I would have been satisfied with just the film fest, but my companion wanted dessert, too.
We agreed to meet at Can-Can and the one block walk from my car there left my tissue paper-thin silk dress wet with sweat.
Such an attractive way to enter an establishment.
But once seated at the bar, that was forgotten in the pleasures of a Framboise fizz, made with mint tea, fresh raspberries, raspberry syrup, soda and a splash of lime.
As beautiful (and frothy) as it was delicious, the greatest pleasure was the bits of fresh raspberries that came up through the straw, bubble tea-like.
No wonder the barkeeps were making them endlessly.
Dessert was chocolate sticky toffee pudding cake, served with orange segments and the best part, brown sugar glaze.
The cake became something truly decadent after being dredged in that buttery glaze.
We left a bite or two, but only because we ran out of glaze. That and we intended to get buttered popcorn at the Byrd anyway.
Then it was on to the 48-Hour Film Project screening to see what local filmmakers had wrought in the 48 hours of last weekend's heat.
I saw a lot of local actors and directors in the films, including a handful I'd just seen in the gender-reversed Hamlet that Firehouse had done.
As with the past four years of this event, the acting, scriptwriting and technical savvy vary widely from film to film.
It seemed like there were more suburban locations used and fewer city landmarks than I recall from past years but Belle Isle, as always, put in an appearance.
Outtakes used over the credits continue to get a good laugh. It seemed that music was used to especially good effect this year.
No subject was so taboo as to be off limits: cancer, death and diarrhea all reared their comedic heads.
As a precaution, the audience was warned ahead of time about language, subject matter and possible nudity (butt cracks and a bra and underwear shot being the extent of that), "In case you brought children or are easily offended."
At the conclusion of the screening, we cast our ballots for the audience favorites while the judges will decide which film goes on to the National 48-Hour Film Project screening.
Personally, I would be quite satisfied with cancer, death or diarrhea representing Richmond.
But I'm no film critic.
Showing posts with label can-can. Show all posts
Showing posts with label can-can. Show all posts
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Nortonians Do Foxy
As historical topics go, some speak to me more than others.
Today's Banner Lecture at the Virginia Historical Society practically screamed my name.
Author and friend Todd Kliman, whom I'd met last year here, was talking about his book "The Wild Vine" and a favorite couple were meeting me to hear the story of the Norton grape, followed by lunch.
Having read Todd's book last year, I knew a lot of the material covered in today's talk, but I always enjoy hearing a writer read his own words aloud.
Like me and unlike many who consider it too "foxy," Todd is a Norton lover ("I love what I perceive in it") who referred to it as the "gumbo of grapes."
But he's also enough of a traditionalist to appreciate researching history he can hold rather than just Googling everything.
"Had I not read Dr. Norton's letters at the Valentine Richmond History Museum, it would not have been the same book." he admitted. RVA's obsession with the past has once again provided tangible links to what came before us.
Only a true history geek can savor the pleasures of putting on white gloves and holding the actual letters of a long-gone melancholic (big sigh and scent of gardenia).
Those in attendance were noticeably entranced with Todd's discussion of wine growing requirements in the Jamestown colony, Jefferson's acknowledged failure at viticulture and the English obsession with creating a wine-producing colony in the New World.
The smart ones in the audience will purchase the book and take the time to read the entire story of our native grape and the transsexual winery owner now devoted to the propagation and elevation of it in the 21st century.
Take it from me, it's a fascinating intertwining of stories and a stellar read, whether you like history, biography or just want to learn more about wine ( a "foxy" wine being comparable to a wet dog smell).
As one who lives six blocks from Norton Street and has seen Dr. Norton's gravestone at Shockoe Hill Cemetery, I would be the first to encourage locals to check out the limited legacy of the man who brought us the earthy and rustic Norton grape.
Just don't look for it on local wine lists. Todd told a story of going into Comfort when he was researching his book and asking why Norton wasn't on the list.
"They sneered," he said and yet the restaurant is within walking distance of Dr. Norton's former wine-growing farm. Norton's out there (Horton and Chrysalis, among others, make it) but hard to find.
So we knew it was hopeless to seek some out for lunch. Instead we went to Can Can, took a window table and ordered Domaine de Mirail Rose.
Norton was not forgotten, just put on the back burner. The lecture had run long and we were all starving.
I happily enjoyed grilled chicken over arugula with white asparagus, lots of radish, honey roasted peanuts and a rhubarb vinaigrette, while she savored a Salad Nicoise. He went with a manly cheeseburger and generously shared his frites with the womenfolk.
Since we'd all been Virginia winery hopping in the past week, we had to share notes about wines ( none of us had had a Norton on our outings last week, although I did have a chocolate Norton dessert sauce over cookies) and compare impressions of tasting rooms since they run the gamut from chalet-like to wedding-worthy to glorified porches.
The consensus was that it's more about what you're tasting and with whom you're tasting.
Why, yes, I am still working on that part (big sigh and scent of gardenia).
Know any Norton fans?
Today's Banner Lecture at the Virginia Historical Society practically screamed my name.
Author and friend Todd Kliman, whom I'd met last year here, was talking about his book "The Wild Vine" and a favorite couple were meeting me to hear the story of the Norton grape, followed by lunch.
Having read Todd's book last year, I knew a lot of the material covered in today's talk, but I always enjoy hearing a writer read his own words aloud.
Like me and unlike many who consider it too "foxy," Todd is a Norton lover ("I love what I perceive in it") who referred to it as the "gumbo of grapes."
But he's also enough of a traditionalist to appreciate researching history he can hold rather than just Googling everything.
"Had I not read Dr. Norton's letters at the Valentine Richmond History Museum, it would not have been the same book." he admitted. RVA's obsession with the past has once again provided tangible links to what came before us.
Only a true history geek can savor the pleasures of putting on white gloves and holding the actual letters of a long-gone melancholic (big sigh and scent of gardenia).
Those in attendance were noticeably entranced with Todd's discussion of wine growing requirements in the Jamestown colony, Jefferson's acknowledged failure at viticulture and the English obsession with creating a wine-producing colony in the New World.
The smart ones in the audience will purchase the book and take the time to read the entire story of our native grape and the transsexual winery owner now devoted to the propagation and elevation of it in the 21st century.
Take it from me, it's a fascinating intertwining of stories and a stellar read, whether you like history, biography or just want to learn more about wine ( a "foxy" wine being comparable to a wet dog smell).
As one who lives six blocks from Norton Street and has seen Dr. Norton's gravestone at Shockoe Hill Cemetery, I would be the first to encourage locals to check out the limited legacy of the man who brought us the earthy and rustic Norton grape.
Just don't look for it on local wine lists. Todd told a story of going into Comfort when he was researching his book and asking why Norton wasn't on the list.
"They sneered," he said and yet the restaurant is within walking distance of Dr. Norton's former wine-growing farm. Norton's out there (Horton and Chrysalis, among others, make it) but hard to find.
So we knew it was hopeless to seek some out for lunch. Instead we went to Can Can, took a window table and ordered Domaine de Mirail Rose.
Norton was not forgotten, just put on the back burner. The lecture had run long and we were all starving.
I happily enjoyed grilled chicken over arugula with white asparagus, lots of radish, honey roasted peanuts and a rhubarb vinaigrette, while she savored a Salad Nicoise. He went with a manly cheeseburger and generously shared his frites with the womenfolk.
Since we'd all been Virginia winery hopping in the past week, we had to share notes about wines ( none of us had had a Norton on our outings last week, although I did have a chocolate Norton dessert sauce over cookies) and compare impressions of tasting rooms since they run the gamut from chalet-like to wedding-worthy to glorified porches.
The consensus was that it's more about what you're tasting and with whom you're tasting.
