Power Show

My day began with a walk over the Lee Bridge to stretch my legs before an all-day adventure.

There was a plan: go to southside and turn away from the sign for Huguenot Springs Cemetery and toward the artisan open house at historic Huguenot Springs.

The idea was that there'd be all kinds of artisans displaying wares - pottery, jewelry, homemade foodstuffs, paintings - along with munchables and fresh, country (ish) air on a bucolic property.

How better to begin a crisp Sunday afternoon?

Reason to go: Luke Flesichman's whimsical painted metal sculpture. Favorite bite at SausageCraft's counter: salted hog jowl. Coolest vendor space: an Airstream trailer. Loveliest soap dishes: Triple A Potters. Crunchiest contribution: Manakintowne Growers. Most talked about offering: Tutu Fab (because everyone needs a tutu?).

Scenes from an afternoon: The heart pine floors in all the old buildings that houses vendors. Crisp leaves underfoot, in some places ankle-deep. Wine for sharing with friends provided by James River Cellars by default (only winery).  Of course I didn't buy anything, but I looked at a lot.

The only horsewoman I know was dressed to the nines in a leopard print hat and gloves, black dress, silver jewelry, black fishnets and boots. I've never seen her so gussied up. The country squire who moonlights as a WRIR DJ shared the details of his upcoming sojourn to Jamaica.

Leaving all that behind, we set out in search of lunch, finding it at Mediterraneo, a generic-looking Italian place in a strip mall. Pane e Vino southside, so to speak, at a table with a view of the parking lot.

What it had going for it was a six top of Italian speakers at a nearby table, gesturing, talking loudly and eating non-stop. I did notice that when the patriarch went to the bathroom, though, the group reverted to English.

On the other side of the room, a multi-generational family spanning 83 years celebrated Grammy's 84th birthday. I'll give Gram credit, though, she had wine with lunch and triple chocolate cake afterwards, so she clearly still knows how to live right.

Long a fan of salad with protein, I reached back to memories of my 821 Cafe days for a baby arugula salad with craisins, Gorgonzola, apples and steak in a tarragon vinaigrette alongside Massone "Vigneto Masera" Gavi (just a tad past its prime) for a satisfying late afternoon meal.

Rain had begun when we headed back into the city for something completely different.

This documentary dork wanted to go to the Byrd Theater to see "Finding Fela," put on by the Afrikana Film Festival. African drummers played in the lobby. With overly buttered popcorn and Milk Duds in hand, we joined the throngs of film and music lovers wedging themselves into the ancient seats.

The women behind us had brought a box of fried chicken. Wish I'd thought of that.

I'd expected to see more music-loving friends than I did (one film friend was about it) given that Fela Kuti is the man responsible for giving the world Afrobeat - a melange of American funk and African rhythms - while writing songs that criticized the corrupt Nigerian government of the '70s and '80s.

The movie used the framing device of rehearsals of the 2009 Broadway production of "Fela!" but it was the old clips of the real Fela that were mesmerizing. Just to be clear, I mean that in a good and bad way.

The man had a true presence, a natural charisma and an ear for creating intricate, funky music with killer horns. His dancers were equally impressive moving to the poly-rhythms.

But he also married 27 women (he called them queens) at one time and believed it was okay to do whatever he wanted to them. A chauvinist pig of the highest order.

It was fascinating to learn how his music progressed; his early songs were about things like soup but after a trip to the U.S. and exposure to the Black Power movement and James Brown's music, he began writing lyrics that called out the Nigerian government, for which he was repeatedly beaten and jailed. In one scene, he shows his scarred body to the camera.

Given the strength of his music (and the size of the spliffs he smoked), it's hard to comprehend how he didn't catch on globally like Bob Marley did, but the film explains that because his songs went on for 20, 30 minutes, they weren't radio friendly. And we know it's all about the radio friendly.

Here was a movie that showed at Sundance in January and opened nationally a few months ago but never made it to Richmond. Kudos to the Afrikana Film Fest for giving music and film devotees a chance to know more about a remarkable musician and activist.

Not to mention it had a great beat and made me want to dance to it. I give my day a 9.

