Forgive me, Sanjay, for I went without you.
My good friend Sanjay has been trying for years to get me to go to Lehja with him. Easy for him to say because he lives in the far west end, but not so easy for me to schlep from downtown to the fake Short Pump Town Center.
The way I see it, you have to have a town in order to have a town center and there is no, I repeat no, town anywhere to be seen.
What I saw on the way out was every chain restaurant and big box store I try to avoid.
But Sanjay had told me that Lehja was it for Indian food, and after tasting their dishes at Broad Appetit I knew he was right, so that's where we went tonight.
The host managed to refer to us as "guys" twice before even getting to our table, but I let that slide. Looking around the dining room, I took in the colorful elements - a zebra-striped floor, gold and red paisley walls, deep ocher yellow back walls, white tables and chairs, a squiggle design ceiling and plastic hanging bead curtains between booths and tried to figure it out.
A-ha! Decor-wise, it was a distillation of the VMFA's 2012 exhibit, "Maharaja: The Splendors of India's Great Kings," not that there was anything wrong with that.
Our server was an eager beaver, showing up at the table what seemed like every two minutes to inquire if we were ready to order. Given the tome-like wine list, this was going to take a while.
With Indian trance music pulsing, my companion eventually chose a Falanghina, a distinctive grape I'd discovered a few years ago but see too infrequently on wine lists. The ideal accompaniment to Indian food.
We began with a fish course of roasted Chilean sea bass in a coastal southern Indian spice blended tomato sauce with an upma cake, which, if you ask me, is nothing more than Indian polenta or grits. Or maybe porridge. You get the idea.
With it, we had the coconut curry scallops (our server's favorite, he made sure we knew), three enormous, beautifully seared scallops with spiced coconut curry and masala-dusted leeks, a dish we were told is the favorite of staffs from a bunch of RVA restaurant people, including Acacia and restaurant of the year, Dutch & Co.'s crew.
It wasn't hard to see why.
Our server was determined, trying to move us along and order efficiently and since we had no later plans, our intention was quite opposite to his.
Once he finally got the picture, he backed off somewhat, but he wasn't going to be satisfied until we place our order.
Bowing to server pressure, we went for Goan lamb vin d'alho - garlic and vinegar marinated lamb in chili tomato sauce- and biryani, a delicately seasoned basmati rice rice with braised goat and a yogurt cucumber sauce. When our server asked about heat, I specified medium, resulting him saying with resignation, "American hot."
It may not sound like an insult but it was.
The brick of biryani that arrived would have fed an Indian family of six (come on, Sanjay, you know I'm right) but was full of delicious goat meat on the bone, a satisfying pleasure not easily found.
All around us gringos sat Indians and while it's good to know that the food meets their standards, we definitely stood out like sore thumbs, me even more so as the sole female in the place.
Needless to say, I couldn't finish my food and our accommodating server asked,'Would you like to box me?" to which we agreed.
He scored even more cute points after we had poured the last of the bottle into our glasses and he came over to finish it off. Taking the bottle in hand, he poured the last two drops in my glass, a wholly unnecessary gesture which I had to question.
"Because you are pretty," he said, smiling widely. Right.
After declining dessert (in my family you didn't get dessert if you didn't finish your dinner and neither of us had), we moved to the bar for a last drink.
I was impressed to see a handful of Virginia wines on the list - Horton, Cooper, Barboursville, Rappahannock- but we decided on an Indian wine because where else would we get such a thing?
Sula Vineyards Chenin Blanc had a nose of oyster shells and a hint of peach, a surprising offering our bartender told us was only available in Virginia at Lehja.
After asking if we were wine lovers, we dove into a conversation about his dilemma of trying to choose wine for nearby corporate customers (big, muscular California wines) and savvy, in-the-know wine geeks (Washingtonian's Todd Kliman had been much impressed with his French offerings), no easy compromise.
Needless to say, I loved it when he said he was planning to have a separate page in the wine list for Virginia wines because he thought it was important to highlight local producers.
My hero.
By the time we left Dante's ninth circle of Hell, aka Short Pump, I felt quite sure it would be many moons before I returned.
