of the frosting and it was to die for. That's all I'm saying.
I had to cut out early and leave such charming company and such a culturally significant event in RVA to catch the opening band at the Canal Club, Marionette. These locals have been on a roll this summer, opening for The National, the Whigs and now Tortoise. It's the kind of resume-building a local band dreams of.
For the first time in years, the show was held upstairs instead of on the downstairs stage and no one seemed to know why. The show had originally been scheduled for the National, but a NASCAR-related corporate event had trumped Tortoise and they'd been moved to the smaller venue. Driving down to the show, I'd seen a lit-up race car in front of the National and a line of people down the block.
And given the size of the crowd, the Canal Club was big enough. Despite Tortoise's 20-year music-making history, the crowd was surprisingly small. Two different people said to me, "I'm disappointed in Richmond," referring to the low attendance.
But the fans who came were devoted and almost all of them were male. What we can glean from this is that jazz and prog rock-influenced post-rock bands are favored by those with a Y chromosome. A musician friend (a drummer) said that they are a drummer's band as a way of explaining all the guys.
A female attendee said to me, "It's all dudes, which is cool, but they're so into the music they don't want to talk to a chick." I gathered that she was saying that it was not a good place to pick up a guy. Luckily I wasn't there for that.
The band was tight, all excellent musicians and I liked all the percussion. A musician friend was turned off by the extensive use of synthesizers, but loved the vibes. But when it came right down to it, I just didn't possess enough testosterone to fully appreciate Tortoise it seemed. They were good, but they weren't rocking my world.
Walking to my car after the second encore, two guys almost bumped into me coming out of Wonderland. One said, "Don't you love this weather?" to which I said no and placed my cold hand on his arm.
"Damn!" he said. "Where's your wristband from?" I told him the Canal Club. "Aww, man, the Tortoise show? Was it awesome?"
He was a guy. He knew Tortoise was playing even if he hadn't gone to the show. I knew what I had to say.
"Yea, it was awesome," I told him. "Why weren't you there?"
A look of pure male guilt crossed his face. It was the perfectly appropriate ending for my Tortoise experience.
Arthur Drooker's photographs were artistic beauties, with crumbling walls and roofless columns framed by bare branches and leafy trees. I was shocked to learn that some of the ruins had been destroyed as recently as the last forty years; for some reason, I had presumed that these were long-time ruins, but then we're barely a long-time country. In most cases, fire was the culprit.
The Virginia ruins site represented on the walls was Barboursville and their winery was pouring tonight, but the exhibit is worth checking out even without a touch of the grape. It's up through the end of November. I even took the time to stroll the back garden of the Branch House for the first time tonight. It's a lovely, tranquil place.
As always, the opening was mainly male (architecture being male-dominated, I suppose). Of note was that I only ran into one person I knew (and fortunately I wasn't wearing black), but he knows me well enough to ask what the rest of my evening held. Telling him reminded him that he had also intended to be at my next stop (I'm as good as a calendar reminder sometimes).
That stop was The Empress for the Richmond Business Alliance champagne reception to celebrate the launch of the city's online directory of LGBT-friendly businesses. The Empress was being publicly designated as such tonight and the room was full of other LGBT business people. For the most part, it was a room full of attractive well-dressed men well-versed on all kinds of interesting topics.
I talked theater with actors and directors, restaurants with a real estate agent, and local bands with a writer. I loaned a book about coffee to a fellow blogger. I ate some of Chef Carly's delicious appetizers and sipped bubbles from bottom-heavy glasses. I like to think I was an asset to the party (Kevin, correct me if I'm wrong here).
Everyone wanted to know my connection since I don't own a business, so I shared my ties to the sponsor. My only regret was that I didn't get to stay for the cake, but happily I did satisfy my sweet tooth with a taste of the frosting and it was to die for. That's all I'm saying.
I had to cut out early and leave such charming company and such a culturally significant event in RVA to catch the opening band at the Canal Club, Marionette. These locals have been on a roll this summer, opening for The National, the Whigs and now Tortoise. It's the kind of resume-building a local band dreams of.
For the first time in years, the show was held upstairs instead of on the downstairs stage and no one seemed to know why. The show had originally been scheduled for the National, but a NASCAR-related corporate event had trumped Tortoise and they'd been moved to the smaller venue. Driving down to the show, I'd seen a lit-up race car in front of the National and a line of people down the block.