Just Give It To Me Slow

Slow Food RVA took over today's happy hour at the Anderson Gallery, satisfying on several levels.

Or, as a friend I ran into said, "Of course you're here. Food and music!"

Tables were set up just outside the gallery for partners in the slow food movement to share edibles meant to be savored and appreciated.

I'm not enough of a milk drinker to appreciate the raw milk tasting, so I went straight to the Olli table to eat cured meat.

There was no way I could resist telling the charming meat cutter about my experience at Fiola in DC.

When I had teasingly told Chef Fabio Trabbochi that I had come up from Richmond to eat Richmond meats, he agreed with my wisdom, saying that Olli made the best cured meats he has tasted in this country.

My story was enough to make a meat cutter smile (and it so distracted him that he forgot what he was cutting).

Manakintown Specialty Growers were serving pimentos de padron peppers the traditional Spanish tapas way, sauteed in olive oil with a touch of sea salt. Supposedly one in five is hot, but I had eight and all were mild (and yummy).

Apollo was doing the olive oil tasting with three offerings ranging from a light Provencal style through the more robust Sierra to my favorite, the  Barouni, a pungent and spicy oil which I was told most people find too strong.

I liked it a lot and will seek out subtlety in my next lifetime.

Style's food critic John Haddad, also Vice-Chair of Slow Food RVA, spoke briefly to acquaint people with the group.

The premise, that slow food is based on there being a story behind all good food, extends to a mission of celebrating, educating and advocating. All three seemed to be in play today.

The Gourd Trio, playing gourd instruments and wearing gourd hats, then entertained the crowd with songs about stray gourd vines and neighborhood ethics (with a shout-out to Southside).

How better to follow up food than with food? I headed over to Acacia and miraculously found a great parking space mere steps from the door. Hey, I don't no stinking valet parking.

As I was about to parallel park, a car came up behind me and stopped. Once in the tiny space, the guy pulled up next to me, paused, smiled and gave me at thumbs up.

Who doesn't like a pat on the head, even if it is only for a minor skill like parallel parking?

The mini-wine dinner at Acacia got off to an auspicious start when I arrived to find my reservation for one set up at the bar obviously waiting for me.

As I sat down and was greeted by bartender Aaron, I saw frantic hand waving behind him.

Two girlfriends, one a like-minded eater and the other half of a certain restaurant-owning couple, were signaling madly from the far reaches of the bar.

Seems they were on a girls' night out and had stumbled into Acacia at the last minute. They were just finishing up their first course.

It seemed silly to eat alone when I could have company, so I invited them to move to the bar stools on either side of my place setting and I'd try to catch up as best I could.

First came sauteed rock shrimp cake with cilantro cucumber Greek yogurt sauce paired with 1 2009 Chateau de Valcombe Costieres de Nimes Blanc.The wine's fresh straw flavors were lovely with the shrimp.

Our able bartender suggested catching me up to where my friends were on the menu, so I went on to my second course while they chatted with me about nearby bar sitters.

Beet and goat cheese ravioli came with salmon confit, sliced Mandarinquats (my first) and a basil puree.

Matching the beet pasta and salmon beautifully was a 2010 Chateau de Valcombe Coustieres de Nimes Rose.

While my one of my friends is not much of a rose drinker (I try not to hold it against her), I am, so I really enjoyed drinking this beautifully balanced wine with the moistest of salmon.

As happens at Acacia's wine dinners, the wine rep came over to tell us anything we wanted to know about the wines and to make us laugh.

After sticking her nose in a glass of sauvignon blanc, my friend handed it to me with the request to, "Tell me what that funky smell is."

"Cat piss," I responded handing it back and she had a laugh attack. When it subsided, I got the wine rep to explain it to her in wine lingo.

"Cat pee-pee, that's what it is," he told her. "Swirl, it's gases; it'll go away." Further laughter, this time at the expert's expense. Oh good, at least it wasn't just me.

By this point, I had caught up with my friends and we got our entrees. Two of us went for the roasted leg of lamb with an eggplant tomato terrine, grilled local potatoes and a black olive sauce.

