Let the record show that I have a couple of new notches on my belt.
I like to think I cut a fine figure cutting part of a field on a riding mower, my skirt flapping in the breeze.
Second, I attended my first hunt club show, watching as two Englishmen graded young hounds on their potential as fox-hunting dogs.
I even spent part of a sunny morning on a ladder picking heirloom apples from a tree.
So while I'm not a country girl, I played one for a couple of days, right down to eating pork chops from a farm where I'd met the parents of the pig who gave his life for the best chops I ever ate.
Needless to say, no one was fooled into thinking I was anything but what I was, an invited guest.
Once back in the city, I found an e-mail from a friend suggesting some play time, so I broke bad and picked up the phone.
Mark the date; it's not something I do very often.
Not 45 minutes later, we were meeting up at Magpie along with hordes of other people who'd apparently had the same idea.
Their popularity worked out well, though, because I soon felt a tap on my shoulder and there was a favorite chef on a rare night off.
With him was a recently-promoted craft beer rep and before long, a favorite restaurateur arrived.
Refusing to acknowledge the fact that Fall arrived yesterday, I ordered Villa Wolf Pinot Gris to go with the '80s music I count on at Magpie.
We ended up being a group of three, so we could get lots of food and share.
Since I'd never seen a burger on their menu before, that was our first priority and it got a thumbs up for its juicy, well-seasoned meat.
Next came one of tonight's specials, rabbit loin with braised kale in a garlic sauce with grilled peppadew peppers and fennel pollen, a winning combo if a bit drier than it should have been.
More wine was in order and our latecomer friend took the reins and acknowledged the weather change simultaneously, ordering a bottle of Domaine Gaget Beaujolais for our next dishes.
The barbecue baby back ribs I'd had here before but this time they came with peanut brittle, one of my personal favorites when it comes to old-fashioned candy.
Because Chef Owen is the sausage master, we also ordered his sausage of the day, this one of pork and Chorizo, making for a deeply-flavored sausage.
When we weren't sucking bones or crunching brittle, we talked about American markets versus European markets, server expectations and restaurant weeks.
But of course once we got into the wine, what everyone really wanted to talk about was my dating life, such as it is.
We came up with what we thought was a brilliant idea, a version of speed dating that was slow rather than fast and focused on wine tasting while getting to know other wine-loving singles one on one.
Goodness knows, there's got to be a better way than some of my attempts.
A friend had written me earlier today,"You’ve had a few close calls and I don’t mean on the mean streets of Jackson Ward. Dating is a dangerous game, full of disappointing revelations. Yelp? Heavens!" about my recent lunch date fail.
I still think it's possible to find the yin to my yang.
It's like that book my friend Holmes has, "Man with Farm Seeks Woman with Tractor," but much simpler.
Woman with words seeks man with same.
And she rides a tractor in a skirt.
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Saturday, September 21, 2013
One and Done
There are advantages to a lunch date, especially when it's a first date.
I'd met a guy at UR's art opening the other night and we'd ended up talking for a bit about the Leon Bibel show we were seeing.
Anytime someone wants to talk the WPA with me, my interest is piqued.
So when he asked for my contact info, I gave him my e-mail and it didn't take long for him to suggest a low-stress date: lunch.
The problem arose when he suggested a chain restaurant.
No can do, I replied, explaining not only why I don't but why no one should, at least no one with the abundance of independent restaurants we have in RVA.
But when I suggested Garnett's instead, he readily agreed.
We arrived at just the right time because before long they got hit by more people than there was room for.
Some drank their beer at the window counter, waiting for a table, while others sat outside patiently.
The music today was oh-so groovy, all very '60s - "Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In," "Young Girl," "Dancing in the Moonlight" - and I was getting into it.
Mentioning it, he said he hadn't even noticed it.
It was his first time at Garnett's but before I could make a recommendation, he said he'd already checked Yelp.
"Do you use Yelp? It's so helpful," he said. "I read good things about the German ham sandwich."
No, no I don't ever use Yelp. Never.
Once my farmer's salad and his ham sandwich arrived, we had our most interesting conversation.
As a kid living in North Carolina, he recalled coming into Richmond with his family on the bus, on their way to a relative's house in Maryland.
At the bus station here, they went looking for lunch, some sandwiches or something.
All they found was a dingy lunch counter outside by the bus parking area, but they were hungry so it had to do.
Within moments, a man came over and told them they were at the wrong counter, escorting them inside to the much nicer "whites only" cafe.
Coming out, he spotted the colored water fountain.
This was in the mid '60s, roughly around the time Gary Puckett and the Union Gap were singing "Young Girl."
Whoa.
When our server offered dessert, he had no interest, having already told me that he'd recently eaten a doughnut for the first time in years and it tasted like all fat.
So there was that.
By this time, I was starting to have campers' guilt given all the standing people waiting for seats.
That and I'd done a quick mental tally. Eats at chains. Trusts Yelp. Oblivious to music. Eschews dessert.
Check, please.
Fortunately, he paid.
You can talk to a man about the WPA, but you can't make him an interesting lunch date.
Even when the moon is in the seventh house.
I'd met a guy at UR's art opening the other night and we'd ended up talking for a bit about the Leon Bibel show we were seeing.
Anytime someone wants to talk the WPA with me, my interest is piqued.
So when he asked for my contact info, I gave him my e-mail and it didn't take long for him to suggest a low-stress date: lunch.
The problem arose when he suggested a chain restaurant.
No can do, I replied, explaining not only why I don't but why no one should, at least no one with the abundance of independent restaurants we have in RVA.
But when I suggested Garnett's instead, he readily agreed.
We arrived at just the right time because before long they got hit by more people than there was room for.
Some drank their beer at the window counter, waiting for a table, while others sat outside patiently.
The music today was oh-so groovy, all very '60s - "Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In," "Young Girl," "Dancing in the Moonlight" - and I was getting into it.
Mentioning it, he said he hadn't even noticed it.
It was his first time at Garnett's but before I could make a recommendation, he said he'd already checked Yelp.
"Do you use Yelp? It's so helpful," he said. "I read good things about the German ham sandwich."
No, no I don't ever use Yelp. Never.
Once my farmer's salad and his ham sandwich arrived, we had our most interesting conversation.
As a kid living in North Carolina, he recalled coming into Richmond with his family on the bus, on their way to a relative's house in Maryland.
At the bus station here, they went looking for lunch, some sandwiches or something.
All they found was a dingy lunch counter outside by the bus parking area, but they were hungry so it had to do.
Within moments, a man came over and told them they were at the wrong counter, escorting them inside to the much nicer "whites only" cafe.
Coming out, he spotted the colored water fountain.
This was in the mid '60s, roughly around the time Gary Puckett and the Union Gap were singing "Young Girl."
Whoa.
When our server offered dessert, he had no interest, having already told me that he'd recently eaten a doughnut for the first time in years and it tasted like all fat.
So there was that.
By this time, I was starting to have campers' guilt given all the standing people waiting for seats.
That and I'd done a quick mental tally. Eats at chains. Trusts Yelp. Oblivious to music. Eschews dessert.
Check, please.
Fortunately, he paid.
You can talk to a man about the WPA, but you can't make him an interesting lunch date.
Even when the moon is in the seventh house.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Figs and Dates
My lunch date scored big on two points.
Between his vertigo and my schedule, we'd been trying all week to set up a third date.
When it seemed like nothing was going to work, he cut right to the chase, not mincing words.
"But I so want to see you!"
Suddenly my Friday lunch hour opened up and I suggest Bistro Bobette, a place he's somehow never been.
Then he shows up with The New York Review of Books, eager to discuss Martin Scorsese's article on the language of cinema.
Well done, sir.
When he suggests wine for lunch, I agree based on my friend Pru's theory that wine at lunch is so civilized.
That and a good Rose from Provence is tailor-made for a mid-day date.
We start with a special of charred octopus, chanterelles, bacon, arugula, white beans and red pepper, a dish that could only have been better if eaten on a seaside balcony.
(imagine soft breezes of salty air)
Instead, he tells me about one of his all-time favorite movies, "Paris, Texas," a film that had been showing in Europe on his post-college trip but one he'd waited to see until he got home.
Ah, the mistakes of youth. But I add another Palme d'Or winner to my list of must-see movies.
For my next course, I have another of today's specials, this one a killer salad of heirloom tomatoes, beets and figs in a balsamic reduction.
I will continue to order figs as long as the sweet beauties keep showing up on menus, determined to savor their particular late summer ripeness.
We get off on a tangent about travel because it's been years since he was in Italy and less than a year for me, so he wants my take.
When I tell him about the Vermeer exhibit I saw in Rome, I am surprised at what a Vermeer fan he is and how much he knows about the artist.
This leads to a discussion of Amsterdam, a place he loves and one I've never visited.
Even so, I have been avidly reading about the recently-completed 10-year renovation of the Rijksmusuem there, home to Rembrandt's "Night Watch."
Of all the unlikely topics, he's been keeping up with the re-opening of the museum, too and tells me about his memories of visiting it years ago.
Well, this is going awfully well.
For lunch I have tuna tartare with my Rose, enjoying an Asian-inspired dish in a French bistro almost as much as I'd enjoyed a Dutch artist in an Italian museum.
Too full for dessert, we linger as the dining room begins clearing out, talking about everything and nothing.
"I just love hearing what's in your head and talking to you." he says toward the end of our afternoon.
He sure knows how to ace a third date, that's all I'm saying.
Between his vertigo and my schedule, we'd been trying all week to set up a third date.
When it seemed like nothing was going to work, he cut right to the chase, not mincing words.
"But I so want to see you!"
Suddenly my Friday lunch hour opened up and I suggest Bistro Bobette, a place he's somehow never been.
Then he shows up with The New York Review of Books, eager to discuss Martin Scorsese's article on the language of cinema.
Well done, sir.
When he suggests wine for lunch, I agree based on my friend Pru's theory that wine at lunch is so civilized.
That and a good Rose from Provence is tailor-made for a mid-day date.
We start with a special of charred octopus, chanterelles, bacon, arugula, white beans and red pepper, a dish that could only have been better if eaten on a seaside balcony.
(imagine soft breezes of salty air)
Instead, he tells me about one of his all-time favorite movies, "Paris, Texas," a film that had been showing in Europe on his post-college trip but one he'd waited to see until he got home.
Ah, the mistakes of youth. But I add another Palme d'Or winner to my list of must-see movies.
For my next course, I have another of today's specials, this one a killer salad of heirloom tomatoes, beets and figs in a balsamic reduction.
I will continue to order figs as long as the sweet beauties keep showing up on menus, determined to savor their particular late summer ripeness.
We get off on a tangent about travel because it's been years since he was in Italy and less than a year for me, so he wants my take.
When I tell him about the Vermeer exhibit I saw in Rome, I am surprised at what a Vermeer fan he is and how much he knows about the artist.
This leads to a discussion of Amsterdam, a place he loves and one I've never visited.
Even so, I have been avidly reading about the recently-completed 10-year renovation of the Rijksmusuem there, home to Rembrandt's "Night Watch."
Of all the unlikely topics, he's been keeping up with the re-opening of the museum, too and tells me about his memories of visiting it years ago.
Well, this is going awfully well.
