Calling All Friends

When it rains, it pours.

Weeks ago, a girlfriend had asked me to join her for the Ideas in Food dinner at Heritage.

Five courses and the chance to sit around, eat and drink for hours like we used to before her life turned upside down? Count me in.

Then I got home today to a phone message from a friend in Boston, saying he'd be in Richmond tonight and wanting to hang out.

A talented guy who befriended me three years while in town on business and has been known to e-mail from all over the world saying he's just read my blog or experienced something funny he wants to share with me? Yes, please.

Oh, if only I'd gotten a good night's sleep last night, but, alas, my body's infrequent caffeine intake and a mega-Coke a few hours before bedtime had left me unable to get to sleep until dawn.

It's nights like this you push through on pure adrenaline.

Heritage was just starting to fill up when we arrived to claim our corner booth and begin catching up on the good stuff.

With glasses of a Barbera blend and our Gemini motor mouths set on non-stop, we dove right into the juiciest stories we had as an array of food runners brought us course after course.

The Lexington-bred beef heart tartare was suggested to be finger food, so we wrapped it in rice crepes and talked about people with negative energy.

Ramen with pepperoni, octopus and wakame noodles tasted like pizza, making our Barbera the perfect pairing as I heard about her outing to Charlottesville.

A provolone tuille with caraway seeds covered brussels sprouts, thousand island dressing and a broth that brought the pastrami flavor home while I shared my recent winery visits and an unexpected Michael Shaps intersection.

Ginger and tamarind-crusted lamb shoulder sat atop yellow mustard gnocchi and lamb heart ragu, a deeply rich and earthy sauce that had my friend requesting that I not tell her what things were.

The final sweet course was chocolate layer cake with coconut cream cheese, dulce de leche and walnut brittle ice cream (my least favorite part of the dish), and one last opportunity to give advice to each other.

We had so much to talk about that even after our second glass of wine we weren't ready to leave but with people standing waiting for a table, it seemed rude to linger.

But even leaving was protracted as I chatted up Chef Lee about the crowd, talked J-Ward with my neighborhood record store owner, said hello to a guy I see at shows everywhere and heard about an irate restaurant owner who accused me of being an artist.

If he thought that was an insult, he was sadly mistaken.

Leaving with my autographed copy of "Maximum Flavor: Recipes That Will Change the Way You Cook" (unlikely since I cook as rarely as possible), Friend and I made plans for our next get-together away from the madding crowds and said good-night.

Quick, on to Lemaire to meet my Bostonian with the broad accent (one he thinks he doesn't have but does).

You'd think after not having seen someone for three years that there'd be some readjustment, but we just sort of picked up where we'd left off.

He's in town on business, but his business is an interesting one because he fabricates signs and exhibition pieces for museums, which quite naturally led to art talk.

It doesn't hurt that he's also a painter, so we were soon discussing the Turner exhibition we'd both seen at the National Gallery a few years ago.

While I only have memories of that exhibit, he took it to the next level, naming some of his hand-brewed beers after some of Turner's paintings, so "Death on a Pale Horse" becomes "Death on a Pale Ale."

He's clever that way. When he's not brewing beer, he's making his own potato vodka and showed me photographs of his home still.

I've always had a soft spot for guys who can make things and fix things.

Over a glass of 2011 Klee Pinot Noir, we caught up on each other's lives, meaning I heard about the younger women he's seeing and he heard about my recent dating escapades.

When we left there, it was to grab a burger for him at Pie before crossing the street to Balliceaux.

There were three girls at Pie's bar and while they were busy doing shots of tequila and drinking Blue Hawaiis, apparently they were eavesdropping, too.

Finally, the one on the end admitted as much and wanted to ask us a question.

"Are you two on your first date?" No, we explained, we were friends getting reacquainted after three years. Why had she thought that?

"You totally seem like friends who are finally starting to date each other," she said assuredly. Nope, try again.

Perhaps our dynamic was unique enough as to be inscrutable. In any case, we had places to be.

Given the years since we'd last seen each other, he didn't want to sit in the back room for fear the RVA Big Band would drown out our conversation, so we became the only occupants of the front bar, where Bobby K. was barkeeping.

It worked out well because we could talk about mezcal, Free Run Wine Merchants and chefs who can't pair wine because they don't drink it.

With the music coming from the back at a perfect volume to continue our chat, he told me about his trip to Copenhagen, the van Gogh exhibit he'd seen and the crooked tower that caused its builder to kill himself when he couldn't right it.

With, I might add, photographs to illustrate it all. So satisfying.

We watched as several members of the big band came up to the bar to get mind erasers during intermission. I didn't know this layered shot, but my friend did, leading to a comparison with Bobby about layered versus mixed.

