A Criminally Fun Food Fight for Girls

It always comes down to music.

Sure, I could talk about the dinner I had at Lunch (where it was standing room only busy), the Wolftrap white blend, the French onion soup, the witty banter with a favorite recluse.

For that matter, I could  ramble on about "Farewell, My Queen," the French movie we saw afterwards, the opulence of the Versailles setting and costumes contrasted with the harsh reality of Marie Antoinette's time (dead rats, bug bites).

Favorite line: "Words are all I have. I wield them well."

But instead, I'll focus on the show.

Foodfight RVA was a stroke of brilliance - have a show of bands comprised only of people who work together at local restaurants and make it a benefit.

Come on, we all know most servers are really working to support their art or music habit, so it made perfect sense.

And the worthy beneficiary was Girls Rock RVA, the non-profit that holds a week-long empowerment camp every summer to teach girls 8-14 how to play an instrument, write a song and perform it.

Presenting the show was Quickness, the local delivery service that will bring food from a number of restaurants directly to your door.

And they were the first band up.

Just the Tip was a straight-ahead punk band, thrashing hard as they played a song called "Ophelia" about "a lady in Church Hill who always orders barbecue from Alamo and wears a turban."

Just another customer immortalized.

Black Sheep's band was Angry Chef and the Lowboys, a trio in chef coats and aprons all on acoustic guitars (and harmonica).

They got points for clever songwriting, singing "We Got the Kitchen Blues," "86 Bacon" (a dire situation if ever there was one) and perhaps the funniest, "Fry, Baby, Fry."

As you might guess, it sounded a lot like the Beatles "Cry, Baby, Cry" except it had lyrics like, "Kevin's in the kitchen cooking food for the people" and the customer lament, "They want switches and everything on the side."

Some of the women who'd led Girls Rock RVA this year performed next, doing the camp's theme song, but only after informing the crowd what Girls Rock was about.

This year's attendance was 44 (double the first year's) and their final performance was at the Hippodrome.

Hearing about their success made me glad I'd made a donation at the door.

Lamplighter's six-piece Funky Crumpets were next and they introduced themselves as, "We're those dudes who take way too long to make your sandwich."

The crowd laughed. "But they taste real good, don't they?" Much cheering and applause followed because they do.

They got off to a slow start but the guitarist locked into a groove and the singer (who'd said beforehand that she had no idea what she was going to sing) let loose and before long the crowd shut up and took note.

Ipanema's band turned out to be only Jonathan who said his missing band mates were "either working or already playing."

With typical Ips ingenuity, he proceeded to play guitar, loop it, get up and go play drums, loop that and return to guitar.

In other words, he filled in for everybody else, getting an A for effort alone.

Sticky Rice's trio Bonsai were energetic and melodic and especially appropriate for the evening's theme, given they had a female guitarist and drummer.

Duo Fat Side Up came from Alamo Barbecue and they played covers, one from Sublime and another from Fiona Apple ("Criminal").

For their last song, the singer announced he had brought ribs to eat as he sang, and he also waved bones over his head as he finished each one.

Returning from the bathroom mid-show, I ran into a favorite guitarist/server who sweatily informed me, "I'm too old for this shit. I used to do these shows and I remember how they smell."

It was more than a tad warm in Strange Matter tonight, but then a good percentage of the restaurant world was in the house.

Favorite t-shirt: "It's a lifestyle, not a fad."

Selba's Pregenators had a front man who was dying to show off his moves.

Dressed in low-slung jeans, an open black vest and medallion, he showed off his best pelvic thrusts while singing to a bass and drums.

The show closed with the Roosevelt's quartet (who got my vote for best band name), A Consensual Evening with Winston Stablock.

With a smoke machine obliterating bartender and drummer T, they pulled off two well-crafted R & B songs (written by Josh, natch) with him and fellow server Brandon singing back up.

And while I'd heard Mark singing along in the kitchen of the Roosevelt before, I had no idea he had it in him to be a rock star.

Favorite lyric: "I couldn't have you, I had to get you."

After a whole lot of applause, Mark closed by saying, "One more time for the smoke machine" and don't you know the crowd gave it up for the machine.

The audience had thinned considerably by the time the judges got up to award prizes.

The rib-eating Fat Side Up took third place (accepting, the singer said, "I'll bring more ribs next year"), Angry Chef and the Lowboys took second (no doubt for their clever lyrics and only acoustic guitars) and Bonsai took first (maybe being two thirds female helped their odds).

Personally, I'd have also given awards to the two people who had never been on stage before and totally won over the audience.

