It was a combination Burns night and Wilson tribute set to a picnic.
While no haggis was involved, Holmes did invite me to dinner and a listening party on the night usually devoted to a traditional Burns supper. Having had haggis once, in Scotland, I was only too happy to swap out sheep innards for Buzz and Ned's barbecue and whatever records he was going to spin.
The whole reason for staying in rather than going out is Beloved's broken elbow, which has gone from the cumbersome plaster cast sticking straight out from her body she was wearing a month ago to a thick bandage covered by a contraption with a large hinge that at least allows her to look less like a statue, even if she still can't go to work.
When I got to Holmes' house, she immediately apologized for being in her pajamas and I countered by pointing out that I was still in my walking clothes, Either way, it was a picnic, a decidedly casual occasion, even if if we did wash it all down with Graham Beck Brut Rose in Holmes' mother's cut crystal glasses.
Once Holmes finished steaming shrimp and making cocktail sauce just the way Beloved and I like it (with enough horseradish to clear our sinus cavities), we sat down with our shrimp cocktails. Spread all over the dining room table was our feast: barbecued chicken, pork barbecue, Hawaiian rolls, cole slaw, baked beans and marinated cucumber and onion salad.
The only thing missing was corn on the cob, which Holmes had considered and decided against. A good call if you ask me. I'd just as soon do without and wait for summer rather than make do with winter corn.
The barbecued chicken had been my suggestion, making Holmes and Beloved's surprised enthusiasm for it especially gratifying. Big, irregular hunks of dark and white meat in a nicely-seasoned sauce resulted in nearly all of the chicken being eaten while barely a fourth of the pork met its demise.
It's a rare meal where yard bird trumps pig without it being fried. Of course, now that Facebook has told me that people who eat fried chicken once a day die 13% sooner than those who don't, I have to ask. Who eats fried chicken every single day?
After we'd stuffed ourselves silly, we retreated to the basement, where Holmes announced that tonight's theme was "compilations," beginning with "Attack of the Killer Bs Volume I." That's B for B-sides, so more obscure songs.
Picking and choosing, he started with Marshall Crenshaw's "You're My Favorite Waste of Time," again recounting the story to Beloved of me driving (as he tells it, going 40 mph in a 55 mph zone) him and I to Ashland Coffee and Tea to see Marshall Crenshaw.
Some friends just never forgive you for opening up about your personal life while they're stuck in the passenger seat.
But the record held other gems from bands like the Pretenders, the Ramones and Roxy Music. It was 1983 new wave, pop rock and punk of the highest order. And, really, shouldn't everyone listen to an occasional piece by Laurie Anderson ("Lou Reed's wife!" Holmes informed Beloved, as if that explained anything) just to appreciate that we have such performers in our world?
We had a secondary theme for the evening because since our last music night, vocalist Nancy Wilson had died. RIP.
All three of us are devoted fans of her 1963 "Hollywood My Way" record - the one where she's standing in front of a yellow taxi wearing a yellow jersey evening dress that hugs every part of her body and necessitated explaining what a sheath was to Holmes- which gets played just about every time we get together, including tonight. "Days of Wine and Roses," just exquisite.
The last time we'd seen each other had been at Holmes' birthday dinner where they'd met Mr. Wright for the first time. When Beloved mentioned that she'd found him very attractive, Holmes piped up, saying, "I'd date him!" although it sounded a lot like "I'd do him!" which he denies saying.
Either way, they regretted cousin Billie monopolizing him so that no one else got a chance to get to get a word in edgewise or find out why he's my favorite waste of time.
Regrets, they had a few.
But not me. An evening with friends devoted to 'cue and old records after a week spent attempting re-entry into the real world was about as ambitious as I could muster.
I mean, where else in this town am I going to hear someone say, "Just listen to that Hammond B-3!" in such a reverential tone?
And at a Burns night picnic, too.
Showing posts with label buzz and ned's barbecue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label buzz and ned's barbecue. Show all posts
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Meat Comas and Clarinets
If you're going to party after the Folk Fest, may I suggest it's with a klezmer band.
I took yet another Folk Fest virgin to the festival tonight, although we saw nowhere near as much music as I had last night with my first newcomer.
It may have been because tonight's companion was not a musician.
It may have been the larger crowds making movement more difficult or it may have been that after having seen six bands last night my choices were more limited.
But we still managed to hear music.
The highlight tonight was the Malian group Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni Ba, who got a late start because setting up their sound system took forever.
Apparently their unique instruments were quite a challenge to mic, but once they got started, the crowd was right behind them, clapping and dancing.
But I could tell my friend was losing interest, so we made Mali our last stop.