Frankly, I wouldn't think you'd want your mind erased when playing music with sixteen other musicians, but what do I know?

While sipping my Espolon, local bass legend Matt Gold walked by and stopped to rehash the magnificent Richmond Symphony/Kate Lindsey show the other night.

After introducing the two, he moved on to the back and my friend showed me pictures of the hand-crafted bass he recently made, pictures he should probably have pulled out when Matt was there since he'd have a far greater appreciation for such a thing than I possibly could.

Someone who can make a bass, now that's an artist.

We finally decided to call it quits because he has an early-morning meeting, but it was a little bittersweet because for all we know, it'll be another three years before we meet up again.

Driving him back to his hotel, he said, "Don't take this wrong, but I admire your brain."

What else can a person do but grin like an idiot with a compliment like that, even from a non-date?

Dead tired or not, sometimes it's great to get poured on.

Dine and Dyad

What a beautiful night of community!

It began with the benefit for Sub Rosa Bakery at the Roosevelt, where chefs from Pasture, Secco, Julep, Aziza, Magpie, Heritage and, of course, the Roosevelt's own chef Lee made enough food for an army.

Knowing that between the very worthy cause and a buffet made by this crew, this was going to be major draw, I wisely arrived at 5:33 for the 5:30 event.

Foolish me.

They'd opened the doors at 5:27 and the line was already out the door with people lined up (a line lasting the next hour and a half) to pay $20 and wait as long as it took to go through the chow line.

Not me.

I paid and went to find a bar stool and glass of water.

Doing so, a server with an enormous tray of Chef Lee's fried chicken made her way through the mob, headed for the buffet table.

Without even thinking about it, I leaned in to her, inquired if I could grab a piece and got a smiling nod.

Forget that I didn't have a plate, or flatware, I was thrilled.

Sitting in my stool, I made do with bev naps as I tore into the steaming fried chicken.

Licking my fingers afterwards, I spotted Aziza's cream puffs sitting at the end of the bar and making my way there, made off with one of those.

The room was so warm with April and people that the ganache was melting on my fingers.

Yum.

When I returned to my seat, I noticed the guy now in the stool next to me busy with dinner.

Clearly he was doing things the right way with a full plate of food and not individual items eaten out of hand.

But I didn't hold that against him and he turned out to be a great conversationalist, a treat for me.

He got high points for telling me that I didn't have a cell phone.

I thought him terribly astute, but he corrected me, "It's not laying on the bar. Look around here. If you had one, it'd be out."

That may have been the point when he mentioned that I was odd.

He was there because of Sub Rosa's owner Evrim because they share a Turkish descent and the occasional conversation where he can exercise his pidgin Turkish.

So there was his reason for being at the benefit and I'm sure every other person there had their own reason, whether neighbors, customers and or just eager to help out.

The sense of community in the room was almost palpable.

Someone had donated two kegs of handcrafted beer - an Earl Grey brown ale and a black IPA- and the bartenders were wisely pouring it as fast as they could so as to have cups of it ready when people ordered it.

At one point, they were doing the equivalent of firemen passing buckets of water from team to team, with one bartender handing off two cups to the next bartender who then passed them off to a server for delivery.

Team work par excellence.

Chef Randy from Julep had stopped by and been sucked into the madness, helping Lee in the kitchen when the onslaught arrived en masse.

It wasn't long before the food began running out, a fact politely explained to latecomers, most of whom took it well.

There was the one group who copped an attitude, complaining that they'd driven in from the West end and even using the f-word to express their displeasure, but complaining because a benefit runs out of food seems incredibly petty, not to mention overly-entitled.

But for the other 98% of the attendees, there was much smiling, laughing, talking to Evrim and support for both his bakery and making sure the tenants above him are taken care of.

It was a beautiful thing to behold.

I lingered till the staff began eating, just in case they needed help with anything, but they seemed to have everything under control once the eaters left.

From there I moved on to another community, the musical one, at Bainbridge Collective.

The house show was called Dyad: A Night of Wine and Acoustic Music for Two and featured three bands, each comprised of a man and a woman.

The wine was all from Virginia, something I've never once seen in all my years of show-going, so there was Jefferson, Trump, St. Michele and Horton, among many others.

In a nod to the evening's theme, I went with Horton Norton, as indigenous as it gets.

We began on the back porch of the house with conversation and shared pleasure about the warm, spring weather.

Pittsburgh duo Broken Fences were the reason for the evening as they made a stop in Richmond on their current tour and they were happily sitting on a porch couch talking about how much they like Richmond.

