Chicken and Biscuit Piazza

Amazing what a finger or five can do.

Witness Michael Graves, the architect, designer and subject of the new exhibit at the Virginia Center for Architecture.

"From Towers to Teakettles: Michael Graves Architecture and Design" opened Thursday and somehow in the hubbub of the snow, I forgot all about it.

Snow gone, it seemed like a perfect way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon.

I was familiar enough with Graves to have one of his whistling bird teakettles from Target, albeit a secondhand version I got at Diversity with the bird missing.

But I honestly had no idea of the sheer breadth of the man's work since the sixties.

So in addition to seeing his mega-resort projects in Singapore, there was also a collection of some of his stunning chairs (the lounger being my favorite, with the Milan chair a close second for its sheer beauty) and images of everything from a coffee and tea piazza (coffee pot, sugar and creamer on a tray) to jewelry to lighting fixtures.

Clearly the man's vision extends to practically everything.

I was impressed to read that he was an advocate of drawing by hand, something I have heard is becoming a lost art in the architecture world.

The show referred to his partnering with Target in 1998 as "the democratization of the design movement," surely a boon to all us little people who could never have hoped to own such beautifully designed objects otherwise.

Looking at the panels featuring some of his building designs, his predilection for color was obvious, whether in Washington, D.C., Louisville, Kentucky or Singapore.

Walking into the main gallery provided an unexpected moment of beauty and warmth as the late afternoon sun shone through the leaded windows, warming my legs and necessitating sunglasses indoors.

There I learned he also painted murals and did artwork to accompany his architecture and design work.

Was there nothing this guy couldn't do?

Well, let's see, he designed the scaffolding for the Washington Monument's restoration back in 2000, coming up with a unique blue semi-transparent fabric that mirrored the shape of the iconic monument.

Pure genius. And as many times as I'd seen the monument when that scaffolding had been up, I'd had no idea that Graves had designed it.

And in a classic example of fate shaping destiny, when Graves was partially paralyzed from an infection, he turned his genius to designing patient rooms and furniture in health care facilities.

Let's just say I left with a new-found appreciation for the genius of my teakettle.

Admiring genius works up an appetite, though, so I headed the car across the river for some finger-licking.

I have a complicated relationship with Dixie Chicken.

The first time I tried to go, they were closed due to illness.

The second time I went, I got my fried chicken, but it was seriously overcooked and the skin was dark brown and brittle, not at all what I'd been hoping for from all the online accolades.

The third time I tried, they were suddenly closed on Mondays, although the Facebook page I'd checked before leaving said otherwise.

No telling what today would hold.

Score. They were open, I had a companion so we could try multiple things and life was good.

Wagner was playing dramatically on the little boom box in the window on entering and it smelled of long-cooked collards.

Unfortunately, they were out of the pork belly sandwich I wanted to try, but a barbecue sandwich was substituted, sides of mashed potatoes and gravy, slaw and collards acquired.

The only thing left was to sign the phone screen with my fingertip to pay for the meal and we were off.

It was a most 21st century way to obtain decidedly old-school food.

Given the hot food and the sunny day, a stop at Forest Hill Park seemed like a no-brainer.

I had to admit that despite two decades in Richmond, I'd never been to this park until today.

There were families on the tennis courts, families on the playground and dog walkers all around, so we found a picnic table away from the fray.

From the second I opened my styrofoam box, I knew that this chicken wasn't going to disappoint again.

No siree, this was golden brown and moist-looking, still steaming from the fryer.

The batter had a decidedly peppery bent and I only reluctantly shared a few bites with the barbecue eater who was offered me a bite of the meaty pig sandwich.

Sides were challenging only because we had no utensils, but a trip to the car resulted in a spoon and the cole slaw remained as tasty as I recalled from the first time, with the mashed potatoes and collards executed in typical southern style.

As someone who grew up in a household with a southern grandmother who made from-scratch biscuits at least twice a week, I am too spoiled to find anyone else's biscuits as good as hers, but only because I like her style better than others.

Dixie's biscuits were definitely good, although I'd always prefer a biscuit I have to butter to one that seems a little buttery to start.

Just for the record, I inhaled the biscuit. Sorry, Grandma.

I'd say Dixie Chicken and I have resolved our differences.