After I dropped the newbie off, I headed over to Buzz and Ned's BBQ to join a Klezmer band after-party.
After their Folk Fest set, Winograd's Nue Tanznoyz Kapele and dancer Steven Weintraub were being feted by Buzz with ribs, brisket and appropriate liquor and in return, they were playing for the party.
Arriving, I discovered a bar comprised of Slivovitz (made from "ripe and sound Damson plums") and Becherovka, a digestif made with herbal bitters.
Because who would want to use unsound plums for liquor?
While I was told of the significance of them and even tasted these spirits of the Jews, I was happiest to find Cazadores right next to them.
I happen to know that the bass player (and Buzz himself) are tequila fans, so I felt no guilt in forsaking the traditional for the agave.
When the band arrived at Buzz and Ned's, the first thing they did was perform a song while the amazed customers put down their ribs and stared.
Steven, the dancer in the group, pranced about with a scarf enticing women to join him.
Once that was out of the way, we all sat down at the big picnic tables to eat...and eat.
Plates of succulent ribs were followed by a brisket as big as my thigh (and far more tender) and potato salad, macaroni and cheese, onion rings, hush puppies and I don't even remember what else.
At one point, the bass player looked at me and said, "Jewish people never eat this well."
Or so much pork, I'm sure.
Buzz himself carved the brisket from a picnic table and we didn't even bother with plates or utensils.
People grabbed the chunks and slices they wanted as they were sliced.
Sliced onion was available for the Texans
Once the band was sated, and it took a while, they grabbed their instruments and again began playing.
By the second song, there were two accordion players and one clarinetist standing on picnic table benches playing while their brethren played from the floor.
Multi-level Klezmer.
Then they went inside the restaurant to play for the staff who was busy cleaning up once the last customer left.
"That never happens," one of the servers later told me.
Steven got more women to dance and eventually a circle dance formed.
All but three bites of the brisket got eaten.
Less than two inches of Slivovitz remained out of the two bottles that started the party.
One of the musicians told me that "A clarinet is a voice and it tells the story of the Jewish people."
I didn't exactly dance on a picnic table, I merely sat on one.
And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I took yet another Folk Fest virgin to the festival tonight, although we saw nowhere near as much music as I had last night with my first newcomer.
It may have been because tonight's companion was not a musician.
It may have been the larger crowds making movement more difficult or it may have been that after having seen six bands last night my choices were more limited.
But we still managed to hear music.
The highlight tonight was the Malian group Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni Ba, who got a late start because setting up their sound system took forever.
Apparently their unique instruments were quite a challenge to mic, but once they got started, the crowd was right behind them, clapping and dancing.
But I could tell my friend was losing interest, so we made Mali our last stop.
After I dropped the newbie off, I headed over to Buzz and Ned's BBQ to join a Klezmer band after-party.
After their Folk Fest set, Winograd's Nue Tanznoyz Kapele and dancer Steven Weintraub were being feted by Buzz with ribs, brisket and appropriate liquor and in return, they were playing for the party.
Arriving, I discovered a bar comprised of Slivovitz (made from "ripe and sound Damson plums") and Becherovka, a digestif made with herbal bitters.
Because who would want to use unsound plums for liquor?
While I was told of the significance of them and even tasted these spirits of the Jews, I was happiest to find Cazadores right next to them.
I happen to know that the bass player (and Buzz himself) are tequila fans, so I felt no guilt in forsaking the traditional for the agave.
When the band arrived at Buzz and Ned's, the first thing they did was perform a song while the amazed customers put down their ribs and stared.
Steven, the dancer in the group, pranced about with a scarf enticing women to join him.
Once that was out of the way, we all sat down at the big picnic tables to eat...and eat.
Plates of succulent ribs were followed by a brisket as big as my thigh (and far more tender) and potato salad, macaroni and cheese, onion rings, hush puppies and I don't even remember what else.
At one point, the bass player looked at me and said, "Jewish people never eat this well."
Or so much pork, I'm sure.
Buzz himself carved the brisket from a picnic table and we didn't even bother with plates or utensils.
People grabbed the chunks and slices they wanted as they were sliced.
Sliced onion was available for the Texans
Once the band was sated, and it took a while, they grabbed their instruments and again began playing.
By the second song, there were two accordion players and one clarinetist standing on picnic table benches playing while their brethren played from the floor.
Multi-level Klezmer.
Then they went inside the restaurant to play for the staff who was busy cleaning up once the last customer left.
"That never happens," one of the servers later told me.
Steven got more women to dance and eventually a circle dance formed.
All but three bites of the brisket got eaten.
Less than two inches of Slivovitz remained out of the two bottles that started the party.