Eventually, the show began in the main room and we took seats so that locals Dalliance could start.

He played guitar and they both sang, a delight because they both had such incredible voices for the literate songs they sang.

I was sorry when they got to their last song "Near" so quickly but laughed when guitarist Kendall said in a martyred voice, "I like this song with lots of reverb, but I guess I can do it acoustic."

He could, they did and I was sorry to see them go.

The reason for the evening, Broken Fences, was next, and I hadn't seen them since June 2011, back at the now-defunct Sprout.

They began by saying they'd arrived early to our fair city, allowing time to rework an old song they hadn't played in a while and half-apologizing in advance for it.

All I heard was two more amazing voices combined in ethereal harmonies for gentle folk songs.

Afterwards, they promised they'd go back to singing songs they knew better.

On "Song for You," Dalliance's Kendall added in foot stomping while Lobo Marino's Laney did thigh slapping, causing Broken Fence's Guy to thank them for the percussion when the song finished.

They mentioned that for a change they were getting to spend two nights in Richmond instead of rising at the crack of dawn to make it to the next city, so they had plans to go to Belle Isle tomorrow.

Boy, if they think they like Richmond now, they're never going to want to leave after a sunny day on the river.

They said the next song was begun before their dog got sick and finished the day before they had to put him down.

It was exquisite, heartbreaking and when it was over, someone said, "I'm sad," while someone else said, "Must be the wine's making me a little teary, too."

I know I was sitting there choking up thinking about the beloved beagle I'd had to put down a few years ago.

Saying, "Let's have some levity," they launched into a newer song, "The Glass is Gone" before finishing with "Stormy Clouds," as evocative as you'd imagine with that title and their voices.

Now that we're older
Can we stand still
And let the world unfurl?

We certainly can.

The other thing we can (and should) do is get this duo to play the Listening Room so dozens of people can hear their intense-sounding songs and incredible voices.

Last up was Lobo Marino playing their usual eastern-influenced tribal music, only this time in front of a black and white wall hanging with flashing colored Christmas lights underneath it.

Way cool.

Everyone in the room was having a blast as Jameson and Laney rolled through some of their songs, including one in Spanish and the much-requested, "Celebrate."

Banging on a jug, squeezing a harmonium, or wailing, these two put every bit of their travels into their music.

Laney's effort was so energetic that when the song ended, she looked at the audience and said, "That's it! We're finished."

But she wasn't finished reminding the audience to go buy Broken Fence's CDs and put some gas money in the jar to help them along on their travels.

"Cause Richmond does the right thing when musicians come through this town," Jameson said, stating the obvious.

We do the right thing whether it's out-of-towners or one of our own.

It's what makes this such a fine community.

A New Deal for Richmond

Happiness lies in the joy of achievement and the thrill of creative effort ~Franklin D. Roosevelt

The Roosevelt, Church Hill's new restaurant, opened with a nearly full house despite no ABC license. Even so, neighbors and friends kept the tables turning over all night.

When I arrived, there were two men working on the side of the building, repainting the old advertisement that had been painted there decades ago. I complimented their work. "Wait till you see how good it looks when it's done!" one guy said as I walked underneath his cherry-picker to go inside. I intended to.

Because of all the glass on the corner building, diners get to enjoy an ever-changing light level, from early evening sun right through softly-lit nighttime glow. I was meeting Southside friends where I was greeted by a familiar face behind the bar who served me a Sprecher root beer to whet my whistle.

Evidence of the achievements and the creative effort of The Roosevelt are myriad. The former Que Pasa has been transformed from a garish orange and yellow shell into an enticing New Orleans dining room, a well-dressed lady hinting at pleasure.

Kendra Feather does it yet again.

Pale blue hand-stenciled walls set off an enormous old map of Richmond, vintage black and white photographs and WWII posters ("Eat More of These!"). A hundred details express the creative effort that went into this place. A wooden box turned on its side and hung on the wall houses small plants.
A black beaded chandelier hangs over the bar and an ornate black-framed mirror is over the fireplace. Ferns frame the front door. New Orleans-style jazz plays on the sound system.

Toto, I don't think we're in Richmond anymore.

The creativity extends to Chef Lee Gregory's menu, which was everything I expected out of a culinary whiz who's been on my short list for years. How could I not be devoted to the man who, unbidden, introduced me to my first crispy fried pig's head?

Everyone's already talking about his Double Downer, a double burger made with Sausage Craft custom patties, cheddar and bacon jam. I know I'm a lucky person because not one but two people offered me bites of their burgers.  One told me it was the best burger in Richmond. Believe him.

