Got Me Some Tail

Southern met fantasy tonight, not once, but twice.

The unexpected began at the Roosevelt, where I ran into a friend and heard of her passage to India, got the latest local restaurant scuttlebutt from a cheap food lover and heard of the challenges of composing music for Tic-Tacs.

One of my favorite moments came when I was told that a friend, when asked the source of her recent hangover, had responded, "Karen."

Since I'm not the boss of her, I'm sure I don't know what she's talking about.

We ordered a bottle of Gabriele Rausse Vin de Gris (the one the winemaker calls a "happy mistake") at a mostly empty bar.

Bartender T got as far as telling us the first special - pigs' tails in a bourbon barrel teriyaki sauce - before we ordered it.

The Roosevelt's chef is the one who first introduced me to crispy fried pig's head many moons ago, so if he was offering up tail tonight, I wanted in.

The sauce was finger-licking' good on the outer thick crispy part of the tails while the inner fatty bits were just obscene.

Wisely, there were pickled veggies to balance the palate and no doubt help digest all that fat.

When all was said and done, we left a pile of little round bones on a sticky plate.

And went to the bathroom to wash our hands.

As the room began to fill up, we got our next dish, octopus fried rice.

Clearly the usually southern kitchen was having Asian fantasies tonight.

The fried rice had the freshest-tasting tiny sliced carrots and corn in it while the octopus was perfectly cooked.

And a great, big fried egg sat atop the whole thing, its bright yellow yolk imparting an unbelievable richness to the already-decadent flavors.

But two dishes in and we were already getting stuffed.

No fools, we followed such rich food with a lighter course to clear our arteries while we still had feeling in our left arms.

Roasted beet and watermelon salad with Caramont goat cheese and lemon oil was a refreshing break but it was the avocado mousse on it that took it over the top.

The creaminess of the avocado enhanced both beets and melon in an unexpectedly complementary way.

Over a discussion of noun and verb usage (no, really), we finished our wine while sharing a slice of Coca Cola cake, not because we needed it but because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Three layer cake after pigs' tails, why it's simply how it's done in the south.

That, or the wine was doing the ordering.

Best overheard conversation:

#1: I keep forgetting I'm in this country and want to say bonjour when I talk to people.

#2: Man, don't worry about it. Say whatever you want. This is America!

Honestly, I couldn't make this stuff up.

After losing my dinner companion to the daily grind, I made the cultural shift from Church Hill to the near west end and the Westhampton Theater.

I was there to see "Beasts of the Southern Wild," the Sundance grand jury prize winner and the one all the critics have been raving about.

It wasn't hard to see why.

The beautifully shot story of bayou folks who live on the wrong side of the levee used two first-time actors in the lead roles of father and daughter.

Watching non-actors carry a completely believable story about a Katrina-like storm that all but wipes out their tiny community was mesmerizing.

Mostly a hardscrabble story, at times it had a certain poignant humor.

When the father tells the little girl about her long-missing mother, he says, "She was so pretty, she never had to turn the stove on. She'd just walk in the kitchen and the water would start boiling."

Now that's pretty.

The movie's story of natural devastation and the resulting loss was wrapped around a fantasy element of nature being out of whack (Katrina being proof of that).

As a result, ice caps melt, ancient beasts are released from ice blocks and begin to roman the world, threatening even the bayou.

I'd be the first to admit I'm not much on fantasy, whether in books or movies. I'm more the non-fiction type.

But actually, there was so much honesty about the devotion of the small group of delta dwellers refusing to abandon their homes even after a mandatory evacuation, that I could swallow a few stampeding beasts as part of the plot.

And I'm glad I did. The moving story was unlike anything I've ever seen before.

Sometimes you need a little fiction to remind you of the basic tenets of life and death.

The whole universe depends on everything fitting together just right. If one piece busts, even the smallest piece, the whole universe will get busted.

I guess Sundance proves that the talented ones can make this stuff up...beautifully.

Just Don't Call Me Erin

My reservation for one was awaiting me when I arrived for Acacia's Wines of the Northwest dinner tonight. The bar, like the restaurant, was crowded, but my single place setting sat waiting for me amongst the crowd, welcoming this single diner.

I greeted Arthur the bartender, who revealed his inner smart ass by saying, "Hey, long time no see." In fact, we'd been at the same party Sunday night so we weren't even 72 hours since our last conversation. He was a blur making cocktails and apologized for the lack of wine dinner menus, saying they were scarce at the moment. I told him to take his time because I was in no hurry.

By the time he brought me the menu, I was already admiring the first course of the couple next to me. And really, all I had to decide from the menu was fish or veal and I told him that I already knew where that was going. He laughed and agreed.

The starter course was Caramont goat cheese panna cotta with olive oil poached skate wing and a fine diced veggie and herb salad. The wine pairing was Terra Blanca 2008 Sauvignon Blanc, tasting somewhere between a New Zealand and a Loire Valley style SB. Good acidity and minerality and practically perfect with the dish.

I've had Caramont goat cheese before (thanks to River City Cellars/Secco), so I knew how good it was, but this panna cotta version was like silk in my mouth. Then too, I've always had skate pan-fried, so this oil-poached version was a welcome change-up. It was every bit as smooth in my mouth as the panna cotta; we were definitely off to a decadent start.

It was about this time that I made the acquaintance of the couple sitting next to me. We got off to an inauspicious start when I received my second course before they did. Their reservation was a half hour earlier than mine and they were already into their first course when I'd arrived, so clearly something was amiss. I felt terribly guilty when my Lamb Two Ways showed up and they were still looking at empty placemats.

I offered up my plate, but the server assured us that their food was moments away, so they declined my offer. It was then that we introduced ourselves to each other. I did have the decency to wait for their food to show up before digging in, no easy feat considering what was on my plate.

Lamb tartare with grilled eggplant slices shared the plate with fried sweetbreads with eggplant puree. As much as I love a goof tartare, and I do, I tore into those sweetbreads like I hadn't just eaten a plate of skate.

Paired with the 2007 Claar Cellars Cabernet/Merlot, I had a few eye-closing moments over these two. The Cab/Merlot had delicate tannins and perfect balance (not a big in-your-face Cab). Two grapes, two kinds of lamb, too heavenly.

It was the third course that gave us the choice: smoked paprika-dusted tautog with Chardonnay or roasted veal with Pinot Noir. Come on, I like fish as much as the next person, but this was a foregone conclusion.

With it came sauteed gnocchi, house made duck sausage, fig and pine nut puree, Swiss chard and a red wine sauce. All this was complemented by a 2007 Seven of Hearts Pinot Noir, because how could there be a Northwest Wine dinner that didn't include a Pinot Noir? Impossible.

I knew one of the wine reps, having recently heard that she'd moved from a bartending position to selling small production Northwest wines, so I introduced her to my new couple friends. They too are restaurant goers, so we all got into a discussion of favorite Charlottesville restaurants and the ease of making that drive for the sake of a good meal.

They in turn introduced me to the couple next to them, Acacia regulars from Ashland. They misheard my name as Erin, which I quickly corrected (definitely not a name I want to be called) and then made the connection that I had a blog. It was a bit surprising being identified by a stranger, but also flattering to meet a reader so randomly.

Generally speaking, barsitters tend to be restaurant regulars, so there's often talk of who likes to eat where and why. And certainly one of the benefits of solo dining is making the acquaintance of interesting couples.

I never know when I might meet a twosome looking for a third wheel...conversationally speaking, of course.