And given the size of the crowd, the Canal Club was big enough. Despite Tortoise's 20-year music-making history, the crowd was surprisingly small. Two different people said to me, "I'm disappointed in Richmond," referring to the low attendance.
But the fans who came were devoted and almost all of them were male. What we can glean from this is that jazz and prog rock-influenced post-rock bands are favored by those with a Y chromosome. A musician friend (a drummer) said that they are a drummer's band as a way of explaining all the guys.
A female attendee said to me, "It's all dudes, which is cool, but they're so into the music they don't want to talk to a chick." I gathered that she was saying that it was not a good place to pick up a guy. Luckily I wasn't there for that.
The band was tight, all excellent musicians and I liked all the percussion. A musician friend was turned off by the extensive use of synthesizers, but loved the vibes. But when it came right down to it, I just didn't possess enough testosterone to fully appreciate Tortoise it seemed. They were good, but they weren't rocking my world.
Walking to my car after the second encore, two guys almost bumped into me coming out of Wonderland. One said, "Don't you love this weather?" to which I said no and placed my cold hand on his arm.
"Damn!" he said. "Where's your wristband from?" I told him the Canal Club. "Aww, man, the Tortoise show? Was it awesome?"
He was a guy. He knew Tortoise was playing even if he hadn't gone to the show. I knew what I had to say.
"Yea, it was awesome," I told him. "Why weren't you there?"
A look of pure male guilt crossed his face. It was the perfectly appropriate ending for my Tortoise experience.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
When Girls Triumph Over Bad Boys
Sometimes I get even more than I plan for and it makes for an unexpectedly delightful outcome. I had thought I was going to a wine tasting and pairing tonight, but it ended up being the celebration of good over evil.
I had talked a friend into attending the Tuesday tasting and pairing at The Empress this evening. Yes, the same Empress that is housed in a Justin French-owned building and seemed in imminent danger of being lost to legal red tape.
Proving that good girls can finish first, owners Melissa and Carly were able to purchase the building earlier today, resulting in both tears and champagne this afternoon. Justin French be damned, the Empress got the building.
So what could have been just a wonderful tasting and pairing became a celebration instead. It began auspiciously when Melissa placed me at a table with a couple, introducing me as "someone who likes to mingle and talk." The pressure was on not to disappoint, but luckily my friend showed up and part of the burden was on her. Whew, now I only had to be half as fascinating.
Carly had outdone herself in the kitchen with her pairings. We began with the 2009 Puerto Viejo Chardonnay (according to wine rep Morris, "a chardonnay for chardonnay haters") paired with cocoa-dusted almond and vanilla alfajores with mango icing. The hints of mango and almond on the nose of the wine were picked up in this sweet, which tasted like a combination shortbread and Mexican wedding cake.
The second pairing was 2009 Beelgara Estate Rose with a raspberry, Brie and pink peppercorn tartlet for pink with pink. That was followed by the 2009 Apaltagua Pinot Noir Reserva (this time the raspberry was on the nose) and a hearty Chorizo, pepper jack and spicy black bean chili with crispy tortilla strips. The chili was too spicy for some at our table, but I loved its layers of heat and the Pinot Noir complemented it perfectly. More, please.
We finished the tasting with Gancia Moscato d'Asti DOCG, deemed "too sweet" by my friend until it was tasted along with the honey, Gorgonzola and sage potato cake and then it was just divine. My love for sweet and salty is well documented and this course delivered me that.
For good measure, I finished by sharing sauteed calamari in garlic butter and herb sauce with toasted bread with half of our new-found couple friend. As tender as the calamari was, that broth could have contained earthworms and I'd have lapped it up. As it was, I sopped bread until I could feel my arteries hardening.
Our table mates were a long-time married couple originally from Galax, VA (home of the long-running Old Fiddler's Convention), both former teachers and as interesting dinner companions as we could have hoped for. We quickly fell into conversation like we were old friends.
They shared their "how we met" story, their love of art, theater and NYC and I shared the best gluten-free restaurants in the city (she was gluten-intolerant and was beside herself when she learned that The Empress does GF French toast) and my favorite DC museums. We made plans to meet up at an upcoming art opening at Chop Suey Books; they know the artist and I was already planning to attend anyway. As is usually the case, we were the last table lingering at the end of the evening.