But with a chef like Lee, you get the satisfaction of a burger but you also get potted pork (rillette-like) on crostini with onion jam. You get smoked bluefish salad with radish, cucumber, egg and the tenderest butter lettuce in a buttermilk dressing. The smoked fish melts in my mouth like buttah

Pimento cheese is served with house-made potato chips. Sliced candy striped beets are roasted and served in an orange juice and ginger sauce that has everyone raving. Mussels, roasted with  vermouth and garlic, are served with grilled bread. Gnocchi, mac and cheese style, melts in everyone's mouth and causes rapture for its delicate flavor and decadent texture.

And that's just what I ate. Still to come for me are the Frogmore stew, Kentucky fried quail and the roasted pork belly with red eye gravy.

By about 8:00, the place was in full swing, tables busy, servers hopping and music lost in the crowd conversation. "You'd never know it was opening night," my friend observed. True that.

The staff was on point, food was coming out steadily from the kitchen and every dish except the mussels elicited the same response.

"This isn't like any other dish in Richmond," was how my friend put it repeatedly. "Lee Gregory," was how I responded each time he did.

All three of us got dessert. The winner for most Southern was the peanut butter pie, which had much more of a peanut taste rather than peanut butter. Very real tasting. For best use of a seasonal ingredient, my roasted peaches with caramel ice cream scored high points. Even with my peach allergy, I finished every bite of the classic peaches and cream pairing.

And (drum roll) for most charming and creative presentation, the award definitely went to the buttermilk panna cotta, which is made in a small Mason jar. It arrives with the lid on; once that's opened, a layer of local blueberries sit atop the panna cotta, which has a delicious tang from the acidity of the buttermilk.

Once the crowd began to clear out, the music became more integral to the vibe and the room took on a more relaxed feeling. Had alcohol been available, I feel sure the bar would have been mobbed. Who wouldn't be curious to check out the all-Virginia wine list knowing it's the first in Central Virginia?

As it was,  a couple of single neighbors stopped by only to find the kitchen closed (well, it was almost 11:00) and no alcohol being served. Both enthusiastically promised to be back. Frankly, I'd be surprised if anyone in the room chose not to come back for five-dollar desserts and entrees that top out at $17 (and there's only one of those).

The Roosevelt appears to already have a handle on where happiness lies.

At least the kind you can find in a neighborhood restaurant.

Road Tripping to Eat Lee's Skate

I've made no secret of my devotion to Chef Lee Gregory (formerly of Six Burner), both to his cooking and his low-key personality.

I was truly bummed when he left RVA for western pastures, here.

So it was an easy decision to drive to Charlottesville to meet a friend there and have dinner at his kitchen-of-the-moment, Blue Light Grill tonight.

It was also Restaurant Week (also known as Amateur Week; call it what you will), but I didn't let that deter me.

As it turned out, despite the downtown mall being mobbed like I've never seen it, BLG was actually quite civilized during the dinner hours we were there.

I began my evening by catching up with Lee as he worked in the restaurant's open kitchen.

What I wanted to know, of course, was when he'd be coming back to RVA and he told me what's happening on that front.

And of course we talked about food, glorious food.

I have to give C-ville credit; if all the restaurant menus for Restaurant Week are as creative and extensive as BLG's, they've got us beat hands down in that department.

Four appetizer choices, six entrees and three desserts, with a price tag of $26.

Pairings were available with each course; a flight was $20.

And Lee's imprint was all over the menu (pork belly, BBQ, bleu cheese/red cabbage slaw) so that made me happy to see.

Friend got the three Virginia oysters on the half shell with cuke mignonette and I started with the crab hushpuppies with red pepper honey butter.

The hushpuppies were full of crab and when smeared with that sweet butter, a truly indulgent first course.

I'd considered getting the beet and goat cheese terrine with apple puree and pistachio brittle, except a few questions to our server revealed that it wasn't a true terrine.

Drat the luck.

The entree choices ranged from veggie crepes to BBQ beef short ribs (oh, I was sorely tempted), but I couldn't resist the pan seared skate with green beans, fingerling potato salad and almond brown butter.

It's so rare that I find skate on the menu that I have to have it when I do.

Friend got the grilled mahi mahi over white bean, pork belly and mussel ragout and as good as it was, my skate was the star of the evening with its slivered almond crust and to-die-for potato salad.

For dessert my friend, not a dessert person, ordered the trifle with buttermilk pound cake, fresh local peaches and lime mascarpone.

I skipped over the chocolate panna cotta with bourbon/caramel sauce for the butterscotch goat cheese custard with apple puree and was complimented by our server for having chosen the dessert Lee considers his best.

He'll get no argument from me on that. It was heavenly.

