Giving a Thumbs Up to the Night

Try and keep someone like me away from an evening called "Conversations."

In this case, the conversation was about the VMFA's "Signs of Protest: Photographs from the Civil Rights Era" exhibit which I'd seen last week and was with UVA's John Edwin Mason and the museum's Sarah Eckhardt.

I was pleased that it actually was more of a conversation than a lecture or talk, with the two of them commenting on slides from the exhibit, sharing information with the audience and each other.

For me, it was particularly interesting to see the rest of the "Life" magazine spread on segregation Gordon Parks had done in 1956. Two pages are in the exhibit, but this was a look at the entire piece in color, when the original had been black and white. It was stunning.

Sarah also made the point that reading the text provided a look at the language we used to discuss racism then, so different than how we speak of it today.

Mason mentioned the letters to the editor that followed a few weeks later in "Life," many of them thanking the magazine for providing a glimpse into a black family's life, saying they had no idea good people in the south were treated this way.

They went through several other photographs, providing insight into them and the photographer who took them.

Mrs. Winston-Draper, the woman I'd heard speak at the Maggie Walker house (for MLK Day) and the sister of photographer Louis Draper, spoke a little about his work, but not nearly as much as she'd done Monday, making me glad I'd seen her when she was the sole focus.

When the conversation broke up, all too soon considering how fascinating it was, we went out to see the exhibit and there I chatted with Gordon, owner of Candela Gallery where the Louis Draper retrospective is now showing before going down to Best Cafe for music.

The Larri Branch Agenda was in full swing when I arrived, saw a familiar face and sat down at his table. LBA was performing their usual original compositions as well as a few standards and since I always enjoy seeing Brian Cruse on bass, I settled in for the duration.

Our conversation was far-reaching, covering foreign film and "Fight Club," movie soundtracks and improvisation, Chapman stick and looped cello.

I'm guessing the weather is still a factor for many people since the room was mostly full but not bursting at the seams like it so often is for the Thursday Jazz cafe.

But like Cinderella's big night, an evening at the VMFA has a strict time limit, so when they kicked us out at 9:00, I turned the car east, hoping to catch some dinner along the way home.

Magpie, with its windows fogged up and inviting, fit the bill perfectly although there was only one couple at the bar when I got there.

You hate to be that last customer, but the bartender assured me the kitchen was still open, so I took him at his word and looked for something warming to get me started.

Venison chili, loaded with onion and just enough heat, fit the bill perfectly and I all but licked the bowl.

If there's one thing you can count on at Magpie, it's game and '80s music and I was already enjoying both immensely by the time the couple cleared out, leaving just me.

When Van Morrison came on, though, I couldn't stop myself from asking the starting point and the bartender agreed with the poor selection.

"It's set to Elvis Costello...with alterations," he said."You have to treat Pandora like a pet, giving it thumbs up or thumbs down every time until it understands what you want. It's the only way to make it behave."

Brilliant. That's the best summary of how to whip your musical genome into shape I've ever heard and told him so. "You just have to catch it in time," he added. So true of pets and Pandora.

For my next course, I got bone marrow with pea shoot pistou and grilled bread, pleased when I heard that they were selling a ton of marrow the past few months as customer after customer learned the pleasure of bones.

For my main course, I went with one of the evening's medium plate specials, a riff on carbonara. Chive gnocchi, the sweetest rock shrimp, peas and watercress swam in a cream sauce made with bone marrow, an obscenely rich replacement for butter.

And the Cure and Bowie played on...

I'm not a pasta person but my Irish roots do incline me toward gnocchi and this was pillowy-soft and delicately flavored, absolutely irresistible to the O'Donnell in me.

I heard about the bartender's excitement about his upcoming trip to see the Pixies in Tennessee (he's seeing them at the National as well) as we discussed the pleasures of out-of-town trips that include music shows.

The chef told me about some of the recent charity dinners he'd participated in, marveling at the amount of money Richmond chefs have raised for worthy causes this year.

This is such a good time for the Richmond food scene.

By the time I got ready to go, Carver was pretty much in bed, the streets icy and abandoned, and I was oh-so full after a double shot of bone marrow.

And all the conversation I could have wished for.

Multiple Dates and Hot Seats

If variety is the spice of life, then I had a well-seasoned evening.