My friend suggested we stop for one last glass of wine on the way home so we could share some girl talk after our impromptu couple date. We tried the always reliable Tarrant's but they were just closed. Walking back to our cars, we said hello to a policeman we passed. "What's up?" I asked. "Just walking the beat,"he smiled. How often do you hear a cop say that?
Our second street encounter was with the debonair Russell from Tarrant's who suggested Lemaire, assuring us that it was always open until midnight. We found an unexpectedly good crowd there and I settled in with a glass of Jean Luc Columbo Rose so that my friend could fill me in on the latest news in her ever-developing love life. She was describing how she's handling dating and wanted my opinion on her choices (appropriate? lascivious?), but what do I know?And since I've got nothing to share, I just listened to her adventures.
And in keeping with the theme of the evening, I had the unexpected pleasure of running into two guys as I was about to leave the ladies' room shortly before we departed the Jefferson. "What are you doing in here, trolling for girls?" I teased them.
"Looks like we found one," said the one with the glasses. It was one unexpected pleasure after another tonight. My kind of night.
I had talked a friend into attending the Tuesday tasting and pairing at The Empress this evening. Yes, the same Empress that is housed in a Justin French-owned building and seemed in imminent danger of being lost to legal red tape.
Proving that good girls can finish first, owners Melissa and Carly were able to purchase the building earlier today, resulting in both tears and champagne this afternoon. Justin French be damned, the Empress got the building.
So what could have been just a wonderful tasting and pairing became a celebration instead. It began auspiciously when Melissa placed me at a table with a couple, introducing me as "someone who likes to mingle and talk." The pressure was on not to disappoint, but luckily my friend showed up and part of the burden was on her. Whew, now I only had to be half as fascinating.
Carly had outdone herself in the kitchen with her pairings. We began with the 2009 Puerto Viejo Chardonnay (according to wine rep Morris, "a chardonnay for chardonnay haters") paired with cocoa-dusted almond and vanilla alfajores with mango icing. The hints of mango and almond on the nose of the wine were picked up in this sweet, which tasted like a combination shortbread and Mexican wedding cake.
The second pairing was 2009 Beelgara Estate Rose with a raspberry, Brie and pink peppercorn tartlet for pink with pink. That was followed by the 2009 Apaltagua Pinot Noir Reserva (this time the raspberry was on the nose) and a hearty Chorizo, pepper jack and spicy black bean chili with crispy tortilla strips. The chili was too spicy for some at our table, but I loved its layers of heat and the Pinot Noir complemented it perfectly. More, please.
We finished the tasting with Gancia Moscato d'Asti DOCG, deemed "too sweet" by my friend until it was tasted along with the honey, Gorgonzola and sage potato cake and then it was just divine. My love for sweet and salty is well documented and this course delivered me that.
For good measure, I finished by sharing sauteed calamari in garlic butter and herb sauce with toasted bread with half of our new-found couple friend. As tender as the calamari was, that broth could have contained earthworms and I'd have lapped it up. As it was, I sopped bread until I could feel my arteries hardening.
Our table mates were a long-time married couple originally from Galax, VA (home of the long-running Old Fiddler's Convention), both former teachers and as interesting dinner companions as we could have hoped for. We quickly fell into conversation like we were old friends.
They shared their "how we met" story, their love of art, theater and NYC and I shared the best gluten-free restaurants in the city (she was gluten-intolerant and was beside herself when she learned that The Empress does GF French toast) and my favorite DC museums. We made plans to meet up at an upcoming art opening at Chop Suey Books; they know the artist and I was already planning to attend anyway. As is usually the case, we were the last table lingering at the end of the evening.
My friend suggested we stop for one last glass of wine on the way home so we could share some girl talk after our impromptu couple date. We tried the always reliable Tarrant's but they were just closed. Walking back to our cars, we said hello to a policeman we passed. "What's up?" I asked. "Just walking the beat,"he smiled. How often do you hear a cop say that?
Our second street encounter was with the debonair Russell from Tarrant's who suggested Lemaire, assuring us that it was always open until midnight. We found an unexpectedly good crowd there and I settled in with a glass of Jean Luc Columbo Rose so that my friend could fill me in on the latest news in her ever-developing love life. She was describing how she's handling dating and wanted my opinion on her choices (appropriate? lascivious?), but what do I know?And since I've got nothing to share, I just listened to her adventures.
