What Lack of Love Does

Somehow I must have seemed like a good sipping partner.

Wine date #1: Cafe Caturra with a glass of Santa Julia Torrontes, a friend and her Baltimore beau and a roaring fire despite the open door and 50-degree temperature outside.

Suggested soundtrack: Animal Collective ("Walking around in our summertime clothes, nowhere to go while our bodies glow").

Wine date #2: The Belvidere at Broad with a glass of Prosecco, hordes of people headed to see "The Lion King" and a DJ telling me about his glorious walk in today's sunshine.

Suggested soundtrack: The XX ("Wanna find myself by the sea, in another's company").

Wine date #3: Ipanema with a glass of Analissa Primitivo, a friend in the cutest earrings and a discussion of being an independent woman when given no other choice.

Suggested soundtrack: The Helio Sequence ("Lately, I don't think of you at all, or wonder what you're up to or how you're getting on").

The evening concludes at Strange Matter for music and a light show.

The crowd is good-sized but not packed, probably because there are several other good shows going on tonight.

First up is Airstrip out of North Carolina and when I ask a musician friend what they sound like, he responds, "You know that North Carolina indie band sound? Yea, that's what they sound like."

Damn if he wasn't right on. The Chapel Hill foursome's music covered the 80s and the 90s despite issues with broken guitar strings and being out of tune.

During the break, Matt of Snowy Owls asked me to help him carry shots to the stage and the imbibing of those shots began their set.

They covered Superdrag (a nod to Matt's Knoxville roots) and fuzzed out hard while continuing to win the crowd away from their drinking and talking.

The Cinnamon Band played last and they had a bunch of drunken die hard fans in the room singing along to almost every song.

They covered Nick Lowe's "What Lack of Love Has Done" as well as doing both the A and B sides of their upcoming single.

"Easy does it doesn't cut it when you want someone."

Hey, they said it, not me.

After their set, I chatted with friends, one of whom inquired what I thought of the Cinnamon Band.

"Her answer has nudity in it," my girlfriend said to much laughter.

Because I first saw the Cinnamon Band unplugged, I still get a kick out of hearing them full-on electric and I said so.

I did not so much as mention naked anything.

There was some discussion of which instrument can win a person's heart; I heard a case for pedal steel guitar and I know someone else who would say sax.

I'd be inclined to go with the vox as the irresistible instrument for me.

Words. It always comes down to words.

Light a Fire and Open the Door

When I was young and foolish and living in my first apartment out of college, I was spoiled by having utilities covered in my rent. All that meant was that I was wasteful.

During the summer, I would have all the windows open and the air conditioning on; in winter I would crank the heat but crack the windows so I could smell brisk fresh air.

I was reminded of that tonight when a girlfriend in need of shoring up and I arrived at Cafe Caturra. The doors sat wide open and there was a crowd on the patio yet the double-sided fireplace was ablaze with burning logs. My kind of fuelishness.

We began the process of cheering her up in South Africa with the Graham Beck "Game Reserve" chenin blanc, a grape new to her. Taking two chairs by the fireplace (it may be in the 60s but I get cold at the drop of a hat), we settled in for a full analysis.

Because our life experience are at opposite ends of the spectrum, I tend to see events she considers dire as minor.

That's not minimizing her concerns, but she tends to put a negative spin where I'd just shrug my shoulders and go on about my business. The huge gap in our takes on love and life make for good dissection of an issue when one arises.

A server unexpectedly showed up with the last of the chenin blanc, explaining that there was no more in the house. She graciously offered to top off our glasses with the remainder, but said that we'd have to find another grape to finish out our evening. Can do, little lady.

Sustenance came in the form of a raspberry/walnut/chicken salad with dried cranberries, walnuts and Gorgonzola and a roast beef/provolone panini with tortilla soup. She took forever to finish eating because she had so much to get off her chest.

I, on the other hand, inhaled my half of the meal and offered my interpretation and suggestions (she never takes them). Only then did we get around to what's been going on in my life lately; it was great to be able to distract her with so much news of my own to tell.

Spain was looking pretty good by this point and the Morgadio "Legado del Conde" albarino was in plentiful supply, so we shifted continents. Although the regular menu is nothing to write home about, I applaud their minis, a selection of tiny desserts just big enough to satisfy a sweet tooth but not overindulge.

So I got the bittersweet chocolate espresso torte slathered in whipped cream and found it to be just enough. Her chocolate chip/macadamia nut/coconut cookie was good but much too big and, to my taste, too soft; I prefer my cookies to have some crispness to them. Or perhaps we were just preferring wine and man-talk to eating by that point.