Why, yes, I am still working on that part (big sigh and scent of gardenia).
Know any Norton fans?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
A Pink Statement of Pride
It's not often that a rose crawl becomes a hurricane party.
Today's Carytown Rose Crawl required that I pull out one of my two pink dresses so as to be attired appropriately. I settled on the hot pink mod little shift that looks like it's straight out of 1967.
We began at Amici, a new addition to the crawling process.
As a guy held the door open for me, I walked in and was surprised at the number of people in attendance, including Matt from Secco wearing a pink headband.
The crawl was already paying off in spades.
Amici's rose of choice was Negroamaro Salento and a glass was poured for me almost as soon as I walked in. Well balanced and fruity, it was a nice start.
Our rose crawling group quickly filled the bar area and as I glanced down the bar, every glass held pink. I was definitely where I needed to be.
I met a few new people (another food writer, a woman with a large pink purse) but chose to catch up with a friend I hadn't seen in a while instead of chatting up the masses.
Almost before we knew it, it was time to move on to Amour Wine Bistro; they get points for both the wine offerings (there were eight plus two flights) and the four different food pairings.
With a bit of assistance, I chose the La Bastide St. Dominique Rose and the eggplant caviar on a baguette.
The rose had some gorgeous fruit and a long finish and the eggplant bruschetta 's fresh flavors made for a satisfying snack as we began Round #2.
The crowd grew at Amour as people who couldn't get off work by 5:30 joined us for the second stop.
I (re-) met a farmer and said hello to a few people I knew. Our rose crawlers were steadily growing, much to my delight.
Walking down to Can-Can, some of us who had been on the Riesling crawl a few months back wondered if Can-Can would be better prepared than last time (they were supposedly unaware of the Riesling crawl so I skipped them).
Strike Two; the bar was crowded with their regular crowd (shudder) and they had only two bartenders on staff, so the rose group had nowhere to go and no one to serve them.
Along with several other people, we beat feet and opted out of their offering. It was a shame.
Heading to Secco, the sky was looking ominous and I briefly considered stopping to roll up my car windows.
Bad call not to have done so since we were barely ten minutes inside Secco when the monsoon arrived.
Knowing my open car was being drenched when there was nothing I could do about it in no way hampered my continuation of rose exploration.
The bar had only one seat available, but I quickly claimed it and adventurously ordered the "Dealer's Choice" flight. It's not like rose-loving Secco was going to steer me wrong.
Fifteen minutes in and the lightening seemed to be striking the very heart of Carytown as Chef Tim and I watched from the doorway.
Moments later, we lost all power.
But with back-up lighting at the front and back and some well-placed candles (including the loo), who really needed electricity?
Um, the kitchen so they could cook and the wait staff so they could use the register system, but we customers could drink just fine in the semi-darkness.
My flight arrived on a pink placemat with pink post-it hearts announcing my wines.
From left to right, I had Mazzolino Brut Rose (list notes: "It makes us giggle"), followed by Fenouiellet Rose (beautiful nose and a long finish) and finally the Tete a Claque Rose (refreshing and dry).
Barely into my first glass and enjoying the bubbles, a guy approached me, hoping for help so he could place an order.
He moved here from Poland ten years ago and was looking for a good red, so I recommended a personal favorite, the Chateau Muser "Jeune Rouge" from a very old wine-growing region in Lebanon.
He got two bottles and came back twice to chat me up. It may sound like I was pimping owner Julia's wine, but honestly, I was just recommending a favorite of mine to a stranger.
After a bit, the amount of oxygen left in the room became scarce, so the front and back doors were propped open to cool things off and improve air flow.
And that's when it began to feel like a hurricane party. We had no music, no food, and no light. You'd have thought people would leave for brighter pastures, but they didn't.
I chatted with a girl who loves her Church Hill neighborhood as much as I love Jackson Ward.
I met a guy who works at Edo's who admitted that it's impossible to hear any music there, much less his favorite band, Led Zeppelin.
I met a bartender who blogs about going out who offered to over-serve me if I came to his bar.
After a while, the chef and sous chef were so bored that they began polishing glasses. Finally the sous chef told me that they could still produce some food in the dark.
Cheese was out because they didn't want to open the refrigerator, but they had spicy almonds, marinated olives, and the tortilla Espanola, which I opted for.
He brought it out seconds later and I felt like all eyes were on me as I ate it, but that didn't stop me. Eggs and ramps were just what I needed at at that point.
My pink dress was mentioned several times by strangers, but only after owner Julia acknowledged her pink underwear did I allow that I was wearing the same. Hey, anything for a good rose crawl.
I ended on Punkt Genau for its bubbles and refreshing quality in a room where the temperature continued to climb.
The transplanted Pole returned to chat and, all at once, Dominion let there be light.
Although it had been just under three hours in the dark, the mood inside the bar had been convivial. The restored lights were immediately dimmed to power outage levels and the remaining devotees carried on.
But after a time, the thrill of being trapped by the rain and in the dark had spent itself, so people began cashing out.
Still, with a personal best of six roses under my belt, I felt no shame about calling it a night.
Even if a certain Facebook friend did immediately give me a hard time about being home at a reasonable hour.
I hope he took note so I don't have to do it again any time soon.
What's the point in being home this early anyway?
Today's Carytown Rose Crawl required that I pull out one of my two pink dresses so as to be attired appropriately. I settled on the hot pink mod little shift that looks like it's straight out of 1967.
We began at Amici, a new addition to the crawling process.
As a guy held the door open for me, I walked in and was surprised at the number of people in attendance, including Matt from Secco wearing a pink headband.
The crawl was already paying off in spades.
Amici's rose of choice was Negroamaro Salento and a glass was poured for me almost as soon as I walked in. Well balanced and fruity, it was a nice start.
Our rose crawling group quickly filled the bar area and as I glanced down the bar, every glass held pink. I was definitely where I needed to be.
I met a few new people (another food writer, a woman with a large pink purse) but chose to catch up with a friend I hadn't seen in a while instead of chatting up the masses.
Almost before we knew it, it was time to move on to Amour Wine Bistro; they get points for both the wine offerings (there were eight plus two flights) and the four different food pairings.
With a bit of assistance, I chose the La Bastide St. Dominique Rose and the eggplant caviar on a baguette.
The rose had some gorgeous fruit and a long finish and the eggplant bruschetta 's fresh flavors made for a satisfying snack as we began Round #2.
The crowd grew at Amour as people who couldn't get off work by 5:30 joined us for the second stop.
I (re-) met a farmer and said hello to a few people I knew. Our rose crawlers were steadily growing, much to my delight.
Walking down to Can-Can, some of us who had been on the Riesling crawl a few months back wondered if Can-Can would be better prepared than last time (they were supposedly unaware of the Riesling crawl so I skipped them).
Strike Two; the bar was crowded with their regular crowd (shudder) and they had only two bartenders on staff, so the rose group had nowhere to go and no one to serve them.
Along with several other people, we beat feet and opted out of their offering. It was a shame.
Heading to Secco, the sky was looking ominous and I briefly considered stopping to roll up my car windows.
Bad call not to have done so since we were barely ten minutes inside Secco when the monsoon arrived.
Knowing my open car was being drenched when there was nothing I could do about it in no way hampered my continuation of rose exploration.
The bar had only one seat available, but I quickly claimed it and adventurously ordered the "Dealer's Choice" flight. It's not like rose-loving Secco was going to steer me wrong.
Fifteen minutes in and the lightening seemed to be striking the very heart of Carytown as Chef Tim and I watched from the doorway.
Moments later, we lost all power.
But with back-up lighting at the front and back and some well-placed candles (including the loo), who really needed electricity?
Um, the kitchen so they could cook and the wait staff so they could use the register system, but we customers could drink just fine in the semi-darkness.