And in keeping with the theme of the evening, I had the unexpected pleasure of running into two guys as I was about to leave the ladies' room shortly before we departed the Jefferson. "What are you doing in here, trolling for girls?" I teased them.
"Looks like we found one," said the one with the glasses. It was one unexpected pleasure after another tonight. My kind of night.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Drawn to Dangerous Lead Females
I have a friend who sends me an offbeat news item first thing every day; it's his way of saying good morning, I guess. They often revolve around chicken nuggets or illicit sex. I'll comment, or pass judgment and, depending on how juicy it is, we'll bat it back and forth a few times.
Here's part of today's exchange:
Him: "Headline: S.W.A.T. Team Requested for Violent Midgets. In fact, they were steroid-using bodybuilding midgets, headed by an apparently particularly dangerous lead female."
Me: Particularly dangerous lead females are scary.
Him: I am rather drawn to them.
Me: Lunch?
Him: The way it's going today, why not?
Okay, so it wasn't an engraved invitation, but I know him well enough to appreciate his implied sincerity. I gave him first choice of eats, but he deferred to me (and not because I'm a dangerous lead female, either). I picked The Empress because it had been too long since I'd enjoyed a meal there.
We did a somewhat late lunch, 1:30, and only had to share the restaurant with a couple of occupied tables. Since it was my friend's first time there, he was taking forever with the menu while my stomach growled audibly. Seems he'd overeaten this weekend and was trying to make a wise choice.
I finally forced his hand by ordering the arugula, garbanzo bean, Edam cheese, roasted chicken, sunflower seed salad with red wine vinaigrette. They were out of arugula and offered a mixed greens bed instead, which I happily agreed to. With no time left, my friend got the cold-smoked salmon and caper cream cheese on toasted focaccia. There, that was done.
I loved my salad with its variety of textures and tastes; between the chicken, cheese and beans, it was wonderfully filling, too. Feeling virtuous, he inhaled his salmon plate and turned to me. "So what are we having for dessert?"
I don't know about you, but when a menu touts award-winning chocolate pate, I'm inclined to give it a try. And I'd already had their chocolate soup. So when our server asked, we asked for the award winner.
I've had a lot of chocolate pates in my time, but this one was extraordinary. There was nothing especially different about the look or texture, but the spices sang. There was a heat on the tongue afterwards, but it was contained by something else (cinnamony or gingerbread-like maybe?). We gave up guessing and asked.
The secret ingredients were ginger and cayenne and they added another layer of flavor to what is typically an all-about chocolate pleasure. Both of us gave it our personal award to go with whatever other accolades it has rightfully earned.
Would the midgets and dangerous lead female have liked it? Hard to say. With the way it's going for them lately what with the S.W.A.T. team and all, chocolate is probably the least of their concerns. Not so mine.
Here's part of today's exchange:
Him: "Headline: S.W.A.T. Team Requested for Violent Midgets. In fact, they were steroid-using bodybuilding midgets, headed by an apparently particularly dangerous lead female."
Me: Particularly dangerous lead females are scary.
Him: I am rather drawn to them.
Me: Lunch?
Him: The way it's going today, why not?
Okay, so it wasn't an engraved invitation, but I know him well enough to appreciate his implied sincerity. I gave him first choice of eats, but he deferred to me (and not because I'm a dangerous lead female, either). I picked The Empress because it had been too long since I'd enjoyed a meal there.
We did a somewhat late lunch, 1:30, and only had to share the restaurant with a couple of occupied tables. Since it was my friend's first time there, he was taking forever with the menu while my stomach growled audibly. Seems he'd overeaten this weekend and was trying to make a wise choice.
I finally forced his hand by ordering the arugula, garbanzo bean, Edam cheese, roasted chicken, sunflower seed salad with red wine vinaigrette. They were out of arugula and offered a mixed greens bed instead, which I happily agreed to. With no time left, my friend got the cold-smoked salmon and caper cream cheese on toasted focaccia. There, that was done.
I loved my salad with its variety of textures and tastes; between the chicken, cheese and beans, it was wonderfully filling, too. Feeling virtuous, he inhaled his salmon plate and turned to me. "So what are we having for dessert?"
I don't know about you, but when a menu touts award-winning chocolate pate, I'm inclined to give it a try. And I'd already had their chocolate soup. So when our server asked, we asked for the award winner.