I'd like to say that after hours fireside with the April breeze blowing by through the open door that we solved all her love life concerns, but we didn't. And while I feel great about what's going on in mine, I kept trying to steer the conversation away from that.

It was funny; she was taking the credit for my progress and that seemed to cheer her up more than anything I could say about her love life, so I let it ride.

Much the way I am watching my own life unfold. Surprises abound.

Hold My Conference Calls

Long before I realized what tonight was, a friend had suggested getting together this evening, which worked out really well for me when I got invited to a Superbowl party. Love to; sorry, busy.

Her original suggestion had been to go to Cafe Caturra and sit by the fire, but by the time I got to her house, she was craving a steak and rethinking that plan.

I was willing to go someplace else, but held fast to my only requirement: no TVs. She desperately called Buckhead's (private event), Fleming's (TVs at the bar), Azurro and Bacchus (closed) and Morton's before giving up. Cafe Caturra it was after all.

It turned out to be just what we could have hoped for. Our perky server immediately informed us of the Superbowl specials, probably the last thing we expected at a wine bar.

All wines by the glass were $5, all appetizers $4 and if we both bought a glass of wine (duh; what do you think we're here for?), we also got a free appetizer. Most importantly, as our server said, "I love coming to work here tonight cause there's no TVs!" Amen, sister.

I decided on the Morgadio "Legado del Conde" Albarino now that it no longer had its $9.75 a glass price tag. The wingback chairs in front of the fireplace were being vacated just as our wine was being poured, so we appropriated them.

It wasn't long before a staff member came over to rebuild the fire for us. Then the braised short ribs, caramelized onion and Gorgonzola cheese crostini arrived. Wine, check. Fire, check, Food, check. Super what?

The crostini were difficult to eat because the short ribs were piled so high that there was no ladylike way to bite them and shoving the whole thing in our mouths resulted in chipmunk cheeks. We managed for the sake of that trio of flavors, though.

We followed with the least Superbowl-like thing we could possibly order: salads. Mine was a mixture of chopped Romaine with dried cranberries, toasted walnuts, and Gorgonzola in a raspberry-walnut vinaigrette (which left the oddest color tinge on the greens, but tasted great).

Not knowing whom to expect, we were pleased that we weren't the only football refugees. There were a half dozen couples, several female duos, two guys deep in business talk and working on a computer the entire evening (at least they were imbibing) and a family with a toddler and baby.

The music was pure baby boomer, with a strong emphasis on 60s and 70s rhythm and blues: Al Green, Jackson Five, Bill Withers, Temptations, O'Jays. We had to laugh when the baby got to squalling because the music's volume was immediately raised in an attempt to drown him out.

Since we hadn't seen each other in a few weeks, we did the girl talk thing, me with my recent forays into meeting guys and she with her tales of her new relationship.

Even with some of my more amusing anecdotes and filling her in on some of the most interesting people I've met (she wants to call them PMs, for practice men), neither of us could compete with the story she'd recently heard from a friend in California about her love life adventures.

Let's just say I'd never heard of making love while you're on a conference call, even if the mute button was on. I'd even say I was a tad envious, except that I don't want to be on a conference call, with or without the extracurricular activity.

Our server seemed surprised at our staying power because we'd arrived before kickoff, but with the roaring fire and the deal on wine, it made no sense to go anywhere. Hell, after a while, the fire stoker knew us by name and we him; he seemed to enjoy the audience.

Periodically our server would come by and ask if we wanted more wine, her tone clearly anticipating that we'd decline, except that we always accepted. No doubt she was regretting ever telling us about the Superbowl specials.

As opposed to my friend and I, who didn't have a single regret between us about how we'd spent the big game night. Go, team.

Catching the Bouquet

I'm already on record for acknowledging that I'm not much of a girl. I don't like to shop. Don't care about clothes, shoes or purses. Don't wear jewelry. Hate talking on the phone and don't want, much less expect, guys to call me. Have a very unlady-like appetite.

Hell, I can't even remember to look for a ring on the hand of a guy hitting on me (an oversight I get chided about from female friends on a regular basis) .

But I had such a girly afternoon on this beautiful day and I really enjoyed it, so maybe there's hope for me after all.

My first stop was the Confederate Memorial Chapel next to the VMFA for its Victorian wedding display. As part of the Fine Arts and Flowers event at the museum (and to announce its availability for weddings), the chapel had been decked out as befitting a Civil War-era wedding.