The guitarist for Funky Crumpets and the singer for A Consensual Evening were both playing their first shows ever.

So, like the aspiring musicians of Girls Rock RVA, they'd practiced, screwed up their nerve and taken the stage only to impress strangers and friends alike.

Because, let's face it, if you want to get good at music (or cooking or anything), you gotta make it a lifestyle, not a fad.

That's the only way I got so good at eating and going to shows.

Glowing a Golden Haze of Sweat

It's a damn shame when you can't even find your way to a party.

A friend had provided directions, but after multiple trips up and down the street, his house was nowhere to be found.

In my own defense, I don't know southside very well.

So, we abandoned Plan A and moved on to Plan B, which involved barbecue at Alamo.

After ordering a pig and slaw sandwich and a sampler platter (brisket, barbecued chicken, cornbread, cowboy beans and collard greens), we headed up the hill to the park.

There was a lovely breeze blowing, a welcome contrast to the late afternoon sun and heat.

There, from our lofty perch atop Chimborazo, we poured Adega de Pegoes, a Portuguese blend made for barbecue.

It was a meal eaten with sporks and fingers and a couple of dog visitors, no doubt attracted by the mounds of meat.

We took our sticky fingers directly to Strange Matter, where the perennial latecomer greeted me as I got my wristband by making sure I knew he'd arrived first.

Since he's usually the late or later type, I ceded the victory to him. This time.

Super Vacations were already playing and it was barely 8:10 and still light outside.

Such is the nature of an all ages show. Get 'em in early and get 'em out to their parents early.

I'd seen Super Vacations before, so knew what to expect with their psych-surf, albeit a dark and sometimes aggressive sound.

As their energetic set progressed, I began to feel as hot and sweaty as they looked.

And the night was young.

White Laces played next and they continue to sound tighter with every show I hear them.

Their set was essentially a preview of their soon-to-be released album, "Moves," which promises to be a game-changer for them.

Since I first saw them play at Fridays in the Courtyard back in May 2010, I have watched in amazement as they have grown as a band and developed their distinctive sound.

I remember the drummer breaking a drumstick that breezy May night (and bandleader Landis imploring the crowd, "Anyone got a spare drumstick?" No one did) and tonight's set ended with the drummer sending a stick flying out into the crowd.

Afterwards, I grabbed some hot people and headed outside in search of oxygen and a chance to cool my core.

It was hot as hell inside Strange Matter, so you take your breaks where you can.

But I made sure to be back in my spot by the sound booth when Wild Nothing took the stage.

This is a band I was turned on to by a new friend last year.

Listening to his album of bedroom pop, I remember being awed at how one guy had created so much sound all by himself.

And now that he was touring, he'd necessarily had to assemble a band around him to recreate what he'd once done solo.

I wasn't even sure how many musicians it would take to do that.

The answer was five (all very young and earnest looking) and the sound was spot-on.

Jack, who was once all of Wild Nothing, acknowledged the show as like a homecoming, since he went to college at Tech and recorded the CD that won my heart there.

Did I mention it was called "Gemini," also this fan's astrological sign?

In fact, his parents were at the show along with other relatives, he said.

From the first guitar strains that proclaimed "I love the '80s" to the final sweaty song, I was thrilled to be as impressed with the sound live as I had been with the record.

My date, who knew nothing of the band, turned to me four songs in and said, "Well, he's certainly done his Cure homework."

And for those of us who loved the Cure the first time around, it was a real pleasure to hear it being reinterpreted by a younger generation.

Another WRIR DJ made his opinion known by pantomiming "83" to indicate the year of the sound we were hearing.

Frankly, I don't care how derivative a band is when they're delivering catchy choruses, longing dreamgaze and jangly guitars with an unabashed nod to their predecessors.

The crowd seemed to agree with me no matter the age, dancing in place and sometimes even singing along to lyrics no doubt learned in their own bedrooms.

By the final sweaty song (the one with the riff reminiscent of Railway Children's "Every Beat of the Heart"), Jack looked justifiably well pleased with himself and his band.

"You could start a Slip 'n Slide with my body," he joked.

By that point, every body in the room had that potential because all the oxygen in the room was long gone and sweat was running down everyone's neck, face and any other exposed body parts.

Perhaps my date put it best.

"You should call your post "Sweating to the Oldies," he cracked.

Considering my penchant for twenty somethings interpreting music I liked the first time around, I'd rather call it "When Bedroom Pop Goes Live."

No, no. Check that.

"When Young Man's Music Made Me Hot." That's it.

Two Courses, Two Parks

Knowing that the temperature will drop by twenty degrees tomorrow was all the motivation I needed to find an excuse to be outside today.