I've had a lot of chocolate pates in my time, but this one was extraordinary. There was nothing especially different about the look or texture, but the spices sang. There was a heat on the tongue afterwards, but it was contained by something else (cinnamony or gingerbread-like maybe?). We gave up guessing and asked.
The secret ingredients were ginger and cayenne and they added another layer of flavor to what is typically an all-about chocolate pleasure. Both of us gave it our personal award to go with whatever other accolades it has rightfully earned.
Would the midgets and dangerous lead female have liked it? Hard to say. With the way it's going for them lately what with the S.W.A.T. team and all, chocolate is probably the least of their concerns. Not so mine.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Eating at the Empress and Listening to Art
I'm out of practice with this early morning work business. What that means is that when I have a 9:00 meeting, I have to eat breakfast way earlier than usual; this also means I'm ravenous by late morning and even noon lunch plans can't come soon enough. As it was, when my friend came by to fetch me, I was still in my walking clothes and had to make a quick change to look presentable for the Empress.
It was friend's first visit but I knew to expect an excellent meal. I ordered a salad of arugula, Edam cheese, grilled chicken and chick peas in a red wine vinaigrette and he got a panini of proscuitto, pesto and roasted red peppers. He was especially appreciative of the Carytown Coffee and Teas cuppa joe they served him because he was only recently awake and moving about. Let's put it this way, he was so impressed by the taste of the coffee that he didn't put the usual packet of cancer-causing pink in it and that's saying something.
My salad was a very generous serving of peppery arugula and chicken with enough garbanzo beans to satisfy even the heartiest bean lover (read: me). The Edam had been grated in large shavings so as to fully enjoy its creamy nuttiness; it's not often that Edam shows up on a salad and I really did enjoy having something different on mine. At $8 (including tax, a practice I love on menus) it was a hearty lunch.
Friend was most happy with his salty sandwich and its extra crispy bread, but had nothing but compliments for my salad. As he sipped and munched, he became more awake and talkative, putting him about where I'd been around 9 this morning. I didn't mind waiting for him to catch up because he's always such a good listener for my stories. We also eavesdropped on a nearby table and it sounded really gory with talk of finding a body and lots of blood. Unfortunately, we didn't catch the set-up, so we don't know whether they were talking real life or not.
Driving me home, friend cut through the Ward to avoid Broad Street; he wanted to show me a little piece of art affixed to a street sign that he'd noticed. I see such pieces up and down Grace Street and I appreciate the artists sharing their work with the world this way. This piece was especially eye-catching with a colorful picture of a gramophone and the words, "Listen to the ex."
It would have been a wonderful piece no matter where it had been hung, but as it happened, it was a few yards from the house I used to share with my ex, his house.
I hope it gives him as big a smile as it did me.
It was friend's first visit but I knew to expect an excellent meal. I ordered a salad of arugula, Edam cheese, grilled chicken and chick peas in a red wine vinaigrette and he got a panini of proscuitto, pesto and roasted red peppers. He was especially appreciative of the Carytown Coffee and Teas cuppa joe they served him because he was only recently awake and moving about. Let's put it this way, he was so impressed by the taste of the coffee that he didn't put the usual packet of cancer-causing pink in it and that's saying something.
My salad was a very generous serving of peppery arugula and chicken with enough garbanzo beans to satisfy even the heartiest bean lover (read: me). The Edam had been grated in large shavings so as to fully enjoy its creamy nuttiness; it's not often that Edam shows up on a salad and I really did enjoy having something different on mine. At $8 (including tax, a practice I love on menus) it was a hearty lunch.
Friend was most happy with his salty sandwich and its extra crispy bread, but had nothing but compliments for my salad. As he sipped and munched, he became more awake and talkative, putting him about where I'd been around 9 this morning. I didn't mind waiting for him to catch up because he's always such a good listener for my stories. We also eavesdropped on a nearby table and it sounded really gory with talk of finding a body and lots of blood. Unfortunately, we didn't catch the set-up, so we don't know whether they were talking real life or not.
Driving me home, friend cut through the Ward to avoid Broad Street; he wanted to show me a little piece of art affixed to a street sign that he'd noticed. I see such pieces up and down Grace Street and I appreciate the artists sharing their work with the world this way. This piece was especially eye-catching with a colorful picture of a gramophone and the words, "Listen to the ex."
It would have been a wonderful piece no matter where it had been hung, but as it happened, it was a few yards from the house I used to share with my ex, his house.
I hope it gives him as big a smile as it did me.
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