My flight arrived on a pink placemat with pink post-it hearts announcing my wines.
From left to right, I had Mazzolino Brut Rose (list notes: "It makes us giggle"), followed by Fenouiellet Rose (beautiful nose and a long finish) and finally the Tete a Claque Rose (refreshing and dry).
Barely into my first glass and enjoying the bubbles, a guy approached me, hoping for help so he could place an order.
He moved here from Poland ten years ago and was looking for a good red, so I recommended a personal favorite, the Chateau Muser "Jeune Rouge" from a very old wine-growing region in Lebanon.
He got two bottles and came back twice to chat me up. It may sound like I was pimping owner Julia's wine, but honestly, I was just recommending a favorite of mine to a stranger.
After a bit, the amount of oxygen left in the room became scarce, so the front and back doors were propped open to cool things off and improve air flow.
And that's when it began to feel like a hurricane party. We had no music, no food, and no light. You'd have thought people would leave for brighter pastures, but they didn't.
I chatted with a girl who loves her Church Hill neighborhood as much as I love Jackson Ward.
I met a guy who works at Edo's who admitted that it's impossible to hear any music there, much less his favorite band, Led Zeppelin.
I met a bartender who blogs about going out who offered to over-serve me if I came to his bar.
After a while, the chef and sous chef were so bored that they began polishing glasses. Finally the sous chef told me that they could still produce some food in the dark.
Cheese was out because they didn't want to open the refrigerator, but they had spicy almonds, marinated olives, and the tortilla Espanola, which I opted for.
He brought it out seconds later and I felt like all eyes were on me as I ate it, but that didn't stop me. Eggs and ramps were just what I needed at at that point.
My pink dress was mentioned several times by strangers, but only after owner Julia acknowledged her pink underwear did I allow that I was wearing the same. Hey, anything for a good rose crawl.
I ended on Punkt Genau for its bubbles and refreshing quality in a room where the temperature continued to climb.
The transplanted Pole returned to chat and, all at once, Dominion let there be light.
Although it had been just under three hours in the dark, the mood inside the bar had been convivial. The restored lights were immediately dimmed to power outage levels and the remaining devotees carried on.
But after a time, the thrill of being trapped by the rain and in the dark had spent itself, so people began cashing out.
Still, with a personal best of six roses under my belt, I felt no shame about calling it a night.
Even if a certain Facebook friend did immediately give me a hard time about being home at a reasonable hour.
I hope he took note so I don't have to do it again any time soon.
What's the point in being home this early anyway?
Saturday, December 11, 2010
She Shops!
It has been read into the record that I hate shopping (except for grocery). I only shop when I have something specific to buy and even then, I get in and out as quickly as humanly possible. I am a terrible conspicuous consumer.
That said, it's the season of gift giving, so I am forced to shop. Yes, I could do it online, but that wouldn't help the Richmond economy any, would it now? So I invited a favorite couple to join me for a stroll through Carytown to procure presents and end with some seasonal sipping.
And despite the hordes of people clogging the sidewalk in indecision about which way to walk, it turned into a pretty enjoyable afternoon. The leaden sky definitely gave a wintry vibe to it all (looks like snow, everyone was saying) and then there was the usual Carytown color.
We saw a bike strung with battery-powered lights, a purple poodle with red toenails, a three-piece accordion band (including sculptor and parade organizer Lily, who stopped mid-squeeze to throw her arms around me and say, "I love you, Karen!") and the decorated horse-drawn carriage clopping down Cary Street.
In River City Cellars was a dog in full Santa regalia sprawled in the center of the floor, his owners buying New Year's Eve dinner tickets for Secco (nearly sold out) while I bought a gift certificate for a beer geek friend.
At Bygones, the sales staff was fiddling with Internet radio in pursuit of Christmas music when suddenly the Smiths "There is a light that never goes out" burst forth. I was thrilled, as were a couple of those girls, although they acknowledged that should their boss walk in, they'd be in big trouble.
I offered to take the fall, promising to tell the owner I'd requested the Smiths while I shopped (I also found the red gloves of my dreams, but I wasn't shopping for me. Sigh).
At Chop Suey, we went upstairs to shop the Bizarre Market, finding several gifts there among all the handmade items crowded into that tiny space. When my friend went to pay with her debit card, she was amazed to see Bird swipe the card on her iPad ("Yea, it's crazy the apps you can get for these things!"). Interesting buying old-school artisan crafts using the latest 21st century technology.
After stops at Mongrel (a favorite DJ friend had somehow "lost" her 6'-plus boyfriend with the magnificent mutton chops) and Luxor (where I love to ogle dated labels: Julius Garfinckle & Co. Miller & Rhoads, Arden), I was over shopping.
My solution was to go to Can-Can for hot chocolate, easily the best in RVA, in my humble opinion. And since I don't drink coffee or hot tea, when I crave a warm drink, it's my only option.
I'd learned my lesson the last time though, and ordered the small rather than the large (which comes in a soup bowl-sized mug). Thick and tasting like a bowl of liquid chocolate, it made me forget that I was only there because I'd just spent hours (shudder) shopping. The fries didn't hurt, either.
By the time my sweet/salty snack was finished, it was starting to drizzle and time to head home, gifts procured and taste buds satisfied. If only I didn't have to do it again...the shopping part, I mean.
That said, it's the season of gift giving, so I am forced to shop. Yes, I could do it online, but that wouldn't help the Richmond economy any, would it now? So I invited a favorite couple to join me for a stroll through Carytown to procure presents and end with some seasonal sipping.
And despite the hordes of people clogging the sidewalk in indecision about which way to walk, it turned into a pretty enjoyable afternoon. The leaden sky definitely gave a wintry vibe to it all (looks like snow, everyone was saying) and then there was the usual Carytown color.
We saw a bike strung with battery-powered lights, a purple poodle with red toenails, a three-piece accordion band (including sculptor and parade organizer Lily, who stopped mid-squeeze to throw her arms around me and say, "I love you, Karen!") and the decorated horse-drawn carriage clopping down Cary Street.
In River City Cellars was a dog in full Santa regalia sprawled in the center of the floor, his owners buying New Year's Eve dinner tickets for Secco (nearly sold out) while I bought a gift certificate for a beer geek friend.
At Bygones, the sales staff was fiddling with Internet radio in pursuit of Christmas music when suddenly the Smiths "There is a light that never goes out" burst forth. I was thrilled, as were a couple of those girls, although they acknowledged that should their boss walk in, they'd be in big trouble.
I offered to take the fall, promising to tell the owner I'd requested the Smiths while I shopped (I also found the red gloves of my dreams, but I wasn't shopping for me. Sigh).
At Chop Suey, we went upstairs to shop the Bizarre Market, finding several gifts there among all the handmade items crowded into that tiny space. When my friend went to pay with her debit card, she was amazed to see Bird swipe the card on her iPad ("Yea, it's crazy the apps you can get for these things!"). Interesting buying old-school artisan crafts using the latest 21st century technology.
After stops at Mongrel (a favorite DJ friend had somehow "lost" her 6'-plus boyfriend with the magnificent mutton chops) and Luxor (where I love to ogle dated labels: Julius Garfinckle & Co. Miller & Rhoads, Arden), I was over shopping.
My solution was to go to Can-Can for hot chocolate, easily the best in RVA, in my humble opinion. And since I don't drink coffee or hot tea, when I crave a warm drink, it's my only option.
I'd learned my lesson the last time though, and ordered the small rather than the large (which comes in a soup bowl-sized mug). Thick and tasting like a bowl of liquid chocolate, it made me forget that I was only there because I'd just spent hours (shudder) shopping. The fries didn't hurt, either.