One of the musicians told me that "A clarinet is a voice and it tells the story of the Jewish people."
I didn't exactly dance on a picnic table, I merely sat on one.
And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Restaurants Not the Usual Suspects
Sunday's Washington Post Travel section had not one, but two articles about eating in RVA.
While I'm always happy to see word of our fair city in the larger press, I'm beginning to wonder about the sources for their destinations.
The first, "In Richmond, fine dining is in the details" was written by Post food critic Tom Sietsema, a man whose writing I read often and always enjoy, and chronicled his eating journey through our little town. Go ahead, I bet you can guess at least three, if not four, of the places where he chowed down.
Duh. Millie's, Can Can, Acacia and Mezzanine (because of its relative newness and Style's Restaurant of the Year award apparently) made the cut.
His only other stop was Buzz and Ned's Real Barbecue where he was underwhelmed. He also found Millie's lacking, despite having had a good lunch there several years ago. The others he enjoyed.
The second article, "For food shops, it's a capital city" was mainly about Belmont Butchery, but also gave a nod to 821, Comfort, Sally Belle's, Kuba Kuba, Yellow Umbrella Seafood and the brand new Spoonfed (formerly Stonewall Market).
The writer raved about Belmont Butchery with good reason, although Tanya Cauthen is quoted as saying that when she needs additonal counter help, she calls on local chefs from Balliceaux and Pomegranate. I question how a place as new as Balliceaux got lumped in with the defunct Pomegranate.
My question is this: can a piece about eating in RVA be written without mention of Can Can, Acacia, Millie's, Comfort, or Kuba Kuba? And, let's be real here, even 821 and Sally Belle's are semi-regulars when the topic is our restaurant scene. I'm not saying these aren't good places to eat, but who doesn't know that by now?
Clearly even the out-of-towners are aware of these places, so why can't we see an article about eating through Richmond mention some of the less obvious eateries we have to offer?
Yellow Umbrella was an unexpected surprise to see given a nod, as was the barely opened Spoonfed, but it was an article about markets after all. But a truly good story about what's worth checking out during a visit to RVA should inform the reader about the places not mentioned over and over in the travel press.
Or, at the very least, whomever is supplying the suggestions to these out-of-town writers should give them the scoop on the places the locals know are our best -kept secrets.
If anyone should need a good source in the future, I'm happy to provide a list of less obvious places worth a bite or sip, as, I'm sure, would any regular diner in Richmond.
Or are we trying to keep these places to ourselves?
While I'm always happy to see word of our fair city in the larger press, I'm beginning to wonder about the sources for their destinations.
The first, "In Richmond, fine dining is in the details" was written by Post food critic Tom Sietsema, a man whose writing I read often and always enjoy, and chronicled his eating journey through our little town. Go ahead, I bet you can guess at least three, if not four, of the places where he chowed down.
Duh. Millie's, Can Can, Acacia and Mezzanine (because of its relative newness and Style's Restaurant of the Year award apparently) made the cut.
His only other stop was Buzz and Ned's Real Barbecue where he was underwhelmed. He also found Millie's lacking, despite having had a good lunch there several years ago. The others he enjoyed.
The second article, "For food shops, it's a capital city" was mainly about Belmont Butchery, but also gave a nod to 821, Comfort, Sally Belle's, Kuba Kuba, Yellow Umbrella Seafood and the brand new Spoonfed (formerly Stonewall Market).
The writer raved about Belmont Butchery with good reason, although Tanya Cauthen is quoted as saying that when she needs additonal counter help, she calls on local chefs from Balliceaux and Pomegranate. I question how a place as new as Balliceaux got lumped in with the defunct Pomegranate.
My question is this: can a piece about eating in RVA be written without mention of Can Can, Acacia, Millie's, Comfort, or Kuba Kuba? And, let's be real here, even 821 and Sally Belle's are semi-regulars when the topic is our restaurant scene. I'm not saying these aren't good places to eat, but who doesn't know that by now?
Clearly even the out-of-towners are aware of these places, so why can't we see an article about eating through Richmond mention some of the less obvious eateries we have to offer?
Yellow Umbrella was an unexpected surprise to see given a nod, as was the barely opened Spoonfed, but it was an article about markets after all. But a truly good story about what's worth checking out during a visit to RVA should inform the reader about the places not mentioned over and over in the travel press.
Or, at the very least, whomever is supplying the suggestions to these out-of-town writers should give them the scoop on the places the locals know are our best -kept secrets.
If anyone should need a good source in the future, I'm happy to provide a list of less obvious places worth a bite or sip, as, I'm sure, would any regular diner in Richmond.
Or are we trying to keep these places to ourselves?
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