For lunch I have tuna tartare with my Rose, enjoying an Asian-inspired dish in a French bistro almost as much as I'd enjoyed a Dutch artist in an Italian museum.
Too full for dessert, we linger as the dining room begins clearing out, talking about everything and nothing.
"I just love hearing what's in your head and talking to you." he says toward the end of our afternoon.
He sure knows how to ace a third date, that's all I'm saying.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Apologetic Prose
Sometimes the best reason to go away is to see what you find when you get back.
A writing assignment took me to the Northern Neck to visit a cattle farm, a far cry from my usual urban world.
It was my first time seeing a tiny kitten terrorize chickens five times its size.
I had a ball with the woman I was interviewing once we discovered we're both oldest daughters with no brothers.
We commiserated over how strict our parents were with us and how lenient with our youngest sisters.
Brats.
Just kidding, Nancy and Amanda. Well, sort of.
She leads me up upstairs and through a sliding screen door, a pocket door for a porch, something I've never seen before. I love it.
We sit on what she calls her "sweet potato porch," a place with a view of the creek, her horse and a hummingbird feeder with a non-stop series of tiny birds eating at it.
She tells me it's where she and her husband start their morning, having coffee and planning what they'll accomplish that day.
I don't even drink coffee but I am charmed by the idea of starting my day on a porch like this with someone I love.
After a walkabout on the farm and a highly amusing discussion with her Dad (who kept making analogies between alcohol and cattle feed), I have enough material for three articles and say my goodbyes.
It's mid-afternoon on a beautiful and surprisingly un-humid August day and I have nowhere to be and no one looking for me.
Sounds like a good excuse to visit a winery.
I've been to the Hague before, but it's a pleasant enough place and not overly ostentatious like the wineries who do events.
Going through the tasting, I chat up the young woman pouring, hearing how she has just last night decided to leave the Neck and move to Warrenton to live with her boyfriend
His appeal?
He's a good talker...and listener.
Those are the ones you don't want to let get away, my dear.
Drinking the 2010 Chardonel on the porch with a view of corn fields to the right and grape fields to the left seems like the thing to do after the tasting.
Then the wine is finished and it's time for the next adventure.
As long as I'm out this far on a Monday, I would be remiss not to stop at Lowery's in Tappahannock to eat.
It's not that Lowery's menu is particularly enticing, it's that it's Monday.
And that means all you can eat crabs, an irresistible siren call to this gluttonous crab eater raised in Maryland.
As a bonus, there's more of the Chardonel, brought from the Hague in case there was a wine necessity.
With Taylor Swift blaring from the speakers, this definitely qualifies.
The meal starts with oysters from Bevans, a local purveyor I know well since I'd also interviewed Mr. Bevans for a piece a year or two ago.
They are followed by crabs and more crabs, not large but meaty, and I eat long past the point where I've broken a couple of nails, always part of the collateral damage of crustacean-eating for me.
A small price to pay, but then I don't care much what my nails look like anyway.
Nearby, a little girl leaves her parents eating crabs at their table to play a giant version of Jenga made of sawed-off pieces of lumber, eventually sending the stack clattering to the concrete floor of the patio.
It's getting dark by the time I've had my fill of crabs and am ready to head home.
The hour-long drive home is a good excuse to think about everything that's been going on in my life lately, both negative and positive, and hope that things are finally returning to an even keel.
Walking into my apartment, I realize I've been gone for over twelve hours, a break I really needed after being home far too much over the past week.
My good friend Holmes has left a phone message saying, "Hey, glad to see you're back! I was worried about you 'cause you had dropped off the world, but I'm glad to see the prose is flowing again."
How lovely to come home and have a reason to smile even if no one's around to see it.
Every bit as satisfying, I open up my e-mail and find a message from my past.
It's a guy I shared a few dates with several years ago, whom I'd lost touch with because it wasn't the right time for either of us then.
I'm in a way different place now and he must be, too.
"Hi, Karen. Want to have dinner some time soon? I miss those nice legs."
The smile widens.
Yes, I would definitely like to have dinner with you soon.
And you can be sure I'll bring the legs.
A fine road trip ends on an even finer note.
As my friend Moira likes to say, I'm a lucky girl.
A writing assignment took me to the Northern Neck to visit a cattle farm, a far cry from my usual urban world.
It was my first time seeing a tiny kitten terrorize chickens five times its size.
I had a ball with the woman I was interviewing once we discovered we're both oldest daughters with no brothers.
We commiserated over how strict our parents were with us and how lenient with our youngest sisters.
Brats.
Just kidding, Nancy and Amanda. Well, sort of.
She leads me up upstairs and through a sliding screen door, a pocket door for a porch, something I've never seen before. I love it.
We sit on what she calls her "sweet potato porch," a place with a view of the creek, her horse and a hummingbird feeder with a non-stop series of tiny birds eating at it.
She tells me it's where she and her husband start their morning, having coffee and planning what they'll accomplish that day.
I don't even drink coffee but I am charmed by the idea of starting my day on a porch like this with someone I love.
After a walkabout on the farm and a highly amusing discussion with her Dad (who kept making analogies between alcohol and cattle feed), I have enough material for three articles and say my goodbyes.
It's mid-afternoon on a beautiful and surprisingly un-humid August day and I have nowhere to be and no one looking for me.
Sounds like a good excuse to visit a winery.
I've been to the Hague before, but it's a pleasant enough place and not overly ostentatious like the wineries who do events.
Going through the tasting, I chat up the young woman pouring, hearing how she has just last night decided to leave the Neck and move to Warrenton to live with her boyfriend
His appeal?
He's a good talker...and listener.
Those are the ones you don't want to let get away, my dear.
Drinking the 2010 Chardonel on the porch with a view of corn fields to the right and grape fields to the left seems like the thing to do after the tasting.
Then the wine is finished and it's time for the next adventure.
As long as I'm out this far on a Monday, I would be remiss not to stop at Lowery's in Tappahannock to eat.
It's not that Lowery's menu is particularly enticing, it's that it's Monday.
And that means all you can eat crabs, an irresistible siren call to this gluttonous crab eater raised in Maryland.
As a bonus, there's more of the Chardonel, brought from the Hague in case there was a wine necessity.
With Taylor Swift blaring from the speakers, this definitely qualifies.
The meal starts with oysters from Bevans, a local purveyor I know well since I'd also interviewed Mr. Bevans for a piece a year or two ago.
They are followed by crabs and more crabs, not large but meaty, and I eat long past the point where I've broken a couple of nails, always part of the collateral damage of crustacean-eating for me.
A small price to pay, but then I don't care much what my nails look like anyway.
Nearby, a little girl leaves her parents eating crabs at their table to play a giant version of Jenga made of sawed-off pieces of lumber, eventually sending the stack clattering to the concrete floor of the patio.
It's getting dark by the time I've had my fill of crabs and am ready to head home.
The hour-long drive home is a good excuse to think about everything that's been going on in my life lately, both negative and positive, and hope that things are finally returning to an even keel.
Walking into my apartment, I realize I've been gone for over twelve hours, a break I really needed after being home far too much over the past week.
My good friend Holmes has left a phone message saying, "Hey, glad to see you're back! I was worried about you 'cause you had dropped off the world, but I'm glad to see the prose is flowing again."
How lovely to come home and have a reason to smile even if no one's around to see it.
Every bit as satisfying, I open up my e-mail and find a message from my past.
It's a guy I shared a few dates with several years ago, whom I'd lost touch with because it wasn't the right time for either of us then.
I'm in a way different place now and he must be, too.
"Hi, Karen. Want to have dinner some time soon? I miss those nice legs."
The smile widens.
Yes, I would definitely like to have dinner with you soon.
And you can be sure I'll bring the legs.
A fine road trip ends on an even finer note.
As my friend Moira likes to say, I'm a lucky girl.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Functioning in the Modern World
In a world where the unexpected keeps happening, I'm just staying open to the possibilities.
That meant starting my evening with a date who suggested I show him my neighborhood.
Can do.
Strolling through Jackson Ward, I point out things I love about where I live.
Distinctive wrought ironwork on porches. Galleries he's never been to. Tea roses spilling over picket fences.
In front of a thrift shop, he peeks in the window so long that an employee waves us in, calling, "You look like you want to come in."
He does, so we do.
Our stroll deposits us at Bistro 27 where I point out that he shares a homeland with the chef and the two of them are off and running, talking about cities and settlers.
I hear Portuguese spoken. Vasco de Gama is mentioned.
When the chef goes off to make our food, we talk about music - the bossa nova he grew up with and the fado group I've seen that he didn't know existed in Richmond.
Over Vinho Verde, mussels, calamari and grouper, we end up talking about Catholicism along with the literary and gustatory pleasures of Soho and Park Slope, again with the chef.
My date is entranced with the street theater on Broad Street as only a first-timer can be.
After dinner, he wants me to show him more of the 'hood, so we amble past churches that will be full in the morning, barber shops still cutting hair and students sitting on their porches, music blaring from inside the house.
He says hello to everyone we pass, clearly enjoying the feel of the streets, and sometimes engaging people in conversation.
I can feel him falling for J-Ward with every step.
Mission accomplished. I will convert the masses one by one if I have to.
Back at my house, we sit on the porch for a bit, chatting and enjoying the air, described by my arriving neighbor as "half-summer and half-fall."
When I say goodnight, I thank him sincerely for a most agreeable evening, something I very much needed.
But instead of calling it a night, I decide to continue my night with film.
The Criterion is showing "In a World," a Sundance winner for screenwriting and about the world of voice-over work.
I'm sure it's only because I've worked in radio that it even appeals to me, but it does.
Walking into the theater, I see only four other people and once seated, one of them, a friend, leans over and says hello.
It's the local jazz DJ, munching popcorn and clearly there for the same reason I am.
Just as the trailers begin, one last guy slides in and takes the seat at the end of our row.
And now we are six.
The quirky movie is a screwball comedy, but a smart one about a woman trying to make it in a man's world.
That would be the voice-over actor world, as financially erratic as the freelance writing world, which she necessarily supplements with vocal coaching, like trying to teach Eva Longoria a Cockney accent.
It's plenty of the moment, with lines like, "I came to get my cell phone. There's no way to function in the modern world without it."
Um, I beg to differ.
But it's also full of sly humor like references to a kiddie rom-com (ew) and a "quadrilogy," a series of female warrior adventure movies (shoot me now).
For radio types, one of the most entertaining scenes shows the three characters vying for the job of voicing the trailers for the "quadrilogy" as they pompously and ridiculously warm up before making their audition tapes.
And don't get me started about our heroine's quest to wipe out adult female baby talkers, those women whose pouty voices squeak as they end every sentence with a question.
As the credits roll and the other four attendees leave, the lone wolf at the end of the row looks at me and asks, "Do you do voice-over work?"
Turns out he does, so when I explain my past radio jobs, it takes less than a minute to discover two people we both knew and have worked with, going back as far as the '90s.
Asking what I do now, he shares that he's also a freelance writer.
"Well, you've got a great voice with no trace of an accent, so you should be doing voice work," he advises.
Coincidentally, my date had also mentioned my accent-less voice earlier.
Asking what had brought him out alone tonight, he says it's his birthday and the movie sounded interesting to him.
Happy birthday, I tell him as we walk out together, him holding the door for me.