By the time my sweet/salty snack was finished, it was starting to drizzle and time to head home, gifts procured and taste buds satisfied. If only I didn't have to do it again...the shopping part, I mean.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Sword Fighting and Sea Bass
Let's just sum up my evening by calling it Agecroft afore Acacia. And, really, how better to follow up swordplay than with seafood? No need to answer that; it's a rhetorical question about the events of my evening.
"Sword Fighting: From Shakespeare to the Present" at Agecroft was an hour and a half of lecture and demonstration of men with weapons. Unlike now, back in Shakespeare's time men were trained in weaponry, making them an educated audience at his plays. In fact, having a weapon-savvy audience informed how he wrote.
Tonight's talk/demonstration spanned the period between medieval and modern times. Starting with the sword and buckler (an offensive or defensive shield-like device), medieval training manuals depicted the first known fencing student as a woman. Leave it to my people to set a trend for civilized fighting.
Next in weaponry was the long sword, which established distance as driving the dynamics of the duel. With this weapon, fighting was circular rather than static. And the stroke of wrath was exactly what it sounds like: deadly.
Tonight's demonstration continued through the rapier, which had a length limit which was measured at the entry points to the city of London (36" or the rest of it was whacked off before entry). Young toughs who walked the streets with their bucklers clanging against their swords were referred to as swashbucklers. Fun fact learned and stored.
The broadsword apparently transitioned weaponry from the medieval times to the modern. The small sword came next and that's what we saw on Civil War officers in this country.
The lecture and demonstration ended with a fencing round or several, refereed by an electronic device that measured hits. The cord attachments and flashing lights took a bit of the romance out of fencing, I have to say, but it is still fascinating to watch.
Leaving Windsor Farms, I went to Acacia for their mini-wine dinner, a tribute to southern France with Brandon Brown of Potomac Selections. I'd made my reservation at the bar and was ready to return to the drinking world after a short recovery period post-birthday extravaganza.
The meal began with olive-oil poached lobster escabeche style, grapefruit supreme, fennel and basil paired with 2008 Domaine La Bastide Roussane and the pairing was just beautiful. The generous lobster portion was an elegant first course.
Following that was the house-cured floral bacon (yummy beyond words), cress lettuces, pepino melon, American-style Roquefort, poppy seed dressing and it married beautifully to the amber-colored 2009 Chateau Les Valentines Rose de Provence. The bacon, always a welcome addition to any dish, was superb; we could have eaten a plate of that, the wine rep Brandon and I agreed.
I passed on the duck (it had been only three days since my last duck after all) and went for the bouillabaisse braised Mediterranean sea bass, sourdough bread and sea urchin touille with the 2006 Domaine Monpertuis Counoise. Brandon said I could impress all my wine geek friends by simply telling them I'd had multiple glasses of a 100% Counoise, apparently a rare occurrence in the wine world. Geek friends take note and assign points, please.
The crowd around me provided various entertainments including a proposal from a man just arrived from his mom's funeral ("Maybe we should be married") and, from a visitor from Connecticut/Chicago, a different kind of suggestion ("I'd like to kiss you."). What the...? Is the moon full or could it be the heat? The evening finished with a drink with a stranger at Can Can (who knew that at closing time bags of leftover bread were distributed to bar customers? Chocolate croissant, baguette and cinnamon raisin roll were in mine). Nothing like jumping back into the deep water.
The take-away from tonight's escapades? The higher the arm of the swordsman, the more noble the fighter. Also, the cachet of a blending grape as a stand-alone wine can not be understated.
And most unimportant of all, bacon makes everything better.
"Sword Fighting: From Shakespeare to the Present" at Agecroft was an hour and a half of lecture and demonstration of men with weapons. Unlike now, back in Shakespeare's time men were trained in weaponry, making them an educated audience at his plays. In fact, having a weapon-savvy audience informed how he wrote.
Tonight's talk/demonstration spanned the period between medieval and modern times. Starting with the sword and buckler (an offensive or defensive shield-like device), medieval training manuals depicted the first known fencing student as a woman. Leave it to my people to set a trend for civilized fighting.
Next in weaponry was the long sword, which established distance as driving the dynamics of the duel. With this weapon, fighting was circular rather than static. And the stroke of wrath was exactly what it sounds like: deadly.
Tonight's demonstration continued through the rapier, which had a length limit which was measured at the entry points to the city of London (36" or the rest of it was whacked off before entry). Young toughs who walked the streets with their bucklers clanging against their swords were referred to as swashbucklers. Fun fact learned and stored.
The broadsword apparently transitioned weaponry from the medieval times to the modern. The small sword came next and that's what we saw on Civil War officers in this country.
The lecture and demonstration ended with a fencing round or several, refereed by an electronic device that measured hits. The cord attachments and flashing lights took a bit of the romance out of fencing, I have to say, but it is still fascinating to watch.
Leaving Windsor Farms, I went to Acacia for their mini-wine dinner, a tribute to southern France with Brandon Brown of Potomac Selections. I'd made my reservation at the bar and was ready to return to the drinking world after a short recovery period post-birthday extravaganza.
The meal began with olive-oil poached lobster escabeche style, grapefruit supreme, fennel and basil paired with 2008 Domaine La Bastide Roussane and the pairing was just beautiful. The generous lobster portion was an elegant first course.
Following that was the house-cured floral bacon (yummy beyond words), cress lettuces, pepino melon, American-style Roquefort, poppy seed dressing and it married beautifully to the amber-colored 2009 Chateau Les Valentines Rose de Provence. The bacon, always a welcome addition to any dish, was superb; we could have eaten a plate of that, the wine rep Brandon and I agreed.
I passed on the duck (it had been only three days since my last duck after all) and went for the bouillabaisse braised Mediterranean sea bass, sourdough bread and sea urchin touille with the 2006 Domaine Monpertuis Counoise. Brandon said I could impress all my wine geek friends by simply telling them I'd had multiple glasses of a 100% Counoise, apparently a rare occurrence in the wine world. Geek friends take note and assign points, please.
The crowd around me provided various entertainments including a proposal from a man just arrived from his mom's funeral ("Maybe we should be married") and, from a visitor from Connecticut/Chicago, a different kind of suggestion ("I'd like to kiss you."). What the...? Is the moon full or could it be the heat? The evening finished with a drink with a stranger at Can Can (who knew that at closing time bags of leftover bread were distributed to bar customers? Chocolate croissant, baguette and cinnamon raisin roll were in mine). Nothing like jumping back into the deep water.
The take-away from tonight's escapades? The higher the arm of the swordsman, the more noble the fighter. Also, the cachet of a blending grape as a stand-alone wine can not be understated.
And most unimportant of all, bacon makes everything better.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Gorging at Avalon
Earlier in the week, a dear friend had slipped me the new menu at Avalon which was set to debut this weekend.
Scanning it, I found loads of small plates full of creative-sounding combinations and extremely reasonable prices.
So when a friend and I made plans to attend Project Resolution tonight, I suggested we start there.
Her response was encouraging; she told me she thought Knox was one of the best chefs in the city, which landed us at Avalon's door at 5:02 (it was locked).
Luckily, the inimitable Jason heard us at the door and we headed in to see how this new menu was going to impress us.
Naturally the first thing Jason told us was not to ask too many questions about the menu because he wasn't familiar with it yet; if you know this popular and longtime Avalon bartender, that comment should not surprise you in the least.
We had a tough time narrowing down our choices because we wanted to taste as much as possible.
After much deliberation, we ordered grilled asparagus with Romesco sauce and Manchego; Fava bean, fingerling potato and leek succotash with white corn butter; Merguez sausage on Granny Smith apples and 6-month Manchego; Tempura-fried Serrano ham- wrapped figs with basil and Hooks 1-year bleu cheese; steamed mussels with crispy fingerling potatoes, cipollini onions and marjoram sherry butter; and escolar wrapped in marinated corn husk with white corn and tequila lime reduction.