I'd been to the chapel before, so even a heathen like me knew what a handsome scared space it was. With the afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass and clear glass windows, it was downright beautiful.

The charm of it today was the understated floral arrangements, as befitting the late 19th century mode. The custom of the day was to have one central floral arrangement at the front of the church, surrounded by a lot of greenery. And that's it for flowers,

Around the flower arrangement were ferns and, what else (because this is the south), magnolia leaves; sprays of greenery were arranged on the end of the pews and in the center of them with candles on top. Simple, but striking.

A typical bridal bouquet sat at the back of the chapel where the bride would pick it up as she entered. Small, more like a nosegay, and made with white roses, it was heavy in the hand (foreshadowing the weight of commitment, perhaps?).

The chapel guide asked me if I was looking for a place to get married (don't I need to be in a relationship first?) and I answered that I while I wasn't the marrying kind, if I were, then yes, I'm sure it would be a perfectly lovely place to do the deed. Hell, it would be a lovely place for a funeral, if you're into those (I'm not).

When I walked outside, a photography class had set up all around the chapel. But this was no digital bunch; the first camera I saw was Deardorff 8 x 10 format camera, large and striking for how handsome it was. I talked to its users who were desperately trying to figure it out.

A bit further on, my eye was caught by a couple of guys with a rosewood Wista camera, possibly the most beautiful camera I've ever laid eyes on (they told me it also comes in ebony). They invited me to use the dark cloth to drape myself and take a look.

"The image will be backwards and upside down," one warned, just as I was wondering how I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. They moved the camera around so I could see different shots, explaining all the while.

I have several good friends who are photographers and as a huge fan of photography, this impromptu camera class will be something I'll want to brag about to them sooner rather than later.

Okay, so that unexpected camera part wasn't especially girly, but my late lunch stop definitely was. I was meeting a girlfriend on the patio of Cafe Caturra, a place that serves girly food and attracts a girly clientele. Yes, it had been her idea.

The only time I'd been there had been during the winter for the roaring fire, so the patio was a whole new experience. The menu is still pretty much limited to paninis, wraps and salads, but a bottle of wine enjoyed outdoors on a sunny afternoon can make up for a lot of things.

And my tarragon tuna sandwich was good, if uninspired. And the enormous chocolate chip/macadamia nut/coconut cookie that followed was superb, so I really don't have any complaints.

Except for the view, which included table after table of women. There was one guy with a 185-pound bloodhound reading a book and sipping a beer by himself, but he was about the only testosterone within sight. Because I'd only visited in cold weather, I hadn't known how dog-friendly Cafe Caturra's patio was. Clearly it's a dog-owner's destination.

So we sat there for a few hours drinking wine and entertaining theories about why some people are paired up and others not. My friend was in the doldrums about her love life and wanted to girltalk about it, so we blathered away hypothesizing.

Anyone walking by and seeing us would have been fooled into thinking I was just as girly as the next girl.

As if.

The Hills are Alive with Wine and Film

I've been in an Austrian state of mind here lately, undoubtedly spurred by a book a friend recently sent me.

Knowing my love of old books as well as my desire to see Austria before I die, he found a wonderful glossy-paged book from the 50's, full of pictures and information about what a fascinating place it is (not that I needed convincing).

But I'm guessing that's why I've been drinking more of their top grape, Gruner Vetliner, at least when I do decide to go white during winter.

My local watering hole, The Belvidere, carries the Laurenz Singing Gruner Vetliner for $30 a bottle.

Cafe Caturra has the Huber Hugo Gruner Vetliner for a mere $22 (as well as by the glass).

I think it's the combination of fruitiness and spiciness that appeals to me...or maybe just a lust for all things Austrian.

So how could I resist three hours of Austrian panoramas on the big screen?

I couldn't, so I found a willing friend and we hit the Bowtie for the Movies and Mimosas showing of The Sound of Music.

I might have seen this in the theater during a revival years ago, but all I recalled were wide-screen landscapes that took my breath away, so I wanted to see it in all its big screen splendor again.

It was great and good god, what a fine hunk of manhood Christopher Plummer was in 1965.

Not everyone likes musicals, not everyone wants a history lesson in the Third Reich's takeover of Austria, but who wouldn't enjoy all that magnificent scenery?

And as beautiful as the panoramic views of rivers, mountains and ravines were, it's really the city views that interest me more.

Shots of Salzburg's streets, steeples and fountains proved to me that I need to see the architecture of Austria.

And considering that 75% of the Gruner Vetliner grown in Austria never leaves the country, it should be a cinch to find plenty of good sipping in between wandering the streets admiring the urban landscape.