So here's a thought: why not take a page from C-ville's book and move RVA's Restaurant Week to summertime, too?

It seems like a far better time to stimulate independent restaurant business than October when patrons already seem more plentiful.

Who knows, it could even become an anticipated component of the staycation, at least until this interminable recession lets up.

When I went to leave, Lee asked me what I was going to do next.

Music was a possibility, I told him, or perhaps a drink.

I started raving about the food I'd eaten, but he shrugged it off, thanking me again and again for coming in to see him.

"I'll be back, " I told him, taking my leave.

He knows I mean it; his answer was a big smile from under the red baseball cap.

My devotion is still firmly in place.

Can You Hear the Beat?

Few things can entice me to go to southside; I generally start hyperventilating as I begin to cross the river.

However, I wouldn't have missed Lee Gregory's going away dinner party for anything, so Extroverted Gemini, her Paramour and I met up and headed out to Ghengis Khan Mongolian Grill (turns out Lee is a huge fan of cheap food...he also loves Taco Bell).

To give you an idea of the grandeur of the occasion, Alyssa, the vegetarian, ate meat as a tribute to Lee. And by meat, I mean 3 plates worth of grilled meat and veggies; her digestive system is going to hate her tonight.

For the rest of us, it was sort of bittersweet, saying so long to such a great and talented guy.

Bonus thrill of the evening: seeing Lee minus the ever-present hat and in a real shirt. He cleaned up nicely.

I followed up that with music at the Camel, stopping by on my way home to hear The Pharmacy, a New Orleans trio that leans toward psychedelic poppy punk.

They were a lot of fun with clever but ultimately smart songs, melodic enough to suck you in and short enough not to challenge the audience (not that I mind being challenged).

My only complaint was how short their set was.

Listen to me, always wanting more.

The Final Three

Tonight was Lee's last night cooking so, of course, he outdid himself. Buffalo-style sweetbreads with ranch dressing and celery salad, roasted bone marrow with toasted bread and fresh greens, and cured foie gras with strawberry compote made up my dinner and I couldn't even tell you which was the most impressive because they were all so incredibly good.

It was interesting, too, to note who came to pay homage to Lee (in his Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and taking crap for it) on his last evening. Let's just say he was mightily impressed when I told him my story of having seen Skynrd as a drunken opening band too many years ago. Who'd have thought Lee could envy me anything?

Met the new chef, Phillip Denny from Philadelphia, and he seems quite charming. It'll be interesting to see how he picks up Lee's mantle and carries on.

As for Lee, I'm really going to miss this man's cooking now that he will be doing it in Staunton. Plans for a road trip are already in the works.

Of Sarcasm, Guns, Distortion and Tomatoes

So the problem with writing a blog is that when you you don't write for a few days (okay, a week), certain people begin to give you crap about your absence (or even link to your hopelessly dated blog).

I'd like to say I've been too busy at my new job, except that I still don't have one.

On the bright side, I have plenty of time to get out.

I did a three-day weekend at the beach visiting my sister and her husband and four of their single male friends..

They don't seem to have any female friends and I'm okay with that.

I usually make this trek, but two of the guys were new to me this year (and I'm single for a change), so it ended up being a lot more fun than ever before.

Let's just say one of them was smart, funny, sarcastic, surprised me with a box of hand-picked chocolates and was willing to take a long walk on the beach at midnight.

As I told him, well done.

Went to the final performance of Hamlet at Agecroft and watched the spit fly from the front row again.

When Joe Carlson took that flying leap across the stage, the entire audience gasped in amazement...which almost distracted those of us of the female persuasion from those gorgeous arms of his.

Silversun Pickups at the National Tuesday night turned out to be quite a good show and particularly appropriate, coming so soon after My Bloody Valentine, from whom they clearly draw influence.

It was a good week in Richmond for us distortion lovers.

I had to go see "500 Days of Summer" at Movieland because I need reinforcement that love sucks and you never get what you want.

Wait, what?

No, I knew this movie's realistic depiction of love gone wrong would be well done and it was.

Just a bit too close to home perhaps.

Did I mention the excellent soundtrack? The Temper Trap is very high on my play list at the moment.

And, finally, Lee Gregory's tomato tart last night was one of the most tantalizing uses of local tomatoes of all kinds I've put in my mouth in a long time (and only the first of three delicious courses).

It's a colossal understatement to say that he will be missed come September.

As a bonus, I ran into the birthday boy, Jeff, out celebrating his 37th with the little woman.

It's always interesting to see where local chefs eat when they go out.

If I keep up with my blog better, will you guys quit dropping hints looking for juicy updates in my hum-drum life?