Everything was $8 or less except the $10 fish.
There wasn't a disappointment in the bunch and if forced to pick a couple of favorites, I might go for the succotash and the sausage, but I could make a case for each of the other dishes as well.
Next time I will definitely try the wild boar chop.
Six small plates turned out to be way too much food for two mere females (where is Cy when you need him?) but our pleasure in taking in so many tastes overrode any good sense in ordering.
Project Resolution was leaner than usual with only three films shown tonight and two were essentially music videos (one a photo essay set to music) with the most disparate of bands for soundtracks: Muse and Tone Loc.
It's not often that those two show up in the same sentence, much less the same evening.
Because of the brevity of the film screenings, there was more time in between for discussion of each film although I'm not sure how pleasurable that was for the directors involved.
More time to over analyze your films, oh boy!
Since P-Res ended unexpectedly early, we could think of nothing better to do than go to Can-Can for dessert.
Why Can Can, you wonder?
Who else has an entire section of their dessert menu devoted to Chocolate?
No one.
Friend got the chocolate creme brulee with mint chocolate chip ice cream, and chocolate vanilla sauce, a chocolate honeycomb and chocolate brownie round.
I opted for the chocolate ice cream in chocolate cake with chocolate sauce and a chocolate biscotti.
Again, our eyes were bigger than our bellies and we both left chocolate on the plate, a real shame, but unavoidable.
The highlight for sure was the mint chocolate chip ice cream, which could not have tasted any more of fresh mint.
Don't quote me on this because I'll deny it, but I was actually chocolated out by the time I gave up and pushed my plate away.
Tonight's big topic was online dating, a route we're both shunned but which may need to be considered unless one of us is willing to have a sex change operation (neither is).
According to today's Washington Post, more than twice as many couples who married last year met through online dating services than at a bar or social event.
One out of every five new relationships owes its origins to the Internet.
Aww, do we really have to?
Needless to say, neither of us actually committed to giving it a try but we did talk about thinking about considering it maybe down the road.
We figure we'll make a good enough impression on the screen but once they discover how much we can eat, it may be a different story.
Until then we're just a couple of bottomless pits enjoying each other's sparkling companionship.
But if you know any interesting guys, by all means, send them our way.
Don't worry, we have no intention of mentioning that sex change business.
Scanning it, I found loads of small plates full of creative-sounding combinations and extremely reasonable prices.
So when a friend and I made plans to attend Project Resolution tonight, I suggested we start there.
Her response was encouraging; she told me she thought Knox was one of the best chefs in the city, which landed us at Avalon's door at 5:02 (it was locked).
Luckily, the inimitable Jason heard us at the door and we headed in to see how this new menu was going to impress us.
Naturally the first thing Jason told us was not to ask too many questions about the menu because he wasn't familiar with it yet; if you know this popular and longtime Avalon bartender, that comment should not surprise you in the least.
We had a tough time narrowing down our choices because we wanted to taste as much as possible.
After much deliberation, we ordered grilled asparagus with Romesco sauce and Manchego; Fava bean, fingerling potato and leek succotash with white corn butter; Merguez sausage on Granny Smith apples and 6-month Manchego; Tempura-fried Serrano ham- wrapped figs with basil and Hooks 1-year bleu cheese; steamed mussels with crispy fingerling potatoes, cipollini onions and marjoram sherry butter; and escolar wrapped in marinated corn husk with white corn and tequila lime reduction.
Everything was $8 or less except the $10 fish.
There wasn't a disappointment in the bunch and if forced to pick a couple of favorites, I might go for the succotash and the sausage, but I could make a case for each of the other dishes as well.
Next time I will definitely try the wild boar chop.
Six small plates turned out to be way too much food for two mere females (where is Cy when you need him?) but our pleasure in taking in so many tastes overrode any good sense in ordering.
Project Resolution was leaner than usual with only three films shown tonight and two were essentially music videos (one a photo essay set to music) with the most disparate of bands for soundtracks: Muse and Tone Loc.
It's not often that those two show up in the same sentence, much less the same evening.
Because of the brevity of the film screenings, there was more time in between for discussion of each film although I'm not sure how pleasurable that was for the directors involved.
More time to over analyze your films, oh boy!
Since P-Res ended unexpectedly early, we could think of nothing better to do than go to Can-Can for dessert.
Why Can Can, you wonder?
Who else has an entire section of their dessert menu devoted to Chocolate?
No one.
Friend got the chocolate creme brulee with mint chocolate chip ice cream, and chocolate vanilla sauce, a chocolate honeycomb and chocolate brownie round.
I opted for the chocolate ice cream in chocolate cake with chocolate sauce and a chocolate biscotti.
Again, our eyes were bigger than our bellies and we both left chocolate on the plate, a real shame, but unavoidable.
The highlight for sure was the mint chocolate chip ice cream, which could not have tasted any more of fresh mint.
Don't quote me on this because I'll deny it, but I was actually chocolated out by the time I gave up and pushed my plate away.
Tonight's big topic was online dating, a route we're both shunned but which may need to be considered unless one of us is willing to have a sex change operation (neither is).
According to today's Washington Post, more than twice as many couples who married last year met through online dating services than at a bar or social event.
One out of every five new relationships owes its origins to the Internet.
Aww, do we really have to?
Needless to say, neither of us actually committed to giving it a try but we did talk about thinking about considering it maybe down the road.
We figure we'll make a good enough impression on the screen but once they discover how much we can eat, it may be a different story.
Until then we're just a couple of bottomless pits enjoying each other's sparkling companionship.
But if you know any interesting guys, by all means, send them our way.
Don't worry, we have no intention of mentioning that sex change business.
Friday, March 19, 2010
One Fine Day: Dishing, Fishing and Hotel X
I sold out again, only this time for a different reason (does that make it any better?).
A good friend wanted to meet for drinks at Can Can, but I'd just had lunch there yesterday.
Before I could even protest, though, she enticed me by saying she wanted me to meet a friend of hers whom she described as a "foodie" and who also happens to be a dining critic.
Okay, maybe I can repeat a location just this one last time.
It was a beautiful Friday, all the doors and windows were open and people just kept arriving.
Meanwhile we ordered carafes of Corbieres and a cheese plate (a triple creme, a mild bleu and a goat) and started telling each other what we knew.
It worked out well because we knew a lot of the same restaurant people and each of us had different details about them.
She told me a delicious story about a place she had intended to review but the experience was so off-putting that she told her editor, "You don't want me to do this review."
We discussed which restaurants consistently do things right and which have a habit of inconsistency.
The importance of quality front-of-the house management drew anecdotes from us both.
Only other commitments prevented us from doing this kind of talking all night.
Naturally, wine god Bob Talcott came over to say hello (and told me how great my magenta tights were; he mentioned something about blushing if he said more) and discuss the weather.
"This is going to turn out to be the finest day of the year," he proclaimed. It certainly ought to be in the running we agreed.
Afterwards, I went to Plant Zero to be part of the 17th Annual James River Film Fest and experience "Georges Melies Meets Hotel X."
It was a lot like the Silent Music Revival events, with a band accompanying a silent film.
I've seen some of Melies' films before (he made over 500) and he's known as the father of special effects.
Originally a magician, he was one of the first to use time-lapse, dissolves and multiple exposures, thereby translating his magic tricks onto the screen.
We saw three shorts tonight and one longer feature, The Impossible Voyage.
Besides its length, it stood out for the hand tinting, which must have been a laborious process back at the turn of the 20th century...cell by cell by cell.
Hotel X did a superior job at intently watching the film and reacting to it musically. I've seen a lot of these silent film/live music shows and this were easily one of the very best I've seen.