Don't fret, though, I'll be sure to admire the natural beauty en route to the wineries.

I wouldn't want to miss any of the Austrian experience, excepting perhaps singing children.

Of Romance (not mine) and a Roaring Fire

How is it that I can be friends with someone for over ten years and yet never have gone to the movies with her?

We corrected that tonight by going to the Westhampton to see "The Young Victoria," touted as one of those historical costume dramas that women favor and men avoid, but really more of a heart-wrenching love story suited to romantic types of either sex.

My friend said her main squeeze wouldn't have wanted to see it and I certainly don't have such a person to even ask, so we got our buttered popcorn and Milk Duds and settled in for high romance.

From what I know of Queen Victoria, the film stuck pretty close to the truth, as it should have considering what a wonderful story her romantic life was in her youth.

As the longest-reigning British monarch, Victoria became queen at age 18 and shortly thereafter married the love of her life. Even after he died prematurely at 42, she insisted that his clothes continue to be laid out for him every day.

She also wore black for the rest of her life, but then, I once had a boyfriend who accused me of the same thing.

Hey, don't they say that black is slimming or flattering or some such thing?

Afterwards, we headed across the street to Cafe Caturra for the warmth of fireplace and wine.

After tasting several, we settled on a bottle of the Milbrandt Cabernet from Washington's Columbia Valley.

We were fortunate enough to snag two leather wingback chairs by the roaring fire and settled in to compare notes on Christmas, come-to-Jesus talks with a guy and how to occupy a day off (a subject on which I'm an expert at his point).

Naturally, there was plenty of discussion on the topic of romance or the lack thereof (sadly in this case, I was once again the resident expert).

The movie brought up an interesting point: is there truly such a thing as the love of one's life?

And if there is, does it become easier to overlook other differences in the relationship for the sake of being with a person with whom one feels that connection?

That's a rhetorical question, by the way.

Do I seem lucky enough to have the answer to that?

Prabir and the Goldrush at Six Burner

It was my Beer Geek Friend's birthday and he wanted to see a movie, so we planned to see the 7:30 showing of "An Education" at the Westhampton.

We preceded that with a stop at Cafe Caturra, where I arrived first to a mostly empty room. The bar server suggested I spend the time waiting for B.G.F. by sampling some wines at her bar (the Jefferson Petit Verdot and the Sawbuck Cab) before making a decision.

I accommodated, my friend arrived and we ended up drinking a Zinfandel. Go figure.

To nosh, we had two crostini orders, one braised short ribs and caramelized onions and the other goat cheese, roasted red pepper and sweet balsamic reduction.

The crispiness of the bread made them a bit difficult to bite, but once bitten, the bread was deliciously chewy.It's safe to say we both enjoyed the contrast between the two toppings and demolished all.

The movie was good, full of realistic 1961 details such as men taking off their hats upon entering a building and the debate over a university vs. a Mrs. degree.

The plot could be loosely summarized as a story of the inner struggle between enjoying life now or planning for the future, a sort of journal of a young girl trying to establish priorities in her inexperienced life.

It wasn't nearly as cliched as an Americanized version of the same story would have been, and we agreed it was worth seeing.

Later I decided to swing by Six Burner to see Prabir and the Goldrush's set around 11.

This combination rock/classical group of musicians always packs the room; it's the makeup of the crowd that changes show to show.

Tonight, I would guess, there were a lot of visitors and out-of-towners in attendance and an enthusiastic bunch they were.

I ran into Andrew and C.B., which gave us a chance to talk tacky lights, seasonal activities and music until the performance began.

The boys had both worked today, though, so they were beat.

Luckily not too beat to enjoy dessert, however, and for me, it was my first look at new chef Philip Denny's dessert menu.

I had the Red Velvet cupcake, Andrew had the persimmon bread pudding with caramel sauce and C.B. had the eggnog creme brulee with mini gingerbread man cookie.

We all took our desserts down to the dish, as in no rinsing required.

Prabir and the Goldrush put on a rocking show again, using the violin as a kind of stand-in for keyboards.

Prabir loves to rock out (that's always evident) along with belting out his sad-sack, smart-ass and self-deprecating lyrics.

Not to be overlooked is the fact that 6B later in the evening is a great (and free) atmosphere for hearing this kind of music at the perfect volume.

No doubt Goldrush will be back next month with more of Prabir's classical hooks and if you haven't heard them yet, they're interesting enough to make a point of checking out.

If nothing else, it's great fun to watch Prabir enjoying himself so much.