That said, on the way back from a show or winery in Charlottesville, there are far worse places to stop than Lehja and I'm inclined to remember that next time I'm driving east and hungry.
Call me shallow, but there aren't many places where I can be referred to as "American hot" and pretty in the same evening.
If you'd told me that part, Sanjay, I'd have come out a long time ago.
Showing posts with label lehja. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lehja. Show all posts
Monday, April 7, 2014
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Broadly Appetizing
Broad Appetit is the new Watermelon Festival.
And by that, I mean in the same way that the Watermelon Fest is guaranteed to be a disgustingly hot day in August, Broad Appetit requires an ungodly hot and sunny day in June.
Which would be fine if I were on my shaded balcony but less fine walking the asphalt of Broad Street.
But how can I ignore a food festival two blocks from my house?
What I can do is go early before massive body heat is added to the existing conditions.
The unwritten rule is that I do one lap around before buying any food.
We call this the "scoping out" part.
My eye was caught by Poor Georgie's Bakery because I saw something blue.
It turned out to be blue velvet cake, but then I noticed divorce cake...made with bittersweet chocolate.
Humor and heat.
I stopped at Field of Dreams' Farm when I saw jars of jam.
Here was a cheerleader for local farmers, a guy who gathers up what farmers have and brings it in to the city to sell five days a week.
He insisted I taste one of his farm-ripe peaches, insisting that it was ripe even though it didn't feel like it.
I took a bite and was surprised at how pure the peach taste was.
But, because I am allergic to peaches, I handed off the rest of it to a guy standing next to me admiring Cumberland County squash.
And I bought a quart of apple butter, to be picked up later.
Stopped cold by the couple in front of me at the Mama J's Kitchen booth, I listened as she read the offerings, a $3 plate, a $5 plate and finally a $7 plate.
Catfish nuggets, three sides and dessert for $7, she read to him.
Why didn't they just put that one at the top of the chalkboard, I asked to much laughter.
"Seriously," the woman said. "Who wouldn't want it all?"
I made it 2/3 of the way around the loop before caving and buying food.
The game changer was Chez Foushee's boudin balls, dirty rice mixed with pulled pork and deep fried with a white remoulade.
I was right to break my rule because they were out of this world.
It was getting uncomfortably hot by then unless you were in the shade, so I stopped by Balliceaux to get one of mixologist's Sean's Carny Coolers.
May have been the first time he's ever handed me something non-alcoholic.
The cooler was made from watermelon and lime and served with jalapeno cotton candy, which added a bit of heat at the end of the refreshing but not sweet drink.
At Magpie's booth, I joined the line for smoked crab with jalapeno oil and corn nuts.
Amour was offering a three-course delight of foie gras creme brulee, a vegetable creme brulee with coconut on top and chocolate sea salt cream brulee.
Holy cow.
Lehja's line was long but on my second pass slightly shorter, so I got sea bass with mango salad and marveled at the generous portion.
Although I'd come alone, friends had hoped to find me ("I will look for your legs - might be easier to recognize you") and hook up for some comparative eating, but I never ran into them.
But I did run into a friend and her hound (about to share her catfish nuggets with him), a friend and his be-hatted main squeeze ("I saw you honk at the girl making the illegal U-turn on Grove the other day") and a woman whose past was awkwardly entangled with mine long ago and whom I hadn't seen in probably seven years.
After asking if I could hug her, we chatted for far longer than either of us would have probably expected.
It was one of those satisfyingly karmic moments when old wrongs are righted and it made my day.
After collecting my apple butter from the farmer, I headed back towards home.
A woman in front of me turned to her friends, all eating as they walked.
"This is one of those times I love Richmond," she said, still chewing.
Get on board, ladies.
For me, Broad Appetit is yet another one of those times I love Richmond.
It's as lovable every day as you want it to be.
And by that, I mean in the same way that the Watermelon Fest is guaranteed to be a disgustingly hot day in August, Broad Appetit requires an ungodly hot and sunny day in June.
Which would be fine if I were on my shaded balcony but less fine walking the asphalt of Broad Street.
But how can I ignore a food festival two blocks from my house?