It helped that the band had multiple percussionists given all the clamorous goings-on in the films. Later, when asked why the band had chosen these in particular, they said it was because three were short and only one was long; I don't doubt that live musical improv to a film would be challenging.
After the screening, James River Film Fest t-shirts were distributed to the band as a thank-you for their superlative performance.
One of the drummers and a personal favorite of mine, Lance Koehler (also of No BS Brass Band) draped his over his snare drum and played it that way for the two songs the band did after the films.
Eventually Hotel X's groove became too much for some members of the audience, who began to dance in the areas around the movie screen, totally into it.
Driving back into the city across the Mayo Bridge, I think I got confirmation about Bob's assessment of the weather today.
There were a couple of guys, one leaning over the bridge and one comfortably seated in a folding chair, fishing off the bridge.
They had their bait buckets, they had their coolers, they had their back-up rods and at 10:30 on a March evening, they were still out there enjoying this weather.
The wine god may have been right about this fine day, but these gentlemen seemed to be putting in their vote for it as a fine night, too.
I'm willing to bet that the sliver of a moon in the clear sky wasn't hurting the mood any either.
A good friend wanted to meet for drinks at Can Can, but I'd just had lunch there yesterday.
Before I could even protest, though, she enticed me by saying she wanted me to meet a friend of hers whom she described as a "foodie" and who also happens to be a dining critic.
Okay, maybe I can repeat a location just this one last time.
It was a beautiful Friday, all the doors and windows were open and people just kept arriving.
Meanwhile we ordered carafes of Corbieres and a cheese plate (a triple creme, a mild bleu and a goat) and started telling each other what we knew.
It worked out well because we knew a lot of the same restaurant people and each of us had different details about them.
She told me a delicious story about a place she had intended to review but the experience was so off-putting that she told her editor, "You don't want me to do this review."
We discussed which restaurants consistently do things right and which have a habit of inconsistency.
The importance of quality front-of-the house management drew anecdotes from us both.
Only other commitments prevented us from doing this kind of talking all night.
Naturally, wine god Bob Talcott came over to say hello (and told me how great my magenta tights were; he mentioned something about blushing if he said more) and discuss the weather.
"This is going to turn out to be the finest day of the year," he proclaimed. It certainly ought to be in the running we agreed.
Afterwards, I went to Plant Zero to be part of the 17th Annual James River Film Fest and experience "Georges Melies Meets Hotel X."
It was a lot like the Silent Music Revival events, with a band accompanying a silent film.
I've seen some of Melies' films before (he made over 500) and he's known as the father of special effects.
Originally a magician, he was one of the first to use time-lapse, dissolves and multiple exposures, thereby translating his magic tricks onto the screen.
We saw three shorts tonight and one longer feature, The Impossible Voyage.
Besides its length, it stood out for the hand tinting, which must have been a laborious process back at the turn of the 20th century...cell by cell by cell.
Hotel X did a superior job at intently watching the film and reacting to it musically. I've seen a lot of these silent film/live music shows and this were easily one of the very best I've seen.
It helped that the band had multiple percussionists given all the clamorous goings-on in the films. Later, when asked why the band had chosen these in particular, they said it was because three were short and only one was long; I don't doubt that live musical improv to a film would be challenging.
After the screening, James River Film Fest t-shirts were distributed to the band as a thank-you for their superlative performance.
One of the drummers and a personal favorite of mine, Lance Koehler (also of No BS Brass Band) draped his over his snare drum and played it that way for the two songs the band did after the films.
Eventually Hotel X's groove became too much for some members of the audience, who began to dance in the areas around the movie screen, totally into it.
Driving back into the city across the Mayo Bridge, I think I got confirmation about Bob's assessment of the weather today.
There were a couple of guys, one leaning over the bridge and one comfortably seated in a folding chair, fishing off the bridge.
They had their bait buckets, they had their coolers, they had their back-up rods and at 10:30 on a March evening, they were still out there enjoying this weather.
The wine god may have been right about this fine day, but these gentlemen seemed to be putting in their vote for it as a fine night, too.
I'm willing to bet that the sliver of a moon in the clear sky wasn't hurting the mood any either.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Improvising Our Way to Can Can
There's two ways to look at an unexpected change in plans.
A favorite friend and I thought we were going to a lecture, except that one of us had the date wrong (totally my fault, but totally understandable if you saw all the stuff I keep track of on my calendar).
Since we already had planned to eat together afterwords, we just changed our plans to replace the lecture with a walk and then eat lunch at Bonvenu, as we'd talked about.
Except that Bonvenue only does lunch on Saturdays and Sundays; instead we admired the lunch menu and hope to make it back some weekend to try it.
No problem, my friend said, let's go to Can Can and have moules and frites.
Given the beautiful day, the fact that she was off and out for a change and that we now had a bonus hour in which to goof off, it sounded like the most wonderful lunch we could have hoped for.
Plans? What plans?
Noonish at CanCan apparently means a crowd out the door to get in, so we made a beeline to our favorite table, known as the bar.
The front windows were wide open and the sunny air was pouring in.
Since we'd already determined what we'd be eating, the only decision remaining was the broth (white wine and garlic, natch) and the beverage.
She looked at me and asked, "Should we have a glass of wine?" and before I could answer she qualified it with, "But I can only have one!"
You know, as opposed to the four or five glasses we usually have at lunch.
Kidding.
We usually go dry at lunch, she and I; it's dinner where we're less circumspect (see: Sunday at Ipanema).
So it was that I enjoyed a glass of rose (complimentary because they didn't have a full pour left and it was the last bottle) and she the chenin blanc with our mussels and fries.
I was a little disappointed that at the end of my bowl, five of my mussels were still closed and thus inedible, but I made up for it by eating every last perfectly-cooked fry.
I'm not ashamed to say I even emptied the last little salty bits of the paper cone into my hand to make sure I didn't miss any.
The pace of our walk after lunch was decidedly slower than beforehand, but why rush on a day like this?
True, we hadn't improved our minds any without the lecture, but the drawn-out pleasures of a leisurely girls' lunch out (and with Style's State of the Plate issue to dish over) can't be overstated.
Or as my friend said midway through our sunny lunch, "It feels like I'm on vacation!"
A favorite friend and I thought we were going to a lecture, except that one of us had the date wrong (totally my fault, but totally understandable if you saw all the stuff I keep track of on my calendar).
Since we already had planned to eat together afterwords, we just changed our plans to replace the lecture with a walk and then eat lunch at Bonvenu, as we'd talked about.
Except that Bonvenue only does lunch on Saturdays and Sundays; instead we admired the lunch menu and hope to make it back some weekend to try it.
No problem, my friend said, let's go to Can Can and have moules and frites.
Given the beautiful day, the fact that she was off and out for a change and that we now had a bonus hour in which to goof off, it sounded like the most wonderful lunch we could have hoped for.
Plans? What plans?
Noonish at CanCan apparently means a crowd out the door to get in, so we made a beeline to our favorite table, known as the bar.
The front windows were wide open and the sunny air was pouring in.
Since we'd already determined what we'd be eating, the only decision remaining was the broth (white wine and garlic, natch) and the beverage.
She looked at me and asked, "Should we have a glass of wine?" and before I could answer she qualified it with, "But I can only have one!"
You know, as opposed to the four or five glasses we usually have at lunch.
Kidding.
We usually go dry at lunch, she and I; it's dinner where we're less circumspect (see: Sunday at Ipanema).
So it was that I enjoyed a glass of rose (complimentary because they didn't have a full pour left and it was the last bottle) and she the chenin blanc with our mussels and fries.
I was a little disappointed that at the end of my bowl, five of my mussels were still closed and thus inedible, but I made up for it by eating every last perfectly-cooked fry.