It's funny how everything works out in time.
That meant starting my evening with a date who suggested I show him my neighborhood.
Can do.
Strolling through Jackson Ward, I point out things I love about where I live.
Distinctive wrought ironwork on porches. Galleries he's never been to. Tea roses spilling over picket fences.
In front of a thrift shop, he peeks in the window so long that an employee waves us in, calling, "You look like you want to come in."
He does, so we do.
Our stroll deposits us at Bistro 27 where I point out that he shares a homeland with the chef and the two of them are off and running, talking about cities and settlers.
I hear Portuguese spoken. Vasco de Gama is mentioned.
When the chef goes off to make our food, we talk about music - the bossa nova he grew up with and the fado group I've seen that he didn't know existed in Richmond.
Over Vinho Verde, mussels, calamari and grouper, we end up talking about Catholicism along with the literary and gustatory pleasures of Soho and Park Slope, again with the chef.
My date is entranced with the street theater on Broad Street as only a first-timer can be.
After dinner, he wants me to show him more of the 'hood, so we amble past churches that will be full in the morning, barber shops still cutting hair and students sitting on their porches, music blaring from inside the house.
He says hello to everyone we pass, clearly enjoying the feel of the streets, and sometimes engaging people in conversation.
I can feel him falling for J-Ward with every step.
Mission accomplished. I will convert the masses one by one if I have to.
Back at my house, we sit on the porch for a bit, chatting and enjoying the air, described by my arriving neighbor as "half-summer and half-fall."
When I say goodnight, I thank him sincerely for a most agreeable evening, something I very much needed.
But instead of calling it a night, I decide to continue my night with film.
The Criterion is showing "In a World," a Sundance winner for screenwriting and about the world of voice-over work.
I'm sure it's only because I've worked in radio that it even appeals to me, but it does.
Walking into the theater, I see only four other people and once seated, one of them, a friend, leans over and says hello.
It's the local jazz DJ, munching popcorn and clearly there for the same reason I am.
Just as the trailers begin, one last guy slides in and takes the seat at the end of our row.
And now we are six.
The quirky movie is a screwball comedy, but a smart one about a woman trying to make it in a man's world.
That would be the voice-over actor world, as financially erratic as the freelance writing world, which she necessarily supplements with vocal coaching, like trying to teach Eva Longoria a Cockney accent.
It's plenty of the moment, with lines like, "I came to get my cell phone. There's no way to function in the modern world without it."
Um, I beg to differ.
But it's also full of sly humor like references to a kiddie rom-com (ew) and a "quadrilogy," a series of female warrior adventure movies (shoot me now).
For radio types, one of the most entertaining scenes shows the three characters vying for the job of voicing the trailers for the "quadrilogy" as they pompously and ridiculously warm up before making their audition tapes.
And don't get me started about our heroine's quest to wipe out adult female baby talkers, those women whose pouty voices squeak as they end every sentence with a question.
As the credits roll and the other four attendees leave, the lone wolf at the end of the row looks at me and asks, "Do you do voice-over work?"
Turns out he does, so when I explain my past radio jobs, it takes less than a minute to discover two people we both knew and have worked with, going back as far as the '90s.
Asking what I do now, he shares that he's also a freelance writer.
"Well, you've got a great voice with no trace of an accent, so you should be doing voice work," he advises.
Coincidentally, my date had also mentioned my accent-less voice earlier.
Asking what had brought him out alone tonight, he says it's his birthday and the movie sounded interesting to him.
Happy birthday, I tell him as we walk out together, him holding the door for me.
It's funny how everything works out in time.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Spirit Like Water
I found the way to right my equilibrium.
It began with, of all things, a telephone call from someone fairly new to my life, a man with a barely-accented, mellifluous voice and an array of conversational offerings I found completely engaging - the Stanislavski method, poet Adrienne Rich, provincialism- that magically occupied me for every bit of an hour.
An hour. And I hate talking on the phone.
Still not sure how that happened, but grinning nonetheless.
With such a stellar first act under my belt, I had no choice but to maintain the high, choosing to take my daily walk on Belle Isle.
Under a bright blue sky full of puffy clouds and a steady breeze, I walked along the river, meeting four beagles I needed to pet (including one in a lime green life jacket - adorable), listening to the especially high rushing water and getting smiles from strangers left and right.
Good vibrations abounded.
The dock over the quarry pond was unexpectedly gone, but people were still casting lines into it.
Life happens and we adjust. There are still fish to be caught.
After a couple of times around the island, I climbed down a path to find an empty rock, took off my shoes and submerged my legs in the river up to the knees.
All around me, people lazed in the sun, dogs frolicked at the water's edge and kids squealed because they could.
There were some brave souls in kayaks working their way through the high water, but that was about the most ambitious thing I saw going on.
I watched a paddleboarder go by with two geese devotedly following in his wake.
Sun on my back, legs in the water, plans later.
Spoiler alert to that regular reader who prefers me sad: Too. Damn. Bad.
It began with, of all things, a telephone call from someone fairly new to my life, a man with a barely-accented, mellifluous voice and an array of conversational offerings I found completely engaging - the Stanislavski method, poet Adrienne Rich, provincialism- that magically occupied me for every bit of an hour.
An hour. And I hate talking on the phone.
Still not sure how that happened, but grinning nonetheless.
With such a stellar first act under my belt, I had no choice but to maintain the high, choosing to take my daily walk on Belle Isle.
Under a bright blue sky full of puffy clouds and a steady breeze, I walked along the river, meeting four beagles I needed to pet (including one in a lime green life jacket - adorable), listening to the especially high rushing water and getting smiles from strangers left and right.
Good vibrations abounded.
The dock over the quarry pond was unexpectedly gone, but people were still casting lines into it.
Life happens and we adjust. There are still fish to be caught.
After a couple of times around the island, I climbed down a path to find an empty rock, took off my shoes and submerged my legs in the river up to the knees.
All around me, people lazed in the sun, dogs frolicked at the water's edge and kids squealed because they could.
There were some brave souls in kayaks working their way through the high water, but that was about the most ambitious thing I saw going on.
I watched a paddleboarder go by with two geese devotedly following in his wake.
Sun on my back, legs in the water, plans later.
Spoiler alert to that regular reader who prefers me sad: Too. Damn. Bad.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Get a Little Action In
Saturday night's alright for fighting.
That and dating, 'cause Saturday is definitely date night.
Which means if I decide to go eat by myself in a restaurant, I am guaranteed to be surrounded by couples.
So it was at the Magpie.
With me at the bar were the aging blond rock star and his date (she paid the bill) and how she put up with his endless bragging, I'll never know.
Two seats away and I got tired of hearing how the girls adored him onstage.
There was the couple who spent the length of two drinks talking about stuff: the number of diamonds in her new ring, the options on his new car, how chilly she was in her new leather jacket.
Boring.
In other words, I was pretty satisfied being by myself.
When I ordered a glass of Semeli "Feast" Moschofilero, a Greek blend promising crisp acidity and an intense nose of peach and rose petals, the bartender informed me that it was the owner's favorite.
I continue to be impressed with the array of Greek wines showing up locally lately and their low price points don't hurt, either.
"I like value in wine," the owner laughed matter-of-factly when I told her how much I liked the Feast.
While all around me couples did the mating game (or, in some cases, spent more time looking at their phones than talking to their date), I took advantage of the cooler evening and ordered tonight's soup.
It was a roasted corn with bacon and, as it turns out, some unbilled poblano, making for an unexpected but welcome heat.
I can always count on Magpie's soundtrack to relive the old days and tonight's music was no exception.
"Listen Like Thieves" gave way to "Show Me" which begot "Girlfriend in a Coma," et cetera, et cetera, et cetera (can you tell I saw "The King and I" a few days ago?).
For my next course, I got banana-crusted scallops with spiced rum reduction and (wait for it) vanilla gelato.
The thick, sweet sauce was beautiful with the scallops and the gelato, which conveniently also satisfied my sweet tooth.
By the time the bartender asked me about dessert, I had no need of anything further.
Well, except perhaps a date. It is Saturday night, after all.
And I'm really not a fighter.
That and dating, 'cause Saturday is definitely date night.
Which means if I decide to go eat by myself in a restaurant, I am guaranteed to be surrounded by couples.
So it was at the Magpie.
With me at the bar were the aging blond rock star and his date (she paid the bill) and how she put up with his endless bragging, I'll never know.
Two seats away and I got tired of hearing how the girls adored him onstage.
There was the couple who spent the length of two drinks talking about stuff: the number of diamonds in her new ring, the options on his new car, how chilly she was in her new leather jacket.
Boring.
In other words, I was pretty satisfied being by myself.
When I ordered a glass of Semeli "Feast" Moschofilero, a Greek blend promising crisp acidity and an intense nose of peach and rose petals, the bartender informed me that it was the owner's favorite.
I continue to be impressed with the array of Greek wines showing up locally lately and their low price points don't hurt, either.
"I like value in wine," the owner laughed matter-of-factly when I told her how much I liked the Feast.
While all around me couples did the mating game (or, in some cases, spent more time looking at their phones than talking to their date), I took advantage of the cooler evening and ordered tonight's soup.
It was a roasted corn with bacon and, as it turns out, some unbilled poblano, making for an unexpected but welcome heat.
I can always count on Magpie's soundtrack to relive the old days and tonight's music was no exception.
"Listen Like Thieves" gave way to "Show Me" which begot "Girlfriend in a Coma," et cetera, et cetera, et cetera (can you tell I saw "The King and I" a few days ago?).
For my next course, I got banana-crusted scallops with spiced rum reduction and (wait for it) vanilla gelato.
The thick, sweet sauce was beautiful with the scallops and the gelato, which conveniently also satisfied my sweet tooth.
By the time the bartender asked me about dessert, I had no need of anything further.
Well, except perhaps a date. It is Saturday night, after all.
And I'm really not a fighter.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Excel Incompetence
Lots of my people were at Bistro Bobette tonight.
When I arrived at the bar, my girlfriend was the lone barsitter, but the familiar faces just kept on coming.
Bubbles (a Vouvray dewmi-sec) started the evening and I followed that with a venison pate complemented perfectly with cranberry relish.
My theater boys arrived and we discussed "My Fair Lady," which I'd opted out of last week; they considered this an error of judgement on my part, heartily recommending the new production at the Empire.
I offered them tastes of my pate which so impressed the critic that he later told me, "I had my first deer tonight because of you."
Always glad to help broaden a cute boy's horizons.
The owner came over and we coerced her to tell us how she and the chef had met, which turned out to be a great story.
There's a lot to be said for the hand of fate.
Somehow that led to a discussion of how I need to do do something about my singlehood, with both her and my girlfriend telling me what I need to do.
Well, that led to the male half of the couple date joining the discussion. A logical sort of a guy, he once compiled a spread sheet of the 77 qualities he wanted in a mate.
His girlfriend, who rated the highest (52 out of 77), was sitting next to him.
He joined the discussion by throwing out questions about my deal breakers, my requirements and my negotiables.
My girlfriend said it was like the e-Harmony questionnaire, only much better because he focused on more important issues.
Things like, what are your three biggest eccentricities? Would you carry a cell phone if a partner asked you to? Could you date a vegetarian? A non-drinker?
