From the Fan to the Bottom to the Slip Version 2.0

What if there was a party and nobody but women came? What if nobody but women were invited? That would be a friend's annual Thesmophoria extravaganza, celebrating the ancient Greek festival for women only (men were supposed to be working, although frequently they came to ogle).

I'm always flattered to be asked since she gathers such an interesting group together for the evening. Julia from River City Cellars brings three great wines (I was unashamedly back to her favorite breakfast bubbles, the Tete a Claques I'd been drinking just two nights before) and all the best cheeses and the women bring the rest of the food (which always means an obscene amount of desserts).

The first thing I overheard when I walked in late to the already in-progress party was, " So do you take Nyquil?" It doesn't have the same ring as other self-medicating questions I have heard at parties.

But that was just one of many conversations I joined and then exited as I made my way through the house to meet and greet all these women.

I finally had to say my goodbyes since I'd promised to pick up a friend for an evening of light. We parked in the Bottom and began at Julep, which is always fun when Bobby's mixing.

I knew he'd been busy lately making new concoctions and listening to David Bowie, and was curious about the results. If Bowie's not old-school inspirational, I don't know who is (actually I do: Bryan Ferry).

It wasn't long before he got out his torch and presented each of us with a big roasted coconut marshmallow he'd made. I'm a coconut fan anyway, but Bobby had used coconut water instead of plain water in his recipe.

The result was scrumptious, the most sublime over-sized marshmallow I've ever put into my mouth. He created it to sit atop the Jack Skellington, but I had it as a side for my (surprise!) Corozon tequila.

Friend enjoyed a couple of cocktails (including two off Bobby's list) before we decided that it was time to join the throngs and start exploring InLight. The first piece that really grabbed me was the covered wagon with its projections of new frontier travel. Sitting in the middle of Cary Street, it was like a ghost from another era.

Sacer-totem, made of plasric nativity scene figures stacked up totem pole-like brought a smile to many viewers' faces. The Virgin Mary perched on top of assorted Wise Men made for a particularly arresting lighted visual.

All of Cary Street was transformed simply by having the street lights off. It gave the area a much different vibe (which I liked) and allowed people to drop into the shadows when they wanted to. Kind of cool.

At Bouchon, we were greeted by a madhouse. The last time I saw the place that crazy was the Bastille Day party. But the kissing bartender and chef promised us a table or bar stools and we only had to stand to sip our drinks for a bit.

The bar menu of which I'm so fond had some new listings for the evening, so we tried the onion tart, the pork and beans (so popular it had been changed from a full serving to a half) and the mushroom soup.

Friend had been unsure what to expect out of the standard-sounding pork and beans, so the sausage and white bean combo was a pleasant surprise to him. I knew Francis would do it up right, so I wasn't the least bit surprised.

The guy on the other side of me joined in our conversation about Caddyshack and music after a while and I didn't hold it against him that he liked Vampire Weekend, although I did share my opinion of the copycat little prepsters (even so, it couldn't have been too off-putting because when he got up to leave later, apropos of nothing, he said, "Come on, leave with me").

It was while he was sampling around the bar offerings (Port, pear-infused brandy, red wine) that bartender Olivier asked me if I liked apple pie and set a glass down in front of me. Very apple-like and I didn't even bother to ask what it might be. Next time.

The conversation was varied and, at times downright revealing, and before I knew it we were nearing the bewitching hour when InLight would go dark. Before that happened, Olivier grabbed me and led me downstairs and out the back way to see all the installations on the block behind Bouchon. Chef Francis joined me for the art.

There were two pop-up galleries back there, so a lot to see. Probably my favorite was Unwilling Nervous Courage, consisting of both a male nude and a reclining female nude, both magnificently carved in wood with video projections across them. We were both fascinated by the implications.

Another piece that fed the viewer's ego used a camera in one little room to project our image onto another wall. "If we stand here, the camera records whatever we do." Risky business for some.

Francis and I were both impressed by Horizon in the Fold; the columns of light behind the curtain gave a blowing, billowing effect that mirrored a balmy day with the window open, except with light as the moving force. For me, it was like seeing a sunset through the curtain of a beach cottage window, all gentle movement and subtle colors.

By the time I'd finished seeing everything I could, artists and friends had began pulling up extension cords and untaping power strips, so I headed back upstairs. We enjoyed more conversation as the bar finally began to thin out and eventually close down.

Walking back to the Bottom to retrieve my car, a passing girl said to me, "I love your purple tights!" And they don't compare to the new burgundy lace ones. Still, there is nothing quite like a random compliment at 1:45 a.m.