I'm not ashamed to say I even emptied the last little salty bits of the paper cone into my hand to make sure I didn't miss any.
The pace of our walk after lunch was decidedly slower than beforehand, but why rush on a day like this?
True, we hadn't improved our minds any without the lecture, but the drawn-out pleasures of a leisurely girls' lunch out (and with Style's State of the Plate issue to dish over) can't be overstated.
Or as my friend said midway through our sunny lunch, "It feels like I'm on vacation!"
Thursday, February 18, 2010
From Frittes to Ringing Ears
My ears are ringing because of the New Rock Church of Fire. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
They were just fine when I met a friend for drinks and frittes at Can Can late this afternoon. At our last few meet-ups, he had been abstaining but apparently a couple of prolonged periods of being snowed-in with his two young'uns had sent him back to drink. As we sat on our stools directly in front of the breads and pastries, we were both amazed at the continuous stream of customers coming in to buy baguettes, loaves and such; my friend was so inspired that he purchased one to take home himself.
We both love people-watching at Can Can for the sheer variety of humankind that frequents the place. I had competition in the terrific tights category today, with several servers displaying unusual patterns worth admiring. As we prepared to leave, I offered our stools to a familiar face from the Virginia Museum who looked about to burst. Seems he'd made an important acquisition for the museum today and was about to have a drink to celebrate; there's nothing quite like the excitement of a true art geek. We were leaving our seats to worthy bottoms.
Then I was off to my Modern Romance class for part 3: Broken Hearts, 1960-80. That period was all about when things don't work out, which in this case means bad buildings. Much of the architecture of this period is eminently forgettable, the Whitney Museum in NYC being a perfect example. Luckily, there was the occasional reprieve like the Sydney Opera House to keep architectural hope alive; even during the period of broken hearts, it's essential to know that something better will come along. Next week is the last class and I, for one, am hoping for happy ending.
My last stop was The Camel to meet my music buddy Andrew and see three bands. Except that the bill had been extended to four bands because of an unexpected band traveling through town. I'd wanted to see Benvolio, once part of We Know, Plato! and a guy with a beautiful voice and mad piano skills. It was different hearing him without the backing of a band, but no less enjoyable. He closed with a haunting version of "Hallelujah."
He was followed by the New Rock Church of Fire, a DC band who had been a last-minute addition to the bill. I should have been warned when they began their set by saying "Earplugs are available up front." My complaint with them wasn't how loud they were but how poorly mic'd they were; the vocals were all but lost under the instruments. It's a shame when all you can hear is noise, not music. Fortunately, there was a guy in a plaid shirt dancing in a way that defies description to every note of the noise and he provided excellent entertainment value to the audience behind him, compensating somewhat for what was being done to our ears.
From that outpost of suburbia, Fairfax, we heard Kid Architecture and in comparison, their set was beautifully mic'd. Incubus-like vocals with Editors-like guitars and Coldplay-like keyboards, their volume was eminently more listenable. They even brought free CDs with which to woo the crowd; Andrew was particularly taken with the CD's title, PhilosoRaptor.
I've seen headliners At the Stars on numerous occasions and recommend them to fans of Brit-pop. They usually include a cover in every set and tonight's was a superb version of The Railway Children's "Every Beat of the Heart," a terrific song, even if it is a couple of decades old. I did have to wonder how many in the audience even knew it was a cover, though.
Not that it mattered, really. It was the perfect song to end the evening with and my bleeding ears enjoyed every single word.
They were just fine when I met a friend for drinks and frittes at Can Can late this afternoon. At our last few meet-ups, he had been abstaining but apparently a couple of prolonged periods of being snowed-in with his two young'uns had sent him back to drink. As we sat on our stools directly in front of the breads and pastries, we were both amazed at the continuous stream of customers coming in to buy baguettes, loaves and such; my friend was so inspired that he purchased one to take home himself.
We both love people-watching at Can Can for the sheer variety of humankind that frequents the place. I had competition in the terrific tights category today, with several servers displaying unusual patterns worth admiring. As we prepared to leave, I offered our stools to a familiar face from the Virginia Museum who looked about to burst. Seems he'd made an important acquisition for the museum today and was about to have a drink to celebrate; there's nothing quite like the excitement of a true art geek. We were leaving our seats to worthy bottoms.
Then I was off to my Modern Romance class for part 3: Broken Hearts, 1960-80. That period was all about when things don't work out, which in this case means bad buildings. Much of the architecture of this period is eminently forgettable, the Whitney Museum in NYC being a perfect example. Luckily, there was the occasional reprieve like the Sydney Opera House to keep architectural hope alive; even during the period of broken hearts, it's essential to know that something better will come along. Next week is the last class and I, for one, am hoping for happy ending.
My last stop was The Camel to meet my music buddy Andrew and see three bands. Except that the bill had been extended to four bands because of an unexpected band traveling through town. I'd wanted to see Benvolio, once part of We Know, Plato! and a guy with a beautiful voice and mad piano skills. It was different hearing him without the backing of a band, but no less enjoyable. He closed with a haunting version of "Hallelujah."
He was followed by the New Rock Church of Fire, a DC band who had been a last-minute addition to the bill. I should have been warned when they began their set by saying "Earplugs are available up front." My complaint with them wasn't how loud they were but how poorly mic'd they were; the vocals were all but lost under the instruments. It's a shame when all you can hear is noise, not music. Fortunately, there was a guy in a plaid shirt dancing in a way that defies description to every note of the noise and he provided excellent entertainment value to the audience behind him, compensating somewhat for what was being done to our ears.
From that outpost of suburbia, Fairfax, we heard Kid Architecture and in comparison, their set was beautifully mic'd. Incubus-like vocals with Editors-like guitars and Coldplay-like keyboards, their volume was eminently more listenable. They even brought free CDs with which to woo the crowd; Andrew was particularly taken with the CD's title, PhilosoRaptor.
I've seen headliners At the Stars on numerous occasions and recommend them to fans of Brit-pop. They usually include a cover in every set and tonight's was a superb version of The Railway Children's "Every Beat of the Heart," a terrific song, even if it is a couple of decades old. I did have to wonder how many in the audience even knew it was a cover, though.
Not that it mattered, really. It was the perfect song to end the evening with and my bleeding ears enjoyed every single word.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Can Can Conundrum
I have to eat breakfast when I wake up (okay, after I walk the dog, but immediately after I walk the dog).
I'm just made that way; after a night's sleep, my body is screaming for food.
I need first-thing-in-the-morning eats like most people need coffee to be functional.
So when a friend wants to meet for brunch, I am always eating lunch rather than breakfast. In today's case, that meant a 9:45 breakfast and an 11:30 brunch.
Said brunch took place at Can Can, which was mobbed, but we found two bar stools free mid-bar and sandwiched ourselves shoulder to shoulder with other eager eaters.
The girl to my right got her food just as I was trying to decide what to order and the smell was too wonderful for words.
She'd gotten the Ham and Gruyere Crepes with hollandaise sauce with little crisps of bacon sprinkled liberally over the plate and highly recommended them.
I had been considering the cheeseburger or Monte Cristo, but eventually played copy-cat and got those crepes.
Given the portion size, she'd been unable to finish hers, a problem I didn't have, despite being barely two hours from my last meal.
They were that good.
Meanwhile my friend had his usual Eggs Benedict since he is particularly fond of Can Can's version.
I was already finished and dreaming of dessert by this time, so I ordered up a cup of their superb hot chocolate and made short work of it.
I should have been ready to explode, but instead I just used the opportunity to allow my friend to finish up while I talked to the nearby.
I was obligated to thank the girl next door for turning me on to the crepes (she also suggested that next time I try the blueberry pancakes) considering how much I'd enjoyed them.
The guy on the other side of my friend and I our shared a fatalistic take on life.