So when a friend suggested lunch, I responded by suggesting a fun lunch. When he asked what that meant, I said it meant eating outside, so we headed to Church Hill and Alamo BBQ.

Since my last visit, here, new items had been added to the menu, including blackened tilapia tacos which sounded good to me. My friend got the brisket, which I already knew was terrific.

Part of the pleasure of Alamo dining is its al fresco ambiance, but with winter supposedly on the way, the potential for cold could present some dining problems sooner rather than later.

While we were ordering, my friend mentioned that they would soon need walls and a space heater and, lo and behold, we were told that they're expected to be installed later this week. Alamo all winter!

Once our names were called, we took our big brown bag and walked up to Jefferson Park to find a bench overlooking Church Hill's bustling streets.

We watched a mom and two boys walk towards us and all of a sudden the older boy (9 or 10 probably) drop and roll all the way down the long, steep hill. Ah, the highs of childhood.

My tacos were bursting with black beans and corn, the tilapia blackened with just enough heat. I tried some of Friend's jalapeno mac and cheese, an interesting blend of creamy and hot.

The funny part is that jalapenos make him hiccup, so he was doing his best to pick out half of them, hoping to reduce his hiccuping by half without completely giving up the little bits of hot green goodness.

My friend wanted the details on my recent dating exploits and I tried to glean male-mind information from him. I'm way out of practice on this and I'm having a hard time figuring out what means what and why.

He was no help at all. When I asked him why these guys jump to the conclusion that I'm so awesome, he says, "Because you are." Whatever. No help whatsoever.

On that useless note, we left and drove over to Mezza's for some Gelati Celesti; our thinking was, how many more days are left in 2010 where ice cream will seem like a good idea?

I had the chocolate decadence (but not in a cone, because they were out of cones. I asked about the ones sitting on the ice cream case and was told that they were old. Like months old? No, maybe a year old. Okay, no thanks then).

My friend got the chocolate peanut butter over a scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough and we took our scoops over to the little park behind Crossroads Coffee. The last time I'd been there, a guy was playing bongos for the crowd, I told him.

No bongos today, my friend observed. There was a little white dog walking precariously along the top of the rail fence. I feared for a fall, but another girl whipped out her phone and started snapping pictures of him doing it. I'd like to think she wasn't hoping for a disaster photo, but you never know.

I'd also like to hope for more 75-degree days, but that's just not realistic. Not that reality has ever been my strong suit.

Al Fresco at the Alamo

It's funny how you can randomly strike up a conversation about music with a pseudo-coworker in a coffee shop and the next thing you know you're planning to have lunch tomorrow for what he claims is the best barbecue in Richmond,

That's how today's lunch plans evolved and that's how I was introduced to Alamo Barbecue in Church Hill.

He warned me both yesterday and today that Alamo does Texas-style 'cue, which was fine by me because some (but not all) North Carolina-style 'cue is too vinegary-y for my taste, not that I wouldn't have still gone anyway.

Once he mentioned beef brisket, I was going whether I had company or not.

The choices were pulled pork, pulled chicken, brisket and burritos with various sides like cowboy beans, potato salad, jalapeno mac and cheese and cornbread.

I broke bad and got the brisket combo (an economical way to fold in your drink and side) with the Alamo slaw. Two of my new friends got the chicken and the pro got the pork.

I wasn't expecting outdoor seating, so the canopy-covered tables were an unexpected treat. Since we'd arrived around noon, there was no wait to order, so we settled ourselves at a table to wait for our names to be called from the bowels of the little yellow building.

With every minute that passed, more people joined the line; there were neighborhood types, plenty of suits and definitely regular customers advising others in line what was good.

And my brisket was very good, tender and flavorful; it came dressed in jalapenos and onions with a side of sauce.

As for the slaw, I was seriously delighted that the cabbage had not been shredded within an inch of its life like so many places do.

I like to be able to recognize my cabbage for what it is.

Lunching with people who are practically strangers leaves the field wide open conversationally.

There was a fair amount of dog talk (several were lounging on the patio), music talk (with new friends you need to know what shows you both were at before you met) and, of course, barbecue.

In my friend's opinion, the very best barbecue in Virginia comes from a place in Montross, a town I actually know because it's not far from where my parents live on the Northern Neck.

He'd only discovered it because they'd had a cart at Herbs Galore; now a road trip is in the planning stages.

An al fresco lunch featuring brisket, music talk and new-to-me people, could there be a finer way to enjoy a beautiful sunny day?

The floor is open to suggestions.