Finger Lickin' Good, Not Crazy

A friend had recently commented to me that,"Hey, it's been a year we've been not dating," an interesting way to acknowledge our year-old friendship. But he's been an enjoyable and reliable friend to me and that alone is worth celebrating. So I suggested going out for ribs today.

Unfortunately, he already had lunch plans. Fortunately, it wasn't long before his lunch partner canceled on him, so we headed up the hill, following our noses, to Ronnie's Ribs. But what to choose for our picnic lunch? So many slow-cooked meats to choose from and being hungry wasn't helping the decision making process any.

And there at the end of the menu was our solution: The Sampler. Three slices of slow-cooked brisket, a couple of slow-cooked chicken wings, pulled pork BBQ and a half pound of hickory-smoked ribs with a sandwich bun and a roll. My friend asked if it came with any sides and the guy said, "Nope just meat." Good enough. With the addition of a side of Ronnie's cole slaw and four Wet Naps, we had all we needed for our picnic.

Up to Libbie Hill Park we drove and spread out the food on a picnic table overlooking the bend in the river. With the cloud-covered sky, non-stop breeze and the sound of the fountain flowing behind us, we had easily the most wonderful lunch spot in all of RVA today.

We saw a boat and a jet-skier on the river. We heard train whistles un-muffled by humidity. We saw a mockingbird doing a warm-up dance pre-flight. At one point the breeze got suddenly cooler and I actually got goose bumps. I pointed to the ones on my arm to show my friend and he pointed to the ones on my legs. I'd forgotten how great it feels to be cool.

Yet again, I proved my lack of femininity by finishing first. We licked our fingers clean before resorting to the Wet Naps. All that meat had made us a bit logy, so we sat there for a while just enjoying the view and talking about my friend's recent attempts at sorting through the dating pool (he was advised, "Date anything that moves...once."), an endeavor I can't really give advice on.

He wanted coffee afterwards, so we headed to Globehopper. We lamented the fact that we were too full for dessert (Aziza's being in the neighborhood and both of us so fond of their cream puff), but just meat makes for full picnickers.

Until, that is, we spotted the chocolate marshmallow cookies under glass on the counter. I suggested we share one and my friend insisted we each have our own. We took our cookies and his coffee to their back patio and settled into wicker chairs under the trees and within view of the kissing bench (so Victorian!).

The cookies were fascinating for their absence of visible marshmallow, although we could easily taste where the marshmallows had melted into the chocolate/chocolate chip dough surrounding them. I ate mine slowly, admiring the pockets of missing marshmallow, while we continued our dating discussion.

It was such a sweet finish to our meaty meal, but not quite as good as my friend's words. "You make it hard to find people to date."

But he wasn't fooling me. He just wants to be my friend because I'm not crazy (his words). It certainly isn't for my dainty feminine appetite.

More Snowed-In Serendipity

"I work today at 2, so if you know anyone in the hood looking for an open place..." read the (hint, hint) invitation from my bartending friend at Tarrant's, so my postponed music was replaced with a stroll through the neighborhood to see him, eat dinner and enjoy some conversation.

As I was getting cleaned up to go out, a friend with cabin fever called to see if I was willing to venture out and since I was already planning to do so, I told her she could meet me there if she wanted to brave driving the roads.

Noting the desperation in her voice, I felt sure I'd end up seeing her.

Lots of people had the same thought apparently so we had plenty of company.

I had the half rack of baby back ribs and cole slaw, the perfect un-winter-like meal on a snowy Sunday night.

By the time I finished, I don't know what was stickier: my hands or my sauce-smeared napkin.

Mission accomplished!

My friend played copy-cat and got the ribs too, but also a small onion pizza and as we finished up our meal, she began a conversation with another regular sitting nearby.

He was a New Yorker, who consults down here four days a week and was snowed in for the weekend.

He immediately scored points by insisting on buying us dessert and non-stop conversation ensued.

Since he eats out every night he's here, he was great fun to discuss the Richmond restaurant scene with.

I had to give him credit, he's been to a lot of restaurants here; in fact, more than me because his hotel is in the west end, so he occasionally eats outside the city limits, unlike me.

As an astute wine geek, he knew all the best lists around town, as well as where to get a Kobe beef burger at lunch and which places to avoid for one reason or another.

The owners of Bouchon came in on a rare night off, so they joined us for conversation too.

My bartending friend kept things lively with wisecracks, whipped cream and wild tales (turns out the bar is made from the marble in the former urinal stalls at the Jefferson).

It was only my friend's second time at Tarrants' but she's completely smitten with its combination of extensive menu, quirky ambiance and colorful clientele.

As for me, I always appreciate an engraved invitation.