They all concluded that I need to give up on Richmond and look in D.C.
I concluded that I wanted to talk about anything else.
When I saw a restaurant owner and her paramour come in, I went over to give her a hug and say hello.
Her man insisted on the same, saying, "Don't we know each other well enough by now?"
You just never know who's a hugger and who isn't.
After a bit, the theater boys got ready to leave for a party, but not before disclosing that one of them had a midnight date.
"You know, late night take-out," the other one whispered to me, making me laugh. "Or should I say late night delivery?"
On my way back from the bathroom, I was greeted by the paparazzi in the form of the owner who was trying to get a picture of me because of my gray tights.
She was unsuccessful; every picture had my eyes an evil white color that made me look like a demon.
I suggested she just shoot my legs and save herself the trouble.
Maybe that's how I should do it: a picture of my legs and a list of my eccentricities.
I'll post fliers all over town and see what happens.
Better, yet, I think I'll wait for the hand of fate. I was never any good at spread sheets anyway.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Correct on All Counts
After being all kinds of busy in the best possible ways this weekend, I was very much looking forward to sharing all that in a long lunch with a good friend today.
I suggested Bistro 27 for its terrific $9 lunch and when he registered doubt, it necessitated me proving my point. Besides, it kept us in the neighborhood and I hadn't lunched there in eons.
He had never had lunch there so the enticing menu quickly overwhelmed him, delaying the meal I so desperately craved. He wanted the burger, but it was too much meat, he was tempted by the sausage salad, but couldn't commit and all the while my stomach was growling.
I put an end to his indecision by suggesting we split a Cesar salad and then share the half pound grilled ground Montana Wagyu Kobe with Cheddar and bacon burger. Mercifully, he acquiesced easily and finally.
Chef Carlos came over to tell me about his Restaurant Week menu (lamb shanks! Chorizo!) and talk about how he loves to over-deliver that week and impress people. No doubt a second Restaurant Week will make even more converts to the Church of 27.
Our salads arrived along with the food for the trio at the bar sipping Rose next to us. We were amazed to see the tiny, white-haired woman was the one who'd ordered the enormous burger, which she promptly tore into and finished (I aspire to be that 90-year old eating a half pound of meat for lunch with my Rose).
I have a friend who considers Bistro 27's burger to be the best in town and, frankly, given the tastiness of that beef, that's not a difficult case to make. We'd gotten a mixture of white and sweet potato fries, thus satisfying every salty need we could have to complement our burger.
We talked about my weekend and the surprising number of interesting guys I'd met while in DC, perhaps an indication that I needed a change of scenery.
As a matter of fact, the same friend who had rated 27's burger #1 had also told me that I would have much better luck finding a partner in a bigger city where I might find more guys with my array of interests who would see me as a catch.
Could he be right about two things, the burger and me? I can't bear to tell him because he's right about so much so often (just ask his girlfriend). But now another friend was saying almost the same thing.
And he'd been so busy offering love life advice that he'd begun his lunch assault by filling up on fries, making him unable to eat the last bite of his burger. So sad for him, but fortunate for me.
Bartender Ron handed me the dessert menu as soon as our plates were cleared. "Are you presuming I want dessert?" I asked in mock-indignation.
"I know you at least want to browse," he said knowingly. But with my lunch partner too stuffed to finish his burger, I had no dessert partner in crime and declined.
"Maybe you're finally opening yourself up," my friend said, wrapping up his analysis as we approached his house. "Maybe your luck is finally starting to gather its forces."
Gather away. Ready when you are, Luck.
I suggested Bistro 27 for its terrific $9 lunch and when he registered doubt, it necessitated me proving my point. Besides, it kept us in the neighborhood and I hadn't lunched there in eons.
He had never had lunch there so the enticing menu quickly overwhelmed him, delaying the meal I so desperately craved. He wanted the burger, but it was too much meat, he was tempted by the sausage salad, but couldn't commit and all the while my stomach was growling.
I put an end to his indecision by suggesting we split a Cesar salad and then share the half pound grilled ground Montana Wagyu Kobe with Cheddar and bacon burger. Mercifully, he acquiesced easily and finally.
Chef Carlos came over to tell me about his Restaurant Week menu (lamb shanks! Chorizo!) and talk about how he loves to over-deliver that week and impress people. No doubt a second Restaurant Week will make even more converts to the Church of 27.
Our salads arrived along with the food for the trio at the bar sipping Rose next to us. We were amazed to see the tiny, white-haired woman was the one who'd ordered the enormous burger, which she promptly tore into and finished (I aspire to be that 90-year old eating a half pound of meat for lunch with my Rose).
I have a friend who considers Bistro 27's burger to be the best in town and, frankly, given the tastiness of that beef, that's not a difficult case to make. We'd gotten a mixture of white and sweet potato fries, thus satisfying every salty need we could have to complement our burger.
We talked about my weekend and the surprising number of interesting guys I'd met while in DC, perhaps an indication that I needed a change of scenery.
As a matter of fact, the same friend who had rated 27's burger #1 had also told me that I would have much better luck finding a partner in a bigger city where I might find more guys with my array of interests who would see me as a catch.
Could he be right about two things, the burger and me? I can't bear to tell him because he's right about so much so often (just ask his girlfriend). But now another friend was saying almost the same thing.
And he'd been so busy offering love life advice that he'd begun his lunch assault by filling up on fries, making him unable to eat the last bite of his burger. So sad for him, but fortunate for me.
Bartender Ron handed me the dessert menu as soon as our plates were cleared. "Are you presuming I want dessert?" I asked in mock-indignation.
"I know you at least want to browse," he said knowingly. But with my lunch partner too stuffed to finish his burger, I had no dessert partner in crime and declined.
"Maybe you're finally opening yourself up," my friend said, wrapping up his analysis as we approached his house. "Maybe your luck is finally starting to gather its forces."
Gather away. Ready when you are, Luck.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Trying to Tryst the Evening Away
Feeling a tad nervous tonight, I figured a stop for a bit of food and wine in familiar environs would be a good way to relax into the rest of my evening.
So I went to Six Burner, also the destination for an awful lot of other people tonight. I did get a chance to see Beth Marchant's show of works after Picasso; they were uncanny for their similarities to the originals. We'll call them cover paintings, like cover songs.
When I was asked what my wine preference was, I asked for the Warwick Pinotage, only to be told that it was no longer the featured red.
It was a good time to put on my pouty face because the wine rep who carries it was sitting at the bar. More is on order, I was told.
A zinfandel was suggested, tasted and rejected and I ended up choosing the Concannon Petit Syrah. Not nearly as good a pairing with springbok as the Pinotage would have been, but then I wasn't having springbok tonight.
Enjoying the roasted beet salad with goat cheese and pistachios in balsamic vinaigrette, I considered the sugar toads, but went with the fluke sashimi (with chicharron, ponzu, red plum, horseradish and bacon powder) instead.
The dish demonstrates why I want talented people to cook for me. The fluke and pork rind combination came together on the plate as if they were meant to be partnered, with the ponzu positively sop-worthy. I savored my first bacon powder, wondering how in the world such a thing is conceived of, much less made.
Tonight it was the staff who kept me entertained because there were no other bar sitters. It worked out well because I got to hear about a breakup that resulted in a reunited couple and who doesn't love a happy ending story?
The owner was telling me about some of the Picasso specials various restaurants have come up with and I had to wonder how many blue drinks Richmond will have for the next three months. Just a thought, folks, but it may have been more appetizing to focus on the painter's Rose Period.
I got to hear a long-time service industry employee get on her restaurant soapbox and tell me her interpretation of how things should be in terms of menus, staff and ambiance. She thanked me for listening and I thanked her for sharing her informed opinions; it's how I learn things.
From there it was on to Patrick Henry's to meet a recent acquaintance for some extended conversation. When he'd suggested it, my first thought had been that it would be perfect in that we could be alone in a roomful of people I wouldn't likely know.
Wrong. Ten minutes in and we had one of my music buddies stop by the table to say hi. My new friend's neighbors came in. Forget discretion in this town because there is no privacy when you're out and about.
But that's fine because the visitor returned to his table, the neighbors ignored us and we had the rest of the evening to discuss all kinds of things amongst ourselves.
It went so well that I wondered why I'd ever been nervous about an evening of talking. Or maybe I mistook anticipation for nerves.
Look at me, actually anticipating. That's progress with a capital P.
So I went to Six Burner, also the destination for an awful lot of other people tonight. I did get a chance to see Beth Marchant's show of works after Picasso; they were uncanny for their similarities to the originals. We'll call them cover paintings, like cover songs.
When I was asked what my wine preference was, I asked for the Warwick Pinotage, only to be told that it was no longer the featured red.
It was a good time to put on my pouty face because the wine rep who carries it was sitting at the bar. More is on order, I was told.
A zinfandel was suggested, tasted and rejected and I ended up choosing the Concannon Petit Syrah. Not nearly as good a pairing with springbok as the Pinotage would have been, but then I wasn't having springbok tonight.
Enjoying the roasted beet salad with goat cheese and pistachios in balsamic vinaigrette, I considered the sugar toads, but went with the fluke sashimi (with chicharron, ponzu, red plum, horseradish and bacon powder) instead.
The dish demonstrates why I want talented people to cook for me. The fluke and pork rind combination came together on the plate as if they were meant to be partnered, with the ponzu positively sop-worthy. I savored my first bacon powder, wondering how in the world such a thing is conceived of, much less made.
Tonight it was the staff who kept me entertained because there were no other bar sitters. It worked out well because I got to hear about a breakup that resulted in a reunited couple and who doesn't love a happy ending story?
The owner was telling me about some of the Picasso specials various restaurants have come up with and I had to wonder how many blue drinks Richmond will have for the next three months. Just a thought, folks, but it may have been more appetizing to focus on the painter's Rose Period.
I got to hear a long-time service industry employee get on her restaurant soapbox and tell me her interpretation of how things should be in terms of menus, staff and ambiance. She thanked me for listening and I thanked her for sharing her informed opinions; it's how I learn things.
From there it was on to Patrick Henry's to meet a recent acquaintance for some extended conversation. When he'd suggested it, my first thought had been that it would be perfect in that we could be alone in a roomful of people I wouldn't likely know.
Wrong. Ten minutes in and we had one of my music buddies stop by the table to say hi. My new friend's neighbors came in. Forget discretion in this town because there is no privacy when you're out and about.
But that's fine because the visitor returned to his table, the neighbors ignored us and we had the rest of the evening to discuss all kinds of things amongst ourselves.
It went so well that I wondered why I'd ever been nervous about an evening of talking. Or maybe I mistook anticipation for nerves.
Look at me, actually anticipating. That's progress with a capital P.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Digging for Date Details
With spring fever hitting Richmonders hard today, my friend and I knew better than to think we'd be able to eat outside given our delayed start on lunch.
So we went to Lulu's toward the end of lunch hour, knowing we'd be assured of an indoor seat. We'd gotten such a late start because my friend had spent the morning dozing off and on because of a recent cold. I'd finally called him around 12:45 wondering if our plans were still on.
Given the short period between him getting out of bed and our arrival at the restaurant, the first thing he asked for was coffee. Our server, who had pink flowers in her hair ("I'm not a real blond and the flowers are from the Dollar Store" she informed us), inquired if he wanted sugar.