What I can do is go early before massive body heat is added to the existing conditions.
The unwritten rule is that I do one lap around before buying any food.
We call this the "scoping out" part.
My eye was caught by Poor Georgie's Bakery because I saw something blue.
It turned out to be blue velvet cake, but then I noticed divorce cake...made with bittersweet chocolate.
Humor and heat.
I stopped at Field of Dreams' Farm when I saw jars of jam.
Here was a cheerleader for local farmers, a guy who gathers up what farmers have and brings it in to the city to sell five days a week.
He insisted I taste one of his farm-ripe peaches, insisting that it was ripe even though it didn't feel like it.
I took a bite and was surprised at how pure the peach taste was.
But, because I am allergic to peaches, I handed off the rest of it to a guy standing next to me admiring Cumberland County squash.
And I bought a quart of apple butter, to be picked up later.
Stopped cold by the couple in front of me at the Mama J's Kitchen booth, I listened as she read the offerings, a $3 plate, a $5 plate and finally a $7 plate.
Catfish nuggets, three sides and dessert for $7, she read to him.
Why didn't they just put that one at the top of the chalkboard, I asked to much laughter.
"Seriously," the woman said. "Who wouldn't want it all?"
I made it 2/3 of the way around the loop before caving and buying food.
The game changer was Chez Foushee's boudin balls, dirty rice mixed with pulled pork and deep fried with a white remoulade.
I was right to break my rule because they were out of this world.
It was getting uncomfortably hot by then unless you were in the shade, so I stopped by Balliceaux to get one of mixologist's Sean's Carny Coolers.
May have been the first time he's ever handed me something non-alcoholic.
The cooler was made from watermelon and lime and served with jalapeno cotton candy, which added a bit of heat at the end of the refreshing but not sweet drink.
At Magpie's booth, I joined the line for smoked crab with jalapeno oil and corn nuts.
Amour was offering a three-course delight of foie gras creme brulee, a vegetable creme brulee with coconut on top and chocolate sea salt cream brulee.
Holy cow.
Lehja's line was long but on my second pass slightly shorter, so I got sea bass with mango salad and marveled at the generous portion.
Although I'd come alone, friends had hoped to find me ("I will look for your legs - might be easier to recognize you") and hook up for some comparative eating, but I never ran into them.
But I did run into a friend and her hound (about to share her catfish nuggets with him), a friend and his be-hatted main squeeze ("I saw you honk at the girl making the illegal U-turn on Grove the other day") and a woman whose past was awkwardly entangled with mine long ago and whom I hadn't seen in probably seven years.
After asking if I could hug her, we chatted for far longer than either of us would have probably expected.
It was one of those satisfyingly karmic moments when old wrongs are righted and it made my day.
After collecting my apple butter from the farmer, I headed back towards home.
A woman in front of me turned to her friends, all eating as they walked.
"This is one of those times I love Richmond," she said, still chewing.
Get on board, ladies.
For me, Broad Appetit is yet another one of those times I love Richmond.
It's as lovable every day as you want it to be.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Broad Appetit ISO Virginia Dionysus
Okay, so Broad Appetit.
The good: it brings people to Jackson Ward (not so scary in the daylight, is it, people?), it allows people who dine out infrequently to try restaurants they haven't (on the cheap - $3 a pop) and it's a unique way to eat lunch.
The bad: street stands offering fair fare (cheese fries, really?), not enough room for the lines (would one or two more blocks of Broad kill city officials on a Sunday afternoon?) and the absence of any wineries worth tasting.
For me, being two blocks from the event, there are no parking hassles and I can be there when it opens and is still civilized.
And even if I go alone, which I did, I'm guaranteed to know people.
From the second I got close to Broad Street, I ran into friend after friend.
The boutique owner doing her first Broad Appetit. The man about town in a seersucker suit. The frustrated restaurateur's wife. The favorite couple with their Broad Appetit game plan printed out on multiple sheets of paper.
I spent the first hour with a teenager who shares my love of eating everything odd.
I talked her into trying blowtoads for the first time ("Mmm, fish tail!" she crowed) and she bought me apple cinnamon churros in caramel sauce in return.