Nothing we do is going to change our eventual outcome; when it's your time to go, you're going to go.
End of story.
He complimented my burgundy rose-patterned lace tights, saying he was sure he's seen me in them somewhere before.
I've been somewhere, so that's entirely possible.
Who would have guessed that Target tights could be so memorable?
But then, who would have guessed that so many people could wait till noon for their first meal of the day?
Not me on both counts.
I'm just made that way; after a night's sleep, my body is screaming for food.
I need first-thing-in-the-morning eats like most people need coffee to be functional.
So when a friend wants to meet for brunch, I am always eating lunch rather than breakfast. In today's case, that meant a 9:45 breakfast and an 11:30 brunch.
Said brunch took place at Can Can, which was mobbed, but we found two bar stools free mid-bar and sandwiched ourselves shoulder to shoulder with other eager eaters.
The girl to my right got her food just as I was trying to decide what to order and the smell was too wonderful for words.
She'd gotten the Ham and Gruyere Crepes with hollandaise sauce with little crisps of bacon sprinkled liberally over the plate and highly recommended them.
I had been considering the cheeseburger or Monte Cristo, but eventually played copy-cat and got those crepes.
Given the portion size, she'd been unable to finish hers, a problem I didn't have, despite being barely two hours from my last meal.
They were that good.
Meanwhile my friend had his usual Eggs Benedict since he is particularly fond of Can Can's version.
I was already finished and dreaming of dessert by this time, so I ordered up a cup of their superb hot chocolate and made short work of it.
I should have been ready to explode, but instead I just used the opportunity to allow my friend to finish up while I talked to the nearby.
I was obligated to thank the girl next door for turning me on to the crepes (she also suggested that next time I try the blueberry pancakes) considering how much I'd enjoyed them.
The guy on the other side of my friend and I our shared a fatalistic take on life.
Nothing we do is going to change our eventual outcome; when it's your time to go, you're going to go.
End of story.
He complimented my burgundy rose-patterned lace tights, saying he was sure he's seen me in them somewhere before.
I've been somewhere, so that's entirely possible.
Who would have guessed that Target tights could be so memorable?
But then, who would have guessed that so many people could wait till noon for their first meal of the day?
Not me on both counts.
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?
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Cozy Can-Can Conversation
I'm not exactly sure when all this rain began. I know it wasn't raining when I left for Gallery 5 around 10:15 last night but the first thing I noticed upon leaving the show around 1:15 was the sound of pelting rain/ice balls hitting the sidewalk and porches as I walked home, so I'm guessing somewhere in the midnight range. Today's continuing wetness might have kept some people in, but I wasn't one of them.
I had plans to meet an old Floyd Avenue neighbor at Can-Can this afternoon, where today's downpour hadn't stopped flocks of people from heading to Carytown. The restaurant was doing a bustling business when I arrived mid-afternoon, making for a cozy atmosphere to escape the rain and enjoy some conversation and a beverage.
I couldn't resist ordering a hot chocolate, not because I'd had it there before, but because a French brasserie ought to make a good one. The bartender's first question (small or large?) was a good indication of things to come. Why get a small amount of chocolate when you can get a large? The plus-sized coffee cup arrived looking like a dessert from the chocolate gods.
Made from chocolate ganache (dark chocolate and heavy cream) and covered in whipped cream, this cup of heaven may as well have been a dessert. Thick and creamy, decadently rich and chocolaty, it was the best rainy day drink I could have imagined, much less ordered. And with such a large serving, I was able to savor it for a good long while. By the time I got near the end of the cup, the chocolate concentration was so heavy as to be syrup-like. Oh my.
My former neighbor is about as big an rva booster as I am, and I thoroughly enjoyed our chat about all the great stuff that goes on in this town. We compared notes about shows we'd both seen at the National as well as some of our dorkier, but no less interesting, outings. And, of course, he updated me on my former 'hood, where he still lives.
I don't think I've had a cup of hot chocolate in a decade and I now realize what an oversight on my part that was. As we head into the colder months, I may have to introduce a friend or two to my latest liquid find. Should they find it a bit rich for their taste, I could probably finish it off for them without any problem.
I had plans to meet an old Floyd Avenue neighbor at Can-Can this afternoon, where today's downpour hadn't stopped flocks of people from heading to Carytown. The restaurant was doing a bustling business when I arrived mid-afternoon, making for a cozy atmosphere to escape the rain and enjoy some conversation and a beverage.
I couldn't resist ordering a hot chocolate, not because I'd had it there before, but because a French brasserie ought to make a good one. The bartender's first question (small or large?) was a good indication of things to come. Why get a small amount of chocolate when you can get a large? The plus-sized coffee cup arrived looking like a dessert from the chocolate gods.
Made from chocolate ganache (dark chocolate and heavy cream) and covered in whipped cream, this cup of heaven may as well have been a dessert. Thick and creamy, decadently rich and chocolaty, it was the best rainy day drink I could have imagined, much less ordered. And with such a large serving, I was able to savor it for a good long while. By the time I got near the end of the cup, the chocolate concentration was so heavy as to be syrup-like. Oh my.
My former neighbor is about as big an rva booster as I am, and I thoroughly enjoyed our chat about all the great stuff that goes on in this town. We compared notes about shows we'd both seen at the National as well as some of our dorkier, but no less interesting, outings. And, of course, he updated me on my former 'hood, where he still lives.
I don't think I've had a cup of hot chocolate in a decade and I now realize what an oversight on my part that was. As we head into the colder months, I may have to introduce a friend or two to my latest liquid find. Should they find it a bit rich for their taste, I could probably finish it off for them without any problem.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Mid-Afternoon English Lesson (of sorts)
You have to hit Can-Can at exactly the right time: too early and there's no one to talk about and too late and the din is unbearable. My favorite English teacher and I arrived at just the right time to snag a nearby window table (no sense being on complete display) and full enough to find plenty of people to discuss.
He'd been on the wagon for a bit, so he was bound to get loopy on a couple of Paulaners. I chose the Vin de Pays du Gard Syrah, but they were down to their last half glass, so I augmented it with the Chateau Vaugelas Courbieres, so as to have another shot at the [Carignan] grape of the week. Frites were also in order.
On the table were various hot topics including blogs, employers, bartending, photography, models and music. He's an observer, much like me, so we had great fun comparing notes on body parts, good and bad. He snapped some photographs because that's what he does. Before we knew it, time was up, real life responsibilities set in and we had to move on.
But not before wine god Bob Talcott had his say with us. He said farewell to English Teacher and then commented on my hot pink rain jacket and pink tights, "You'd be hard to miss at night in that." I reminded him that I hope to be hard to miss any night, to which he agreed, "I don't doubt for a minute that's true." Considering that Bob and I are running into each other at least twice a week lately, it shouldn't be long before he he knows for sure.
He'd been on the wagon for a bit, so he was bound to get loopy on a couple of Paulaners. I chose the Vin de Pays du Gard Syrah, but they were down to their last half glass, so I augmented it with the Chateau Vaugelas Courbieres, so as to have another shot at the [Carignan] grape of the week. Frites were also in order.
On the table were various hot topics including blogs, employers, bartending, photography, models and music. He's an observer, much like me, so we had great fun comparing notes on body parts, good and bad. He snapped some photographs because that's what he does. Before we knew it, time was up, real life responsibilities set in and we had to move on.
But not before wine god Bob Talcott had his say with us. He said farewell to English Teacher and then commented on my hot pink rain jacket and pink tights, "You'd be hard to miss at night in that." I reminded him that I hope to be hard to miss any night, to which he agreed, "I don't doubt for a minute that's true." Considering that Bob and I are running into each other at least twice a week lately, it shouldn't be long before he he knows for sure.
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