He requested the packets of fakeness instead. "He's trying to hurry up and get cancer," I told her, because I always tease him about using that crap. "Aren't we all?" she smirked. Um, not really.
He ordered the beer-battered fish and chips with mashed peas and I got the house-smoked chicken, mixed greens, avocados, toasted pecan salad with citrus-herb vinaigrette, knowing full well that my friend would share his fried goodness.
My salad was both more and less than stated. The greens weren't mixed but they were all pea shoots, something I love. And it was full of unbilled citrus segments, both orange and grapefruit. It was a perfect meal for a 75-degree day.
Friend's fish and chips were beautifully battered and fried up and I gladly gobbled up the three proffered pieces. Apropos of nothing, a nearby bar sitter shared a joke with us about male and female brains (let's just say it had to do with the male brain calling to the female from south of the belt line).
From that opening, my friend segued into what I'd been up to lately. I rambled off a few of the more interesting things I'd done recently while he gazed at me expectantly. "So what have you been up to?" I asked in return.
"What about your all-day DATE?" he about burst out, referring to the other day, here. Ah, so he'd read my blog and was testing me to see if I was going to share the "details not forthcoming" parts. "Where'd you go? How did you like him? Did you kiss?'" You know, the stuff girlfriends are supposed to ask you.
I guess I should just be satisfied that he reads the blog in between our lunch outings, which have gotten far less frequent now that's in love and cohabitating with a terrific woman.
When our flower-bedecked server asked if we wanted dessert, we did the standard comedy routine where he shook his head yes and I shook mine no. "Since when don't you want dessert?" he asked. Okay, we'll look.
Nothing caught our eye, although my friend had been coveting the Twizzlers our server had next to the register. When she asked if we wanted something, I told her that my friend wanted some of her Twizzlers.
And don't you know when she brought him his second cup of coffee, she brought a ramekin full of Twizzler bits too? I'm not a fan, but he insisted I have one. Biting into what felt like soft plastic, I asked him, "What exactly do you like about these things?"
"The waxiness," he beamed. "And how artificial they taste." Our server overheard and came over to high-five him on that one.
"I love the waxiness, too!" The nearest comparison they could come up with was wax lips, but both agreed that Twizzlers have the advantage because, "You can't swallow wax lips."
While some people were lunching in the sunshine, I was watching a convention of Twizzler nerds. God, I love my life.
So we went to Lulu's toward the end of lunch hour, knowing we'd be assured of an indoor seat. We'd gotten such a late start because my friend had spent the morning dozing off and on because of a recent cold. I'd finally called him around 12:45 wondering if our plans were still on.
Given the short period between him getting out of bed and our arrival at the restaurant, the first thing he asked for was coffee. Our server, who had pink flowers in her hair ("I'm not a real blond and the flowers are from the Dollar Store" she informed us), inquired if he wanted sugar.
He requested the packets of fakeness instead. "He's trying to hurry up and get cancer," I told her, because I always tease him about using that crap. "Aren't we all?" she smirked. Um, not really.
He ordered the beer-battered fish and chips with mashed peas and I got the house-smoked chicken, mixed greens, avocados, toasted pecan salad with citrus-herb vinaigrette, knowing full well that my friend would share his fried goodness.
My salad was both more and less than stated. The greens weren't mixed but they were all pea shoots, something I love. And it was full of unbilled citrus segments, both orange and grapefruit. It was a perfect meal for a 75-degree day.
Friend's fish and chips were beautifully battered and fried up and I gladly gobbled up the three proffered pieces. Apropos of nothing, a nearby bar sitter shared a joke with us about male and female brains (let's just say it had to do with the male brain calling to the female from south of the belt line).
From that opening, my friend segued into what I'd been up to lately. I rambled off a few of the more interesting things I'd done recently while he gazed at me expectantly. "So what have you been up to?" I asked in return.
"What about your all-day DATE?" he about burst out, referring to the other day, here. Ah, so he'd read my blog and was testing me to see if I was going to share the "details not forthcoming" parts. "Where'd you go? How did you like him? Did you kiss?'" You know, the stuff girlfriends are supposed to ask you.
I guess I should just be satisfied that he reads the blog in between our lunch outings, which have gotten far less frequent now that's in love and cohabitating with a terrific woman.
When our flower-bedecked server asked if we wanted dessert, we did the standard comedy routine where he shook his head yes and I shook mine no. "Since when don't you want dessert?" he asked. Okay, we'll look.
Nothing caught our eye, although my friend had been coveting the Twizzlers our server had next to the register. When she asked if we wanted something, I told her that my friend wanted some of her Twizzlers.
And don't you know when she brought him his second cup of coffee, she brought a ramekin full of Twizzler bits too? I'm not a fan, but he insisted I have one. Biting into what felt like soft plastic, I asked him, "What exactly do you like about these things?"
"The waxiness," he beamed. "And how artificial they taste." Our server overheard and came over to high-five him on that one.
"I love the waxiness, too!" The nearest comparison they could come up with was wax lips, but both agreed that Twizzlers have the advantage because, "You can't swallow wax lips."
While some people were lunching in the sunshine, I was watching a convention of Twizzler nerds. God, I love my life.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Old Model Out of Stock
Since my last go at being single, Facebook has entered the picture, making it easy for former loves to find me and interested parties to check out my relationship status.
But sometimes it still happens the way it always has, where you randomly run into someone you knew in a past life and reconnect face to face.
Next thing you know, they're e-mailing you, suggesting a shared meal to "catch up" and you're wondering how the person they are now compares to the one you once knew.
Since there's only one way to find out, I accepted the invitation, choosing lunch at Olio both for its fresh menu and low-key vibe. I knew we'd be able to linger as long as we might want without so much as a raised eyebrow from the accommodating staff.
He was waiting for me when I arrived, unsure of how and where to order, so we approached the counter together. Owner Jason greeted my friend without even noticing me, so I teased him; he gave me some lame excuse about trying not to favor female customers over male. Whatever.
I ordered the Beef & Bleu salad (Angus beef, bleu cheese, dried fruit, roasted zucchini, and walnuts over greens with Parmesan peppercorn dressing) and my friend took my lead and also got a salad, the smoked salmon Nicoise. Olio does superb salads.
We sat down to get started talking while our food was being prepared. But where to start after years of not seeing each other? I wasn't sure whether to ask the things I was dying to know or begin innocuously.
He solved the problem by taking the lead, telling me about his work (he's an author who does a lot of speaking for corporate groups) and asking about mine.
We were knee-deep in a discussion of self-imposed deadlines when our food was delivered. We got busy eating but never stopped talking.
One conversation led to another as we kept taking tangents about the past and present. I was honestly surprised at how much detail he remembered about me and the time we had spent together, given that it wasn't recent or long-lived. Wow, he was definitely taking way better mental notes back then than I was. Impressive.
He asked if I was still a Prince fan (given last night's show at Madison Square Garden) and I told him that although I very much am, I know I'll never get better Prince memories than the two times I saw him at the Landmark. Still, it was an obscure fact to remember about me.
As he continued to ask questions of me to elicit information, he kept saying things like, "You? No way!" and "Really?" Finally he came right out and said, "Wow, a lot about you has changed. What brought all that on?"
Looking back, I had to say that it was that serious bout of pneumonia I had two years ago. After being in Intensive Care for nearly a week, something in me shifted and habits of a lifetime went away. Everything got easier.
I don't even realize anymore how different I must seem to people who are still carrying around old perceptions of me. And that would definitely include people who haven't seen me in the last two years, like my friend.
On the plus side, he said the person I've relaxed into being is so much cooler than the me he knew way back when. "And I thought that person was pretty great," he qualified.
He seemed more than okay with expecting one Karen and getting quite another. Sorry, but this is the only one available anymore.
Amazing the stuff you can discover about a person when you reconnect face to face.
But sometimes it still happens the way it always has, where you randomly run into someone you knew in a past life and reconnect face to face.
Next thing you know, they're e-mailing you, suggesting a shared meal to "catch up" and you're wondering how the person they are now compares to the one you once knew.
Since there's only one way to find out, I accepted the invitation, choosing lunch at Olio both for its fresh menu and low-key vibe. I knew we'd be able to linger as long as we might want without so much as a raised eyebrow from the accommodating staff.
He was waiting for me when I arrived, unsure of how and where to order, so we approached the counter together. Owner Jason greeted my friend without even noticing me, so I teased him; he gave me some lame excuse about trying not to favor female customers over male. Whatever.
I ordered the Beef & Bleu salad (Angus beef, bleu cheese, dried fruit, roasted zucchini, and walnuts over greens with Parmesan peppercorn dressing) and my friend took my lead and also got a salad, the smoked salmon Nicoise. Olio does superb salads.
We sat down to get started talking while our food was being prepared. But where to start after years of not seeing each other? I wasn't sure whether to ask the things I was dying to know or begin innocuously.
He solved the problem by taking the lead, telling me about his work (he's an author who does a lot of speaking for corporate groups) and asking about mine.
We were knee-deep in a discussion of self-imposed deadlines when our food was delivered. We got busy eating but never stopped talking.
One conversation led to another as we kept taking tangents about the past and present. I was honestly surprised at how much detail he remembered about me and the time we had spent together, given that it wasn't recent or long-lived. Wow, he was definitely taking way better mental notes back then than I was. Impressive.
He asked if I was still a Prince fan (given last night's show at Madison Square Garden) and I told him that although I very much am, I know I'll never get better Prince memories than the two times I saw him at the Landmark. Still, it was an obscure fact to remember about me.
As he continued to ask questions of me to elicit information, he kept saying things like, "You? No way!" and "Really?" Finally he came right out and said, "Wow, a lot about you has changed. What brought all that on?"
Looking back, I had to say that it was that serious bout of pneumonia I had two years ago. After being in Intensive Care for nearly a week, something in me shifted and habits of a lifetime went away. Everything got easier.
I don't even realize anymore how different I must seem to people who are still carrying around old perceptions of me. And that would definitely include people who haven't seen me in the last two years, like my friend.
On the plus side, he said the person I've relaxed into being is so much cooler than the me he knew way back when. "And I thought that person was pretty great," he qualified.
He seemed more than okay with expecting one Karen and getting quite another. Sorry, but this is the only one available anymore.
Amazing the stuff you can discover about a person when you reconnect face to face.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Fruit is Rusting on the Vine
A friend who, like me, prefers to communicate in writing, finally asked what phone number he could call me at. I gave it to him, clarifying that it was my only number.
Friend: I know that's your only number, Ms. Smarty pants. It never hurts to ask though. You could be at a different location. Could've run into a tall, dark and handsome man last night...the possibilities are endless you know.
Me: All the good ones are taken, haven't you heard?
Friend: I still hate to tell you the right one is tough to find. And you don't strike me as a simple, one-dimensional, compromising type of woman.
Me: So I'm going to be partner-less for the rest of my life, aren't I? (You can consider that a rhetorical question if you like)
Friend: Would be much easier for you to find this person in NY, CA, DC or Europe. In Richmond, you will have to adjust your criteria. I might have 77 things on my perfect woman spreadsheet, but you have at least 10-15 things on your list. Just sayin'.
