Raging Through This Life

I drove to Fredericksburg to see a violent snowstorm whip through downtown.

That and laugh long and hard with two of my sisters.

The drive up 301 was bone dry and without incident (unlike the drive home). I walked into Kybecca Wine bar at 2:57 with the staff teasing me that they didn't open until 3:00.

At 3:02, the snow shower began without warning. There was no gradual buildup, no transition from light flakes to snow downpour.

All at once snow was coming down so hard you couldn't see across the street.  Great gusts of wind blew snow horizontally down Charles and William Streets.

It was so weird, so sudden and unexpected, that both staff and customers rushed outside to take pictures of each other in the blizzard.

Well, not the digital Amish among us.

I stayed put and watched as the dramatic drop in temperature caused all the windows to fog up with our hot breath.

Forty five minutes later, it was all gone leaving everyone to return to their wine drinking in earnest.

By then we'd gotten a bottle  of Bebe Prosecco Rose and settled in for the long haul.

Our get-together's purpose was twofold; we came to celebrate one of my favorite sister's recent birthday and to do some pre-gaming before my Dad's birthday dinner.

We had a lot to talk about and we only had four hours to do it in before being expected at the pre-dinner cocktail hour.

The conversation went something like this: near death experience, a weekly affair with an old girlfriend, sibling rivalry, drunken train trips, determining an anniversary's official date, advice I gave my sister when she started sleeping with her now-husband (who knew I used to advise on such?) and congratulations.

The food went something like this: Thai shrimp skewers, pistachio pesto gnocchi, bison and bleu cheese sliders, pesto pizza and Chincoteague oysters.

I shared some recent family stories I'd heard from various fam members, all to the amazement of my listeners.

Both are convinced I should be writing all this stuff down since no one else remembers it.

Even though we were soon off to eat again, two of us splurged on dessert, sharing the chocolate pot de creme and the Nutella and blackberries on grilled pound cake.

We delayed leaving for the inn and the festivities because a) the sister organizing everything is a royal pain and b) we were caught up in the post-5:00 blue sky and late afternoon light.

Wasn't it just a hot minute ago that it was black as night at 5:00? It's so wonderful to be on the other side of the Winter Solstice.

But all good things must come to an end and after many laugh attacks, too many questions about the state of my life and the unique pleasures of being with two sisters with whom I don't even need to finish my sentences, we decided to move to the inn.

Happy hour was a  blur of hugs and greetings, followed by a move to the private dining room for dinner.

Our server Ryan was a Mary Washington student who couldn't have known what he was in for when he took tonight's shift.

Asking if any of us had any questions, my sarcastic aunt queried, "What's the meaning of life?"

Ryan blushed and said he was a little young to know yet, but that he was working on it.

The hand-cut French pork chops were the star of the evening but my seafood-loving family did acknowledge the much better than average crab cakes (primarily backfin) and the generous serving of pan-seared rockfish.

While the array of entrees had been impressive, the dessert choices were less so: apple pie, pecan pie and creme brulee.

I thought I'd made it clear to the restaurant world that not having a chocolate option is unacceptable.

All I can say is it was a good thing I'd scored dessert earlier or I might have been disappointed.

It was a birthday so there were shared memories, old jokes and much rolling of eyes at family-familiar quips.

A joke about trying to change one's mate resulted in my Dad responding with, "You haven't been listening, Grasshopper."

Let's just say that it wasn't directed at me.

When the party ended, I was happy to hit the road and return home, albeit a much colder place since the front moved through on the back of the whirlwind blizzard.

Cruising back on Route 301, I got almost into downtown Bowling Green (an oxymoron if ever there was one) when I saw flashing lights behind me and pulled over.

The female officer asked if I was in a hurry and then noted the case of alcohol and Chinese pinball machine in my back seat.

I had good explanations for both.

She asked for my license and registration before saying, "Have you been drinking?"

One drink since 7:00, I told her honestly and it was going on 11:00 at that point.

She went back to her car to run me through her computer while I cranked Bloc Party's "Sunday" and wished I could teleport home.

Returning with my documents, she sent me on my way telling me to drive safely.

