Ranch Hands

You've got to get up pretty early in the morning if you want to have dinner in Paris.

We were at Boxwood Estate Winery by midday for Rose release weekend, all the staff in shirts far pinker than the pale salmon of the 2015 Rose.

After tasting through the Topiary from 2011 and 2012 and the Trellis 2012 and 2013, we toured the sleek space, admiring barrels in the cave, the Italian bottling and labeling machinery and the tank room with an annoying child rolling around on the floor.

I will never understand why people think it's a good idea to bring kids to a winery (or restaurant or bar...).

Driving into Delaplane Cellars, where a sign stipulated "No buses, no limos," I commented that I only wished it included "No children." Lo and behold, as we approached the tasting room, there was a sign stating, "Must be 21 to enter. This includes children."

Hallelujah, a winery that isn't afraid to forbid children at a place catering to adults. I liked them immediately for that and the panoramic view of mountains, farmhouses and fields didn't hurt either.

Of the six wines we tasted through, I fell hardest for the 2014 Traminette for its gorgeous nose and flavors of rose petals and lemon/lime, prompting bad 7-Up jokes for those of us old enough to remember long-ago commercials and tolerate corny humor.

A couple came in while we were tasting, notable because she had the most perfect Farrah Fawcett feathered hair you could hope to see post 1980. Chatting with them as they threw back their tasting in record  time, we learned that they'd met in Winchester when he'd walked into a bar to find her enjoying sex on a piano (that's a drink, by the way, as dated sounding as her do).

What we all had in common was the magnificent Handley Library in Winchester, making for that surprising moment when you find strangers know about something obscure you do, too.

After they left, we drank glasses of Traminette at a table overlooking the view as the winery began to fill up with people trying to make it to the tasting counter before the winery closed.

You know: hurry, we're not drunk enough yet!

We wound our way back to the Marriott Ranch, amazed to find cows lining the entrance road, something we'd never seen in two previous visits. They were bold, too, a mother cow and two young 'uns giving us the stink-eye when they were situated in the center of the road and we wanted to pass them.

To paraphrase Neko Case, cows gotta lotta nerve.

At the ranch - if you can call an elegant brick building that serves as a B & B a ranch - we got comfy on a couch in the library to enjoy a cheese plate and the rest of our Boxwood Rose while discussing the horror of our current political climate.

Every time I find out about another black man I know - or of, because this time it was a friend's father - being stopped by police, forced to the ground and treated like a criminal simply because he's black, I feel a little more discouraged about the direction we're heading.

The mood was lightened considerably when we flipped through Cowboys and Indians magazine (a little surprising, no?) to an article about Kurt Russell, who has an interest in winemaking. The result was one of the best lines of the day ("I'll stop the world and blend with you"), assuming '80s music puns are your thing.

Just so you know, they are mine.

For dinner, we went to the Ashby Inn, a place a friend had gone for an important anniversary dinner and been wowed enough to recommend I go. As in, he brought back a menu for me to reel me in.

His opinion was seconded by the woman pouring for us at Delaplane, who said it was the go-to for all of the staff when they wanted a fabulous meal. The fact that Maple and Pine's chef had come from there was icing on the cake.

And it's in Paris.

The 19th century Inn itself was charming, and our table on the glassed-in porch looked out over beds of daffodils in bloom and the Schoolhouse, which now housed more guest rooms.

The sommelier was happy to deliver bubbles in the form of Sokol-Blosser "Evolution," a wine I'd first had on a trip out west (but not to a ranch and not with a cowboy or Indian) and perfectly lovely with an amuse bouche of salmon mousse inside a rolled up slice of French radish, both ends dipped in chopped chives.

We soon had company on the porch: a family group with three prep school type sons, a Dad who began with a martini and a Mom who looked very high maintenance and a four-top from New Zealand who took pictures of everything (once almost knocking over the sommelier in the process) and expected the chef to come talk to them.

Everyone had been right. Everything about the food worked, from my earthy deep-hued lobster soup with potato and leeks and best of all, oyster and lobster beignets bobbing in it, to tilefish with artichoke, fingerling potatoes and pearl onions in a parsley pistou.

From across the table, I got tastes of chilled shrimp and a fat ribeye before taking my food coma to the next level with a chocolate "bar" covered in spiced almonds with chocolate sorbet. My date opted for red bubbles with a glass of Rosa Regale, the suggested pairing for my dessert and a perfect one at that.

By the time we left Paris, stuffed and happy, it felt a long way from Jackson Ward this morning.

But sometimes you just gotta stop the world and drive to where there's still snow on the mountaintops, whether or not you intend to blend.

Some Enchanted Evening

Tonight was one of those nights where the company was so good that we could have been anywhere and had a rollicking good time.

It was the inaugural outing for my bialy-pushing friend Gregg, the girlfriend I would marry if she were a man and Mac the Magnificent, one of my absolute favorite chefs in RVA.

We were a foursome to be reckoned with.

For reasons I won't go into, we decided to meet at Bellytimber.

We ordered a lot of food: romaine salad, sweet potato tots, torta (this one was my choice: Logan's hot chorizo, queso blanca, black beans, avocado, pico de gallo and lettuce on a house made roll), red curry shrimp pizza with cilantro and mint, duck confit pizza with red onions, cheddar, cilantro and hoison sauce and one of tonight's specials, chicken tamales with corn salsa.

Everyone tasted everything just to have an opinion for discussion's sake.

We were a bit limited in our drinking because they were out of good tequila (to my amazement and disappointment) and the white wine list consisted of two chardonnays, a sauvignon blanc and a pinot grigio.

Sadly, the music was so low as to be inaudible.

But the company was outstanding, with talk of a recent wine outing (look at me! I'm bottling wine!), an out-of-this world meal at the Ashby Inn in Paris, VA (the hot and cold cucumber shot alone was worth hearing about twice) and more food talk than most people would consider normal...or care to subject themselves to.
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From there we walked the two blocks to Six Burner where we were enthusiastically greeted and all was made right with the world.

We were immediately treated to two enormous bowls of chocolate mousse to make up for the recent past and happily found that the featured white wine was a Portuguese Vino Verdhe.

Martinis were bruised, Meyer's Rum made drinks brown (ah, youth, mine at least) and the Portuguese ruled.

Life was good again.

We got into a foodie discussion with a nearby couple because the woman said she ate absolutely everything...except beets.

The men in our party did their best to make serving suggestions, but she wasn't budging on her beet hate.

As her mate said, "In all these years, I've never seen a beet cross her lips."

Clearly our cooking-savvy men were not going to change her mind about beets tasting like gasoline. End of beet discussion.

When we finally broke camp, it was only because we were the only non-staff members in the bar.

This get-together had been months in the making but once in progress, we all agreed that it must become a regular event.

Our senses of humor mesh beautifully and our interest in food/restaurant talk could not be tolerated by most others, so we ended up being the perfect quartet.

And not to be underestimated are the pleasures of a boy, girl, boy girl evening.

No matter which way I turned, there was always someone offering me great conversation or a witty bon mot.

Even the insincere compliments, and there were many, were worth hearing. My blue dress and I can take what you dish out.

I think I may have just joined my first mutual admiration society.