And, yes, he really does have a spreadsheet (I consider it one of his many charms) and a girlfriend who meets more of the 77 criteria than anyone else he's ever met. They're one of my favorite couple dates since they're great conversationalists and eat out as much as I do (and like me, eat anything).
It hadn't even occurred to me that I had criteria, except that I do want a talker...and someone who likes to go out as much as I do...and loves to eat and drink...and they have to read...and be a good kisser...
So I'm not the spreadsheet type, but maybe I do have a few criteria in mind, meaning I will have a hard time whenever I do start dating.
Friend: Yes I was being kind with the 10-15 things :)
I am not making a spreadsheet. Presumably I will know if I ever meet the right person. And hopefully that will be when, not if.
I certainly hope I don't have to leave Richmond. Yet anyway.
Friend: I know that's your only number, Ms. Smarty pants. It never hurts to ask though. You could be at a different location. Could've run into a tall, dark and handsome man last night...the possibilities are endless you know.
Me: All the good ones are taken, haven't you heard?
Friend: I still hate to tell you the right one is tough to find. And you don't strike me as a simple, one-dimensional, compromising type of woman.
Me: So I'm going to be partner-less for the rest of my life, aren't I? (You can consider that a rhetorical question if you like)
Friend: Would be much easier for you to find this person in NY, CA, DC or Europe. In Richmond, you will have to adjust your criteria. I might have 77 things on my perfect woman spreadsheet, but you have at least 10-15 things on your list. Just sayin'.
And, yes, he really does have a spreadsheet (I consider it one of his many charms) and a girlfriend who meets more of the 77 criteria than anyone else he's ever met. They're one of my favorite couple dates since they're great conversationalists and eat out as much as I do (and like me, eat anything).
It hadn't even occurred to me that I had criteria, except that I do want a talker...and someone who likes to go out as much as I do...and loves to eat and drink...and they have to read...and be a good kisser...
So I'm not the spreadsheet type, but maybe I do have a few criteria in mind, meaning I will have a hard time whenever I do start dating.
Friend: Yes I was being kind with the 10-15 things :)
I am not making a spreadsheet. Presumably I will know if I ever meet the right person. And hopefully that will be when, not if.
I certainly hope I don't have to leave Richmond. Yet anyway.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Double Jinx at Garnett's Cafe
I don't know if there's a cozier place than Garnett's on a rainy day. It already feels like you're having lunch in someone's snug kitchen and the rain outside just emphasizes the comfort factor.
So after working all morning, I was headed over in the downpour to meet a friend, jabber and have some lunch.
And I wasn't a bit surprised to find the place full up except for a couple of seats at the counter, one of which I slid in to. A guy at the end of the bar was reading a book. The older couple behind me were chowing down in silence.
Seated next to me was the afternoon/evening cook who'd decided to come in early and hang out until his shift began, so he was happily sketching until his turn in the kitchen. "I couldn't think of anyplace better to be on a day like this," he explained. What he said.
Once again I fell victim to their fabulous Cobb salad (every salad should have bacon, don't you think?) and my friend and I dove into our latest news. Hers was monumental and exciting at the same time. Unlike me, she is no longer available.
The funny part of that, as I told her, is that twice in recent days, I had been talking to friends (couple friends, of course) about how one by one, all my long-time available friends have been pairing up.
Which is a good thing and I'm happy for them all. But both times, I'd mentioned that I at least still had one close friend in the same boat I'm in. One person who didn't automatically have a date for everything.
"Thank you!" she laughed. "You jinxed me right into being taken!"
Now that I know I have that power, I just have to figure out how to jinx myself.
So after working all morning, I was headed over in the downpour to meet a friend, jabber and have some lunch.
And I wasn't a bit surprised to find the place full up except for a couple of seats at the counter, one of which I slid in to. A guy at the end of the bar was reading a book. The older couple behind me were chowing down in silence.
Seated next to me was the afternoon/evening cook who'd decided to come in early and hang out until his shift began, so he was happily sketching until his turn in the kitchen. "I couldn't think of anyplace better to be on a day like this," he explained. What he said.
Once again I fell victim to their fabulous Cobb salad (every salad should have bacon, don't you think?) and my friend and I dove into our latest news. Hers was monumental and exciting at the same time. Unlike me, she is no longer available.
The funny part of that, as I told her, is that twice in recent days, I had been talking to friends (couple friends, of course) about how one by one, all my long-time available friends have been pairing up.
Which is a good thing and I'm happy for them all. But both times, I'd mentioned that I at least still had one close friend in the same boat I'm in. One person who didn't automatically have a date for everything.
"Thank you!" she laughed. "You jinxed me right into being taken!"
Now that I know I have that power, I just have to figure out how to jinx myself.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Friendship or Romance?
The best way to offset a weekend that had so much male company is an evening out with a girlfriend, especially one with two weeks worth of dating adventures to share. When she called to suggest it, I couldn't say yes fast enough. Estrogen, yes!
She chose for our rendezvous Stuzzi. We had a tacit understanding that she wasn't to spill the beans until we'd ordered, so we asked for the four-meat Carnivori so that we could get on with it. The beauty of Stuzzi's oven is that it delivers in 90 seconds, which is great for those seeking practically instantaneous gratification.
The protein-covered pizza was a hit with us both. As a bonus, owner Peter was gracious in sending over a couple of his "delicious little things" in the form of the fried risotto balls and the potato croquettes. We had plenty of sustenance for the storytelling to begin.
Since I'd seen my friend last, she'd seen three guys, but the upshot was that she's decided to date the guy she's known for a year as a friend. He's always been interested in her and once she gave him a chance, she found he was just what she's been looking for. She's guardedly optimistic and I'm excited for her because she deserves to be happy after being dumped and not dating for a year and a half.
Meanwhile a guy had come over to talk to me, asking about where I was from, what I did for a living and other basic info. He even asked me for a restaurant recommendation and I suggested Bistro 27, explaining that I liked it because the food was terrific and it was just blocks from my house.
Him:
How about I take you to dinner at Bistro 27 then?
Me:
I'm not dating.
Him:
What are you looking for, friendship or romance?
Me:
Friendship. No romance.
Him:
Me, too. It's good to have female friends. Can I take you to dinner as friends?
Offers aside, it was a small world at Stuzzi tonight; I also ran into a guy I'd recently met at Bouchon and another I'd met at Balliceaux. It was like old home week except that it was supposed to be girls' night out. How did these guys make it into our bubble?
Leaving Stuzzi, I drove over to the Camel for the music of Lennie Tristano and the Jason Scott Quintet. I knew nothing about overlooked jazz legend Lennie T., but I knew enough of the musicians in the Tristano group and the JS Quintet to know that I'd be in for some great jazz.
A musician later told me that Tristano's music was weird, rhythmic, difficult and way ahead of its time (the 40s and 50s). Introducing the final song of the set, Jason said that it was hard, and that in one section, "he moves the whole melody over one beat." I wasn't even sure what that meant and I was intrigued. Altogether, it was an excellent set.
Then two musicians left and two others replaced them for the second set of Jason's original compositions. Alternately intense and heavy and then strikingly beautiful, the tone of the music changed from song to song. They even wowed the crowd with their interpretation of the closing credit music to Donnie Darko.
Shortly after the set began, two musician friends from Marionette joined me at my booth and they were as blown away as I was with what we were hearing. Kerri turned to me between songs and said, "That was so beautiful it made me want to cry." I was already thinking that the trumpet solo alone had been heart-stopping.
It was a treat for me having them there because after the show we sat around and talked about what we'd just heard. With their far more extensive musical knowledge, they provided all kinds of insights and explanations for what I'd heard but did not have the vocabulary to describe.
But I had no trouble understanding Kerri when she looked at me between songs and said, "I need to get out more. This is amazing."
Five bucks on a Monday night in River City, kids. We really couldn't ask for more.
Well, I couldn't anyway.
She chose for our rendezvous Stuzzi. We had a tacit understanding that she wasn't to spill the beans until we'd ordered, so we asked for the four-meat Carnivori so that we could get on with it. The beauty of Stuzzi's oven is that it delivers in 90 seconds, which is great for those seeking practically instantaneous gratification.
The protein-covered pizza was a hit with us both. As a bonus, owner Peter was gracious in sending over a couple of his "delicious little things" in the form of the fried risotto balls and the potato croquettes. We had plenty of sustenance for the storytelling to begin.
Since I'd seen my friend last, she'd seen three guys, but the upshot was that she's decided to date the guy she's known for a year as a friend. He's always been interested in her and once she gave him a chance, she found he was just what she's been looking for. She's guardedly optimistic and I'm excited for her because she deserves to be happy after being dumped and not dating for a year and a half.
Meanwhile a guy had come over to talk to me, asking about where I was from, what I did for a living and other basic info. He even asked me for a restaurant recommendation and I suggested Bistro 27, explaining that I liked it because the food was terrific and it was just blocks from my house.
Him:
How about I take you to dinner at Bistro 27 then?
Me:
I'm not dating.
Him:
What are you looking for, friendship or romance?
Me:
Friendship. No romance.
Him:
Me, too. It's good to have female friends. Can I take you to dinner as friends?
Offers aside, it was a small world at Stuzzi tonight; I also ran into a guy I'd recently met at Bouchon and another I'd met at Balliceaux. It was like old home week except that it was supposed to be girls' night out. How did these guys make it into our bubble?
Leaving Stuzzi, I drove over to the Camel for the music of Lennie Tristano and the Jason Scott Quintet. I knew nothing about overlooked jazz legend Lennie T., but I knew enough of the musicians in the Tristano group and the JS Quintet to know that I'd be in for some great jazz.
A musician later told me that Tristano's music was weird, rhythmic, difficult and way ahead of its time (the 40s and 50s). Introducing the final song of the set, Jason said that it was hard, and that in one section, "he moves the whole melody over one beat." I wasn't even sure what that meant and I was intrigued. Altogether, it was an excellent set.
Then two musicians left and two others replaced them for the second set of Jason's original compositions. Alternately intense and heavy and then strikingly beautiful, the tone of the music changed from song to song. They even wowed the crowd with their interpretation of the closing credit music to Donnie Darko.
Shortly after the set began, two musician friends from Marionette joined me at my booth and they were as blown away as I was with what we were hearing. Kerri turned to me between songs and said, "That was so beautiful it made me want to cry." I was already thinking that the trumpet solo alone had been heart-stopping.
It was a treat for me having them there because after the show we sat around and talked about what we'd just heard. With their far more extensive musical knowledge, they provided all kinds of insights and explanations for what I'd heard but did not have the vocabulary to describe.
But I had no trouble understanding Kerri when she looked at me between songs and said, "I need to get out more. This is amazing."
Five bucks on a Monday night in River City, kids. We really couldn't ask for more.
Well, I couldn't anyway.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Romance on the High Seas
Just because I'm not yet ready to date doesn't mean I'm not fascinated with braver friends who are.
Tonight I met up with a girlfriend at Olio for dinner and to hear about her impending romantic dating adventures on the left coast. The food was great but her man plans were even better.
After having consumed copious amounts of barbecue yesterday, I was in need of a green dinner and found it in the form of a turkey, avocado and apple salad with a side of corn/chickpea/green bean/tomato salad.