I always do, ma'am. I have many vices, but speeding isn't one of them.

Besides, I wouldn't want to rush past another rogue snowstorm along the way.

When we need to rage through this life
There might be ones who are smarter than you
That have the right answers, that wear better shoes
Forget about those melting ice caps
We're doing the best with what we've got

Road Trip-Worthy Brunching

How fortuitous that I had a road trip planned for this beautiful, sunny day. I have a friend who is a food writer in DC and instead of meeting there, we had arranged to meet in Fredericksburg for a change.

So I joined the clusters of guys on Harleys that inevitably show up on Route 301 on sunny Sundays and made the scenic drive to wine and brunch with my friend. We were even trying a new-to-me destination, Kybecca Wine Bar.

Oh, I've been in the wine shop many times but never in the restaurant, so I was looking forward to catching up with my friend and seeing what the kitchen could do.

We were smart to meet early because the place continued to fill up the longer we were there, which was a good four hours' worth. We took a three-sided banquette table, but I admired the community table as we walked by it. Had I been alone, that's just where I would have sat my tights down.

Since it had been a while since we'd broken bread together, we started with the pretty and festive hibiscus cocktail, made with Riondo Pink Prosecco, a touch of hibiscus syrup and an (edible) hibiscus flower.

We found they went down like water (and the flower's sweetness, described by our server as "rhubarb and raspberry," was delightful) and moved on to a bottle of the Bebe Prosecco Rose to stay in pink mode.

It's my friend's habit to taste around the menu, so we did (it's one of my favorite reasons to eat with him).

I chose the chorizo and scrambled egg crepes (two crepes filled with locally-raised chorizo, duck thigh meat and scrambled eggs, topped with Cypress Grove's lamb Chopper cheese mornay sauce).

He chose the fried egg and bacon baguette (toasted baguette filled with two over-easy eggs, crispy bacon, cilantro mayo, shaved Pecorino) and yeast-risen waffles with fruit, house-made whipped cream, berries and Virginia maple syrup.

The point in ordering the waffles was the menu's claim that in order to achieve the incredible texture of light and airy on the inside and crispy on the outside, they start the batter the night before.

Well, we'll just see about that, we decided. And the waffles were stellar, light as air, with deep squares for obscene amounts of cream and syrup.

The baguette was, to say the least, challenging to eat once the yolks had broken, but the generous amount of bacon and mayo made it downright decadent. The baguette butt made the perfect sopping vehicle for everything that dripped onto the plate.

But I'd have to go with my crispy crepes as the standout; when the chef saw me all but licking my plate, he came over to see how I'd liked them (or collect compliments, but I don't want to presume).

He turned out to be a charming and friendly guy ("No ring, either," my friend prodded me) who appreciates a duck-lover. We got a second order just to verify our first impression, which pleased him no end.

Since it had been a while, I had lots to share with my friend and he's always got great recommendations for me of new and obscure places to eat in my hometown. Anacostia, here I come.

With plans for several upcoming trips to DC, I actually made a few notes so I won't forget his suggestions (because he will ask and he will chide me if I don't try them and have opinions).

By this point, it was mid-afternoon and the place was full, except for the outside tables, but the wine was gone and we still had room for a little something. And we were nowhere close to done talking.

I chose the Kung Fu Girl Riesling (because I'm a big fan of Charles Smith's wines) to go with the pound cake panino (two slices of poundcake with Nutella inside and grilled with a panini maker). Friend got the chocolate pot de creme, knowing I'd eat what he didn't.

The panino was stellar, crispy and smeared thickly with Nutella between the slices. The blackberries and strawberries from the waffles reappeared on top (no doubt from south of the equator at this time of the year). We devoured this first and then moved on to the excellent and creamy pot de creme.

When our server came back to collect our plates, she actually asked if we wanted anything else. We laughed and declined; it was nearing 4:00 and we both had plans for the evening, so hitting the road was in order.

And after all the talking we'd done (this is one guy who can talk as much as I can), I was ready for a talk-free trip home.

And, of course, I ended up singing the whole way back. How can you not when you're driving down 301 listening to Band of Horses and The Stills?