An early stop was Bistro 27's table for Moroccan lamb meatballs and one of mixologist's Bobby Kruger's famous watermelon lemonade with a mint leaf smacked into it.
After two years of drinking it as I promenade through the event, I think it should be the official drink of Broad Appetit.
He and I placed bets on when he'd run out of the fifteen gallons he'd made.
I spent the second hour with a BA virgin, trying Magpie's goat curry for the first time and mozzarella ice cream with cherry tomatoes for the second.
At Lehja, we had the ginger curry leaf scented sea bass and the chickpea/potato dish.
I really must make the trek to Short Pump to enjoy Lehja's food to a larger extent.
Amour provided the last course, divine chicken liver mousse with bacon and chive in puff pastry.
We stopped in the Empire Theater for the open rehearsal of "Spring Awakening," a Tony award-winning play I am eager to have open in Richmond.
Let's shock the bluehairs, shall we?
Back on the street, we opted out of the madding crowds and took Marshall Street home, still hearing the bands playing and dodging suburbanites looking for parking spaces in what they no doubt consider "the hood."
The conclusion: I love having so many visitors here in my beautiful, historic neighborhood. It's fun to get to eat from so many different restaurants in one day.
But why in the world can't we make Virginia wineries a viable part of Broad Appetit? Virginia beers were certainly well represented.
Broad Appetit, you're on the right track, but you're not there yet.
You've got a year to get it right. Let me know if you need some suggestions.
As an upstanding local citizen, I'm always eager to help improve things in the 'hood.
Here's to number six, Broad Appetit!
The good: it brings people to Jackson Ward (not so scary in the daylight, is it, people?), it allows people who dine out infrequently to try restaurants they haven't (on the cheap - $3 a pop) and it's a unique way to eat lunch.
The bad: street stands offering fair fare (cheese fries, really?), not enough room for the lines (would one or two more blocks of Broad kill city officials on a Sunday afternoon?) and the absence of any wineries worth tasting.
For me, being two blocks from the event, there are no parking hassles and I can be there when it opens and is still civilized.
And even if I go alone, which I did, I'm guaranteed to know people.
From the second I got close to Broad Street, I ran into friend after friend.
The boutique owner doing her first Broad Appetit. The man about town in a seersucker suit. The frustrated restaurateur's wife. The favorite couple with their Broad Appetit game plan printed out on multiple sheets of paper.
I spent the first hour with a teenager who shares my love of eating everything odd.
I talked her into trying blowtoads for the first time ("Mmm, fish tail!" she crowed) and she bought me apple cinnamon churros in caramel sauce in return.
An early stop was Bistro 27's table for Moroccan lamb meatballs and one of mixologist's Bobby Kruger's famous watermelon lemonade with a mint leaf smacked into it.
After two years of drinking it as I promenade through the event, I think it should be the official drink of Broad Appetit.
He and I placed bets on when he'd run out of the fifteen gallons he'd made.
I spent the second hour with a BA virgin, trying Magpie's goat curry for the first time and mozzarella ice cream with cherry tomatoes for the second.
At Lehja, we had the ginger curry leaf scented sea bass and the chickpea/potato dish.
I really must make the trek to Short Pump to enjoy Lehja's food to a larger extent.
Amour provided the last course, divine chicken liver mousse with bacon and chive in puff pastry.
We stopped in the Empire Theater for the open rehearsal of "Spring Awakening," a Tony award-winning play I am eager to have open in Richmond.
Let's shock the bluehairs, shall we?
Back on the street, we opted out of the madding crowds and took Marshall Street home, still hearing the bands playing and dodging suburbanites looking for parking spaces in what they no doubt consider "the hood."
The conclusion: I love having so many visitors here in my beautiful, historic neighborhood. It's fun to get to eat from so many different restaurants in one day.
But why in the world can't we make Virginia wineries a viable part of Broad Appetit? Virginia beers were certainly well represented.
Broad Appetit, you're on the right track, but you're not there yet.
You've got a year to get it right. Let me know if you need some suggestions.
As an upstanding local citizen, I'm always eager to help improve things in the 'hood.
Here's to number six, Broad Appetit!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