My friend, trying to eat healthier (a stage I am well past) or perhaps concerned with upcoming body revelations, opted for one of the specials, a walleye and mahi mahi burrito with mango chutney in a spinach tortilla, when what she actually wanted was the prime rib sandwich special.
Never settle, friend.
I'd tell you about the bottle of wine we had, but it disappeared so quickly I never even noticed what it was (kidding...a pinot gris, but whose I couldn't tell you).
Dessert was a shared molten chocolate lava cake for the sake of a diversion during the sharing part of the evening (or perhaps I'm sublimating my feelings in food).
I have to admit I was enthralled by the details she was sharing.
My friend is shortly leaving for California to rendezvous with a man she met while on a business trip there a few weeks ago.
They randomly met one night and talked non-stop until 4:30 a.m., always a good sign (would that I had someone I wanted to talk to until 4:30 in the morning).
The next day, she barely made it to the airport before calling him and suggesting that she return for more conversation in a few weeks.
He was impressed that she'd offered. She was impressed with his bravado ("I'm not scared of you," he told her, clearly indicating that he was).
They have developed a plan whereby she's going to fly 3,000 miles to have a 2 1/2 day date aboard his rather large sailboat.
For propriety's sake the boat has two staterooms, both of which, he informed her, now have clean sheets.
The plan is to spend the days teaching her to sail and when the appeal of lessons wears thin, he wants to cook for her.
Thoughtfully, he's laid in a case and a half of her favorite wine and cheeses for their happy hour pleasure.
They even like the same music, no small matter in my humble opinion.
I knew my friend was excited about the potential of this tryst when she told me about all the new clothing she'd bought for it.
She is only a year out of a six-year relationship that ended unexpectedly and this is her first foray into throwing caution to the wind and just letting whatever happens happen.
I am in awe of her nerve and only wish she could share it with me.
Over a final glass of wine across the street at Bacchus, she told me how excited she is about the great unknown potential of this adventure.
She's afraid to be optimistic and end up disappointed, despite all indicators being positive.
I was trying to be a cheerleader, encouraging her to finally open up and let someone in, especially someone who'd already asked if he could kiss her (she said no).
Not that I have any right to tell anyone what to do in the romance department, but I felt like she needed the bolstering.
Even if I can't put myself out there yet, I want to know someone who can.
And then maybe she can tell me what the secret is. At the very least, it's like sneaking a peek at a romance novel, something I would never do otherwise.
Even at this stage, the appeal of happily ever after is still incredibly strong.
My friends haven't teased me about being hopelessly romantic all these years without reason.
It could happen...couldn't it?
Tonight I met up with a girlfriend at Olio for dinner and to hear about her impending romantic dating adventures on the left coast. The food was great but her man plans were even better.
After having consumed copious amounts of barbecue yesterday, I was in need of a green dinner and found it in the form of a turkey, avocado and apple salad with a side of corn/chickpea/green bean/tomato salad.
My friend, trying to eat healthier (a stage I am well past) or perhaps concerned with upcoming body revelations, opted for one of the specials, a walleye and mahi mahi burrito with mango chutney in a spinach tortilla, when what she actually wanted was the prime rib sandwich special.
Never settle, friend.
I'd tell you about the bottle of wine we had, but it disappeared so quickly I never even noticed what it was (kidding...a pinot gris, but whose I couldn't tell you).
Dessert was a shared molten chocolate lava cake for the sake of a diversion during the sharing part of the evening (or perhaps I'm sublimating my feelings in food).
I have to admit I was enthralled by the details she was sharing.
My friend is shortly leaving for California to rendezvous with a man she met while on a business trip there a few weeks ago.
They randomly met one night and talked non-stop until 4:30 a.m., always a good sign (would that I had someone I wanted to talk to until 4:30 in the morning).
The next day, she barely made it to the airport before calling him and suggesting that she return for more conversation in a few weeks.
He was impressed that she'd offered. She was impressed with his bravado ("I'm not scared of you," he told her, clearly indicating that he was).
They have developed a plan whereby she's going to fly 3,000 miles to have a 2 1/2 day date aboard his rather large sailboat.
For propriety's sake the boat has two staterooms, both of which, he informed her, now have clean sheets.
The plan is to spend the days teaching her to sail and when the appeal of lessons wears thin, he wants to cook for her.
Thoughtfully, he's laid in a case and a half of her favorite wine and cheeses for their happy hour pleasure.
They even like the same music, no small matter in my humble opinion.
I knew my friend was excited about the potential of this tryst when she told me about all the new clothing she'd bought for it.
She is only a year out of a six-year relationship that ended unexpectedly and this is her first foray into throwing caution to the wind and just letting whatever happens happen.
I am in awe of her nerve and only wish she could share it with me.
Over a final glass of wine across the street at Bacchus, she told me how excited she is about the great unknown potential of this adventure.
She's afraid to be optimistic and end up disappointed, despite all indicators being positive.
I was trying to be a cheerleader, encouraging her to finally open up and let someone in, especially someone who'd already asked if he could kiss her (she said no).
Not that I have any right to tell anyone what to do in the romance department, but I felt like she needed the bolstering.
Even if I can't put myself out there yet, I want to know someone who can.
And then maybe she can tell me what the secret is. At the very least, it's like sneaking a peek at a romance novel, something I would never do otherwise.
Even at this stage, the appeal of happily ever after is still incredibly strong.
My friends haven't teased me about being hopelessly romantic all these years without reason.
It could happen...couldn't it?
Monday, May 10, 2010
And Who Doesn't Like Cake?
I didn't go to Avalon for romance; I went to meet a good friend for a glass of wine and some nerdy conversation (I got both).
The romance part came when a casual friend, one whom I've known for ten years but haven't seen in the past turbulent year showed up.
It was great to see her and while my wine friend stepped outside for a smoke break, she and I played catch-up.
As it turns out, she was meeting friends to celebrate; her divorce was final today.
The fact that she was celebrating represented progress because she wasn't the catalyst for the divorce.
It was one of those unfortunate instances when a wife arrives home unexpectedly only to discover her husband in flagrante delicto; the kicker was that he was with merely one of a string of chippies.
So snap!
Just like that, more than a decade of marriage out the window.
And just to be clear here, my friend is a very talented artist and photographer, not to mention smart, funny and gorgeous.
I say this as a friend, but I only wish I had a fraction of the allure she does.
Here's where the romantic part comes in.
After months of fearing dating and disrobing, reality and relationships, she heard from an old friend via, what else, Facebook.
We're talking about someone she knew twenty years ago who still lives in Great Britain, just as he did when she first met him.
They started communicating and found enough of interest to schedule a first date, despite the pond that separates their continents.
They met in Paris two decades after they last saw each other.
Things went so well that they've now planned a second date.
He'll be arriving in Virginia in a few weeks and they're taking a two-week road trip.
It will begin with a drive down Skyline Drive to Ashville, meander through Nashville and Memphis and makes stops in Savannah and Charleston.
You read right, date #2 will last a fortnight.
Granted, the mere idea of a Parisian first date and a two-week second date are enough to satisfy the romantic in anyone, but for me, that's not even the most romantic part.
I'm blown away by the optimism of them both, their open willingness to just throw themselves into this possibility and see what develops.
In an attempt to make me understand why she's following her passion, she pointed out that, "If you're attracted to someone at one point in your life, chances are you'll be attracted to them at a later date, too. People don't change that much."
That story made my night, possibly my month.
Imagine having your life totally torn apart only to have something wonderful rise out of the debris.
And as has been said by many a wise man, being able to travel well together is not only the ultimate test of a relationship, but absolutely necessary for its success.
This second date of theirs already sounds like the most romantic date ever, if only because they're both willing to do it.
The romance that happens along the way will just be icing on the cake.
Could someone cut me a really big slice, please?
The romance part came when a casual friend, one whom I've known for ten years but haven't seen in the past turbulent year showed up.
It was great to see her and while my wine friend stepped outside for a smoke break, she and I played catch-up.
As it turns out, she was meeting friends to celebrate; her divorce was final today.
The fact that she was celebrating represented progress because she wasn't the catalyst for the divorce.
It was one of those unfortunate instances when a wife arrives home unexpectedly only to discover her husband in flagrante delicto; the kicker was that he was with merely one of a string of chippies.
So snap!
Just like that, more than a decade of marriage out the window.
And just to be clear here, my friend is a very talented artist and photographer, not to mention smart, funny and gorgeous.
I say this as a friend, but I only wish I had a fraction of the allure she does.
Here's where the romantic part comes in.
After months of fearing dating and disrobing, reality and relationships, she heard from an old friend via, what else, Facebook.
We're talking about someone she knew twenty years ago who still lives in Great Britain, just as he did when she first met him.
They started communicating and found enough of interest to schedule a first date, despite the pond that separates their continents.
They met in Paris two decades after they last saw each other.
Things went so well that they've now planned a second date.
He'll be arriving in Virginia in a few weeks and they're taking a two-week road trip.
It will begin with a drive down Skyline Drive to Ashville, meander through Nashville and Memphis and makes stops in Savannah and Charleston.
You read right, date #2 will last a fortnight.
Granted, the mere idea of a Parisian first date and a two-week second date are enough to satisfy the romantic in anyone, but for me, that's not even the most romantic part.
I'm blown away by the optimism of them both, their open willingness to just throw themselves into this possibility and see what develops.
In an attempt to make me understand why she's following her passion, she pointed out that, "If you're attracted to someone at one point in your life, chances are you'll be attracted to them at a later date, too. People don't change that much."
That story made my night, possibly my month.
Imagine having your life totally torn apart only to have something wonderful rise out of the debris.
And as has been said by many a wise man, being able to travel well together is not only the ultimate test of a relationship, but absolutely necessary for its success.
This second date of theirs already sounds like the most romantic date ever, if only because they're both willing to do it.
The romance that happens along the way will just be icing on the cake.
Could someone cut me a really big slice, please?
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.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wine! It's What's for Lunch
I had my first experience with the three-martini lunch today, except that there were no martinis involved.
It started innocently enough with lunch plans to meet a girlfriend at Bistro 27.
On the walk over, I ran into my Whiskey Wednesday buddy (who, sadly, no longer resides in J-Ward) but it provided plenty of catch-up talk about Against Me! and good Mexican in Carytown.
It's weird how we run into each other as much, if not more, than when we lived a block and a half apart.
So, on to the Bistro 27 experience.
First of all, let me state for the record that Carlos is one of my favorite chef friends in all of RVA.
He always produces amazing food and he always makes time for stellar conversation and insider insight; that he's devastatingly handsome doesn't hurt, either.
Because of my whiskey friend delay, my perennially tardy friend was already in place at the bar when I arrived, a highly unusual circumstance, since she's known for her lack of punctuality.
The server was just pouring her glass of vino verde when I arrived.
Since we were the only bar customers, I made it easy for her and just ordered the same.
No one should have to work too hard on a Thursday afternoon this beautiful.
Before we could even order, Carlos presented us with a gigantic bowl of mussels in a tomato/herb broth with fresh-out-of-the-oven sundried tomato focaccia.
Perhaps he thought we needed something to wash down with our vino verde, but whatever the reason for his generosity, they were scrumptious.