The third had the sauteed rockfish with sweet corn farrotto, zucchini linguine and a cumin lime sauce. The corn farrotto spoke to my summer corn jones and the fish was Chef Dale's usual perfection.

Over in lamb land, the two of us got three large slices of leg meat to savor with our 2007 Chateau de Valcombe Garance Syrah, a big tannic wine to go with our juicy red meat.

The fish eater had a 2007 Chateau de Valcombe Costieres de Nimes Prestige Rouge, a  blend of  Syrah and Grenache. She was happy to share and I'm always happy to taste.

But the fact is, we were getting full and none of us did full justice to our meals at that point. What was I thinking ordering lamb on such a hot, summer night?

Well, besides that I love lamb, it got me that eggplant tomato terrine which married those two flavors in layers of red and green that tasted as good as they looked. It was a highlight of the meal.

We had the leftovers removed to a five-pound box for my friend to take home to her handsome boyfriend and moved on to important topics of discussion.

Why can't perpetrators of crimes against children be punished the same way they inflict pain? Why don't the people who wear pink and green go further east to eat than Acacia?  Why do only certain restaurants have wine dinners?

Lost in discourse, one of us suddenly realized it was going on 11 and some people had to be up and go to work early in the morning.

And therein lies the beauty of slow food. Conversation is meant to be an integral part of the pleasure of a good meal and should be savored along with the food and wine. There should be no timers on good eating.

If there is a story behind all good food, there should be stories to go along with all good food.

We shared some tasty ones tonight.

Sprouting Sprigs at a Wine Dinner

There are wine dinners and then there are wine dinners. Tonight's Farmers' Dinner at Sprout featuring Manakintowne Specialty Growers and Virginia wines was outstanding.

Sprout's usually casual, funky ambiance was transformed by china, candles and flowered napkins into a chic little bistro full of foodies and wine enthusiasts. Even owners Jamie and Laurie were looking especially fine tonight. Since they're usually closed on Sundays, the whole thing felt a little like a stealth get-together.

The folks from Manakintowne Growers were there and were introduced. The wine representative outlined the wine to come and what it would be paired with.

She had asked Chef Charlie to speak about his food, but he'd declined saying only, "I know it's good." Having known Charlie for close to five years now, that's about what I would expect him to say.

And it was good, very good. The first course was a salad of mixed greens, including fennel, kale, arugula, cilantro, green tomatoes, red onions, local apples and toasted seeds in a toasted seed dressing. The Barboursville Brut, the ideal start to the meal, held its own with the mouth-watering selection of greens.

Next up was a winter squash ravioli with pumpkin, Twin Oaks tofu and local feta paired with Horton Petit Manseng. I wasn't familiar with the grape, so I got a kick out of learning that this southwestern French wine was used to baptize kings instead of water. How lucky are we that this grape does so well in our Virginia soil?

The wine had beautiful aromas and as much as I liked the first sip, it was after the first bite of the creamy ravioli that it became obvious how well it had been matched to the dish. I couldn't help having more of this rich full-bodied dry white wine. Yum.

The main course was Polyface chicken ballantine, boned and stuffed with sausage, apples and oysters over a turnip puree with chard. The combination of flavors, reminiscent of Thanksgiving, called for something un-wimpy to stand up to it and the Horton Norton succeeded admirably.

After having read Todd Kliman's book about the Norton grape, The Wild Vine, this past summer and tasting various Nortons around the state to supplement my reading, I already knew I was a fan of this grape.

It's known as one of those that people either love or hate (probably more of the latter). My table mate (another solo diner) hadn't had it, but she took one sip and pronounced, "Funky! I love it!" mirroring my feelings about Dr. Norton's discovery. More Norton, please.

Our last course was a rosemary berry chocolate torte served with the Horton Xoco chocolate wine. So that you know, Chef Charlie used to be the pastry chef at Balliceaux and I was devoted to his desserts there.

Many was the time that I'd go in and have wine and dessert and he'd always come out and solicit my opinion about his latest creation. So I knew going in that tonight's dessert would be spectacular.