Actually, there's nothing like random compliment anytime. It won't give me a big head, I promise.

Why Do These Things Happen to Me?

Sometimes the cosmos rewards a music lover like me with a perfect moment so random and cool that I just have to think, how lucky am I?

Walking down Walnut Alley to 17th Street, I see through the window that the retail space at the corner is being renovated. Rounding the corner, one of the workers standing at the door smiles at me, so I ask him what's up with the space. He tells me it's going to be a wine shop/art gallery and invites us to come in and meet the owner. She's perched atop a ladder, one guy is sprawled on the floor paining a sign that says "C'est le vin" and a couple others are moving things around.

I ask her about the bustle and she says that the neighborhood needed a wine shop for the locals; she invites us to look around just as my friend Nicholas appears on the sidewalk and comes in to say hello. As I walk around admiring the wine racks, ogling the tin ceiling and talking to the sign painter, the space is suddenly filled with the sound of a bass clarinet.

Nicholas, who plays bass clarinet for the Richmond Symphony, has spontaneously decided to test the acoustics of the room by playing. It is so amazing-sounding that everything else becomes secondary. One second it's an interesting new space and the next it's musical paradise; everyone is paused in their work by the moment.

When he finishes, he walks over to the owner and says, "Don't ever let anyone amplify their sound in here. It's perfect just as it is."

Actually, what was perfect was that a good friend randomly walked into the place where I just happened to be and began playing his instrument so beautifully that time may as well have stopped. And I told him just that when I saw him later at Alley Katz.

How in the hell am I so fortunate?

Of Crab, Cracks, Cocktails and Cops

Being the unabashed neighborhood supporter that I am, Plan A for Saturday night was to introduce my favorite restaurant owner to J-Ward's newest eatery, The Belvidere at Broad.

I'd eaten there just last weekend and enjoyed everything about the experience, so it was time to share.

As an added bonus, she brought her brother to add his understated charm to the evening .

When we arrived at 8, we had only to wait a few minutes to score three bar stools front and center.

Once again the lovely Julie, one of the owners, attentively welcomed us, even remembering my name.

I was flattered.

We made our wine selections and perused the menu.

The place was positively hopping, so we settled in for some imbibing, in no rush to eat.

Julie indicated that they were much busier than anticipated and that it might be a bit longer than usual for our food.

As we reminded her, it was prime time on Saturday night and, as the new place everyone was dying to try out, we weren't expecting the food to appear in record time.

Unfortunately we heard one guy whining about the delay.

Come on, fella, give a new place a break.

If you wanted fast food, perhaps you should go to a place with mediocre food.

None of us could resist the crab cakes and justifiably so because the lumps of jumbo back fin were huge (and I say that as a person who grew up in Maryland eating crab every chance I got, so I know of what I speak).

Lightly bound and oh-so well seasoned, these crab cakes were delicious in every possible way.

I had begun with a simple salad full of the usual suspects and tasting fresh and fine dressed in balsamic vinaigrette.

My friend commented that the menu reads far less compelling than the actual food, which was creative and extremely well executed.

Just as our food arrived, the couple sitting next to us leaned over and said to me, "Weren't you our neighbor?"

Turns out these were the people who lived across the street from me for 2 1/2 years, until I moved unexpectedly in March.

They'd recognized me immediately and wanted the scoop on my new place and to dish about my split.

It turned into an unexpectedly hilarious roast, with them over-sharing their opinions and then soliciting my attendance at their upcoming party.

It's so rewarding when the universe offers up an unexpected treat like that, so I enjoyed every minute of it.

Part B of our plan was heading to a speakeasy in the Bottom for cocktails and more conversation.

I already knew the mixologist and his fanatic attention to the smallest minutiae of mixing drinks, having discussed it all with him there before, but my friends were unprepared for how amazing their drinks were.

When one drinks a spirit on ice and sans mixer, as I do, the ice is key; mine each had just one slow-melting cube that never watered down the beauty of the alcohol.

Perfection.

Multiple cocktails later, we realized it was well after 1 and some of us had to work brunch the next day (obviously not me), so we reluctantly decided to get out of the Bottom before the mass exodus when the clubs closed.

Leaving the smokey environs of the speakeasy and walking out into the much cooler night air, we immediately felt the presence everywhere of cops and their cars blocking streets.

As we walked by one open-front bar, we heard some idiot with a mic making a snide comment about cops just as two men in blue walked by the place.

No matter. I think all three of us felt that it had been a practically perfect evening.