For lunch I had the Gorgonzola chicken salad and friend had the Mediterranean wrap (enormous, btw) and sweet potato fries.
We were smart to lay down a base because Carlos was happy to have, in his words, "two beautiful women at my bar," and things quickly devolved from lunch to an afternoon wine party, complete with wine reps dropping by and assorted other vendors coming in, joining in and moving on.
Like any good party, a rotating guest list makes for the best possible conversational possibilities.
Carlos had a brilliant idea for restaurant recycling, an especially critical issue since the city doesn't pick up commercial recycling.
His proposal was to work out an arrangement to use a couple of the city recycling trucks at off times once a week to collect restaurant recyclables, which would then be taken to one of the stations that process them.
Any proceeds from the abundance of glass and cardboard donated would go directly to the Central Virginia Food Bank.
As it is, many restaurateurs don't recycle because of the hassle of taking it to a site, so it sounds like a win/win situation (Portland or San Fran-like, even).
Thoughts from the peanut gallery?
My friend is dating someone, but tonight she has a date with someone else entirely, so we spent a fair amount of time discussing the male/female dynamic and how it plays out.
Carlos and I shared tales of marriage and our preference for being in a committed relationship rather than loose in the dating world.
Of course, there was a fair amount of finger-pointing at the opposite sex for the foibles that tangle us up in less-than-satisfactory relationships, but all in good fun.
Also on the table were the changes in 27's menu for the upcoming warm weather season. I was ecstatic to hear that he'll be adding the Bobo de Camarae, drooled over here, to his summer menu and, best of all, in an appetizer portion. Hallelujah!
This dish must be experienced and now anyone will have that opportunity to experience a true Brazilian dish with its African influences.
He told us about other Brazilian additions for the summer, but I'll leave you to discover them on your own.
I love that these dishes he usually only makes for his family are now available to the non-Brazilian masses (read: me).
Lest you think the abundance of wine limited us to only sex and restaurant talk, one of the most satisfying discussions of the afternoon was about the loss of childhood and the delay of the maturation process.
Not one of us could make an argument for the majority today having their act together by age 30.
How is it we have 12-year olds who are going on 25 and 28-year olds still trying to figure out life's basic requirements?
We didn't have an answer.
If I've made 27 sound like a great neighborhood joint where you'd want to hang out, it's because it is.
If you don't believe me, check out their Ste. Michelles Estates wine dinner next Thursday.
The last wine dinner I went to there was also five course (and the courses are generous, so pace yourself), presented by Bodegas Carrau (I'm still coveting my last bottle of the Tannat for a very special occasion) and this one is an even better deal.
It's only $55 and that's all-inclusive.
You will be full, you will be loopy and you will take food home. Just sayin'.
But I digress.
After a nearly four hour lunch, it occurred to my friend that she had a date to prepare for and, while my plans don't involve a date tonight, they do involve a music-loving friend, dinner, multiple bands and a meet-up with a favorite girlfriend afterwards.
Time to get cleaned up and exit the Ward for a while.
Should you care to check back, full report to come.
It started innocently enough with lunch plans to meet a girlfriend at Bistro 27.
On the walk over, I ran into my Whiskey Wednesday buddy (who, sadly, no longer resides in J-Ward) but it provided plenty of catch-up talk about Against Me! and good Mexican in Carytown.
It's weird how we run into each other as much, if not more, than when we lived a block and a half apart.
So, on to the Bistro 27 experience.
First of all, let me state for the record that Carlos is one of my favorite chef friends in all of RVA.
He always produces amazing food and he always makes time for stellar conversation and insider insight; that he's devastatingly handsome doesn't hurt, either.
Because of my whiskey friend delay, my perennially tardy friend was already in place at the bar when I arrived, a highly unusual circumstance, since she's known for her lack of punctuality.
The server was just pouring her glass of vino verde when I arrived.
Since we were the only bar customers, I made it easy for her and just ordered the same.
No one should have to work too hard on a Thursday afternoon this beautiful.
Before we could even order, Carlos presented us with a gigantic bowl of mussels in a tomato/herb broth with fresh-out-of-the-oven sundried tomato focaccia.
Perhaps he thought we needed something to wash down with our vino verde, but whatever the reason for his generosity, they were scrumptious.
For lunch I had the Gorgonzola chicken salad and friend had the Mediterranean wrap (enormous, btw) and sweet potato fries.
We were smart to lay down a base because Carlos was happy to have, in his words, "two beautiful women at my bar," and things quickly devolved from lunch to an afternoon wine party, complete with wine reps dropping by and assorted other vendors coming in, joining in and moving on.
Like any good party, a rotating guest list makes for the best possible conversational possibilities.
Carlos had a brilliant idea for restaurant recycling, an especially critical issue since the city doesn't pick up commercial recycling.
His proposal was to work out an arrangement to use a couple of the city recycling trucks at off times once a week to collect restaurant recyclables, which would then be taken to one of the stations that process them.
Any proceeds from the abundance of glass and cardboard donated would go directly to the Central Virginia Food Bank.
As it is, many restaurateurs don't recycle because of the hassle of taking it to a site, so it sounds like a win/win situation (Portland or San Fran-like, even).
Thoughts from the peanut gallery?
My friend is dating someone, but tonight she has a date with someone else entirely, so we spent a fair amount of time discussing the male/female dynamic and how it plays out.
Carlos and I shared tales of marriage and our preference for being in a committed relationship rather than loose in the dating world.
Of course, there was a fair amount of finger-pointing at the opposite sex for the foibles that tangle us up in less-than-satisfactory relationships, but all in good fun.
Also on the table were the changes in 27's menu for the upcoming warm weather season. I was ecstatic to hear that he'll be adding the Bobo de Camarae, drooled over here, to his summer menu and, best of all, in an appetizer portion. Hallelujah!
This dish must be experienced and now anyone will have that opportunity to experience a true Brazilian dish with its African influences.
He told us about other Brazilian additions for the summer, but I'll leave you to discover them on your own.
I love that these dishes he usually only makes for his family are now available to the non-Brazilian masses (read: me).
Lest you think the abundance of wine limited us to only sex and restaurant talk, one of the most satisfying discussions of the afternoon was about the loss of childhood and the delay of the maturation process.
Not one of us could make an argument for the majority today having their act together by age 30.
How is it we have 12-year olds who are going on 25 and 28-year olds still trying to figure out life's basic requirements?
We didn't have an answer.
If I've made 27 sound like a great neighborhood joint where you'd want to hang out, it's because it is.
If you don't believe me, check out their Ste. Michelles Estates wine dinner next Thursday.
The last wine dinner I went to there was also five course (and the courses are generous, so pace yourself), presented by Bodegas Carrau (I'm still coveting my last bottle of the Tannat for a very special occasion) and this one is an even better deal.
It's only $55 and that's all-inclusive.
You will be full, you will be loopy and you will take food home. Just sayin'.
But I digress.
After a nearly four hour lunch, it occurred to my friend that she had a date to prepare for and, while my plans don't involve a date tonight, they do involve a music-loving friend, dinner, multiple bands and a meet-up with a favorite girlfriend afterwards.
Time to get cleaned up and exit the Ward for a while.
Should you care to check back, full report to come.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Lunch Lessons
I'd never set foot in Stronghill Dining Co. in daylight which made the new mural all the more striking when my friend and I got there today.
Painted on the right-hand wall as you walk in, it's an art deco-looking thing of beauty and done by a local artist Brett Bacon.
Let's face it, Stronghill's decor has always been noteworthy with those two-tone booths and sculpture hanging from the ceiling, but the addition of the mural adds to the visual stimulation in the best possible way.
I'm fond of their dinner menu, so I had presumed that lunch would be equally as interesting and it was.
My friend ordered the Cobb salad, the difference being it had lobster rather than bacon.
That turned out to be fortunate for me because apparently she's not much of a lobster fan, so it ended up on my plate.
I'd gotten the shrimp cake sandwich which had a creamy avocado aoili and fried shallots on it and came with a side salad.
Although the buttered roll was over-sized for the shrimp cake, I wasn't complaining because of the savoriness of the combination; avocado and shrimp belong together, a fact of which I had not been aware prior to today's lunch.
The hot topic for today was dating, which must be in the air, because it had been the subject of choice with the friend I'd spent last evening with too.
Last night's friend had decided that the way to meet guys was to put an ad on Craig's List with a list of what she's looking for in a guy and offer to buy him a nice dinner.
Her thinking was that, at the very least, she'd get a good story out of it and, with any luck, meet someone interesting or at least friend material.
She wants me to help her write the ad, which I'm happy to do.
My lunch companion today has decided to go the online dating route, albeit with strict parameters for both age (three years younger or older) and geographical distance (no more than five miles form her house).
A city-dweller, she has no interest in dating anyone who lives in suburbia (one guy she had a date with years ago had a big box store being built practically in his backyard, causing her to ask, "Why would you ever buy a house here?"). He did not call her for a second date.
It's funny, all the interesting uninvolved women I know want to be dating and yet everyone agrees that they must be doing something wrong or they'd be getting asked out.
Or maybe in our post-modern society, opinionated women are just not a hot commodity, no matter what they look like.
Nah, that couldn't possibly be it.
Or, as a male friend recently told me, "Just admit it; you're cute."
Luckily, opinionated and cute are not mutually exclusive.
Painted on the right-hand wall as you walk in, it's an art deco-looking thing of beauty and done by a local artist Brett Bacon.
Let's face it, Stronghill's decor has always been noteworthy with those two-tone booths and sculpture hanging from the ceiling, but the addition of the mural adds to the visual stimulation in the best possible way.
I'm fond of their dinner menu, so I had presumed that lunch would be equally as interesting and it was.
My friend ordered the Cobb salad, the difference being it had lobster rather than bacon.
That turned out to be fortunate for me because apparently she's not much of a lobster fan, so it ended up on my plate.
I'd gotten the shrimp cake sandwich which had a creamy avocado aoili and fried shallots on it and came with a side salad.
Although the buttered roll was over-sized for the shrimp cake, I wasn't complaining because of the savoriness of the combination; avocado and shrimp belong together, a fact of which I had not been aware prior to today's lunch.
The hot topic for today was dating, which must be in the air, because it had been the subject of choice with the friend I'd spent last evening with too.
Last night's friend had decided that the way to meet guys was to put an ad on Craig's List with a list of what she's looking for in a guy and offer to buy him a nice dinner.
Her thinking was that, at the very least, she'd get a good story out of it and, with any luck, meet someone interesting or at least friend material.
She wants me to help her write the ad, which I'm happy to do.
My lunch companion today has decided to go the online dating route, albeit with strict parameters for both age (three years younger or older) and geographical distance (no more than five miles form her house).
A city-dweller, she has no interest in dating anyone who lives in suburbia (one guy she had a date with years ago had a big box store being built practically in his backyard, causing her to ask, "Why would you ever buy a house here?"). He did not call her for a second date.
It's funny, all the interesting uninvolved women I know want to be dating and yet everyone agrees that they must be doing something wrong or they'd be getting asked out.
Or maybe in our post-modern society, opinionated women are just not a hot commodity, no matter what they look like.
Nah, that couldn't possibly be it.
Or, as a male friend recently told me, "Just admit it; you're cute."
Luckily, opinionated and cute are not mutually exclusive.
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