I'd been on an all-day road trip date (details not forthcoming) and by the time I got home, it was time to get cleaned up and figure out what to sandwich around the Listening Room tonight. I must say, it turned out to be a pretty tasty concoction.

And speaking of, Tasting Tuesdays are always a good excuse to go to the Empress, so I decided to get sustenance there.

I must have been earlier than usual because it was still the "wine enthusiast" period, with all glasses $2 off. That was my motivation for ordering organic, the Cuvee Hortense, something I wouldn't have typically gotten, but thoroughly enjoyed.

Anyway, the tasting was forgotten as soon as I spotted the bacon-wrapped dates on the menu. They're a favorite of mine and I'd never had theirs. Instead of the usual five or six, this was nine of them, albeit a bit smaller than I'd seen before.

But they came atop a local honey and Gorgonzola sauce that was to die for. As much as I love the sweet/salty combination of bacon and dates, they were elevated to something truly exceptional with this rich sauce. I even sopped the decorative micro-greens in it.

Just as I was finishing the last date, my server came by and I asked for the grilled asparagus, not even sure where that desire came from. They were perfectly cooked and seasoned with a bit of heat. And they made me want protein.

So next I asked for the beef carpaccio with shaved Manchego, arugula, black sea salt, chili-infused oil and slices of grilled sourdough.

Of note was the thickness of the raw beef, which is usually paper thin. Not so this, but it was none the worse for it and the generous and extremely flavorful serving satisfied on every level.

Because I'd taken my time deciding and then eating sequentially, all of a sudden it was time to get to the Listening Room's new digs, the Firehouse Theater.

Not sure what to expect with a new venue, I wanted to get there early enough to score a good seat and have time to visit before the music began; I succeeded on both counts. I mean, some of these people I hadn't seen in 18 hours.

One of the three bands was not playing due to a car accident, so the first to be introduced was Dogs on Main Street. MC Chris said that he wasn't going to tell us anything about the performer because "he prefers to remain mysterious."

I think his name was Mac (it was spoken quickly) and he came out cracking wise about himself as he tuned his guitar. "I wish my songs were as funny as I am," he lamented. "Sorry, Mom."

He had a compelling voice, kind of growl-like, but not in an affected way. This guy was a self-deprecator par excellence, too, questioning why he was on stage and why people were clapping for him. Because we like talented singer/songwriters?

The Hot Seats played next and they'd brought their fans with them. The bluegrass-loving locals are a big favorite live what with upright bass, drums, guitar, fiddle, banjo (sometimes two) and occasional mandolin. They also get bonus points for frequent trading of instruments and multiple vocalists.

They introduced a cover by saying, "Here goes. This is as straight ahead bluegrass as we do. As we can. As we will," and played a Scruggs and Flatt tune. John Prine was not far behind. It was a lot of strings, a lot of voices and the audience loved it.

The move to the Firehouse meant that there's now a bar for the Listening Room (but, alas, no donuts; they were sacrificed for the sake of beer and wine), so some of us hung around afterwards to mingle and talk about the first show at the new space (Antonia: "Change is hard").

The consensus was that it was different but good. Not as intimate, but better and more comfortable viewing. And a lot less work for the crew that sets up and breaks down each show, which is a very good thing.

I topped off my evening sandwich by walking up a few doors to the Camel for jazz, for which there's no cover charge on Tuesdays. With a rotating cast of local jazz musicians, it's a tempting way to end any Tuesday night.

By the time I arrived, I only caught the last couple songs of the Larry Branch Agenda's set, both originals, which sounded good. I'd brought a friend with me, saw a few repeats from the Listening Room and met up with another jazz lover.

Next up was keyboard man Steve Kessler, playing with drums, bass and sax. He explained right off the bat that the entire evening would be free jazz, totally improvised. Now things were getting interesting.

You never knew which member of the quartet was going to lead things off and then it was just a matter of time before the other bobbing heads came in behind and around to fill things out.

Frequently when one player went off on an obscure tangent, the others laughed out loud or smiled broadly as if to say, "WTF?" A few times the music actually stopped and a quick low-volume discussion ensued as suggestions were made.

But mostly it was a set of musical interplay between a bunch of guys that captured the audience's ears and eventually rewarded them. At the close of the set, Kessler said, "Thanks for coming to listen to our rehearsal." Happy to oblige. I love seeing a room full of blissed-out jazz geeks.

Evening sandwich gone, I brushed aside the crumbs and licked my lips. That certainly worked out well.