The little round torte was thickly iced with rosemary and chile-infused ganache. The red coulis on the plate was made from, among other things, beets and purple carrots, conveying a natural sweetness. The whipped cream on top was dense and cocoa dusted. Divine does not begin to describe it.

Each plate came with a sprig of rosemary on it and my table mate pointed and said, "Look, your sprig is blooming." Given my recent change in direction, it seemed an appropriate metaphor. As she noted, no one else's sprig was in flower. I'll take it.

The Xoco worked well with the dessert, although it wasn't to my taste once the torte was history. As our wine rep told us, there is no middle of the road with this wine. I would say it has its place with the right dessert, but it was a bit much for me.

When Charlie came out finally, he suggested we tell our friends about the new wine dinner series at Sprout and I told him that was a bad idea.

If we go blabbing about it, our spots may be snapped up next time and then where will we be? I'm kidding of course, but at $35 all inclusive, this meal is easily the best wine dinner deal in the city. Creative food, great ambiance and an interesting crowd added up to something special on a Sunday night.

As I was leaving, I stopped to talk to owner Jamie about the new stage they've just put in the back room. I'd seen my first show on it Friday night and wanted him to know how much a short person appreciated the raised musicians. He's tall, but he got it.

And since they weren't having music at Sprout tonight, I made my way to Grace Street for the latest installment of Live at Ipanema, featuring the honey-voiced Lydia Ooghe. The usual suspects were there, musicians, DJs, my Folk Fest drummer friend and even my new show buddy put in an appearance.

With no fanfare or introduction, Lydia (and the always-impressive Trey Pollard on pedal steel and Jake Thro on bass and backing vocals) launched into her set and the crowd quieted right down, all except for the overly-loud trio at the end of the bar.

Since these shows are recorded, most people have the courtesy not to compete with the music, but not these three. I saw several people cast dirty looks their way but they were oblivious. Ah, well. I just tuned them out as Lydia no doubt did.

Afterwards, I had a chance to work the room, reliving the Sufjan show with the Richmond Scene and discussing the upcoming week's amazing lineup of shows with a musician friend, a guy who has three shows this week. Bring it on, we agreed.

There are Sunday nights and then there are Sunday nights. This was one of the really good ones.

A Fresh Take on Food at the Byrd

When Tanya Cauthen at Belmont Butchery thinks a food film is important enough for her to sponsor a screening in RVA, I'm there. Which is to say that I was at the Byrd Theater tonight for a showing of "Fresh," presented by Flavor magazine.

The event began with a sampling from local sources such as Manakintowne Growers, who were handing out baggies of micro-greens, each with a slice of watermelon radish. Considering I've eaten their micro-greens in any number of restaurants around town for years, it was great to finally put a face to the greens, so to speak.

The Farm to Family bus was outside and open for business. AnnaB's Gluten Free bakery had samples of bread, chocolate cake and M & M cookies to share. Tanya was passing out charcuterie (and showing off her beautiful engagement and wedding rings). Relay Foods Richmond had various local farm cheeses to spread on crackers.

Given the abundance of local and organic offerings, I saw only a very few people nervy enough to approach the concession stand for faux buttered popcorn or soda. One of the friends I met there did say she felt herself looking longingly at the Milk Duds, but she didn't give in to the omnipresent high fructose corn syrup devil.

Beginning with a dewy morning on the farm, the short film (72 minutes) addressed the issues of the industrial food system that's depleting our land, polluting our environment, promoting obesity and generally just messing with Mother Nature.

There are no mono-cultures in nature and yet our industrial food system insists on creating them, to the detriment of the product and the environment. Who ever thought this was a good idea?

From early shots of baby chicks being callously tossed onto the coop floors like rocks, to shots of pigs penned so closely together that you couldn't tell where one stopped and another started, the film balanced the negative with the hopeful.

Of course, it wouldn't be a food film without Micheal Pollan giving his insight, but the farmers shown, including a Virginian, were articulate, informed and honestly committed to a more sustainable future.

Their assurances that individual efforts by farmers and consumers will eventually make the difference in how things are done and what we eat were the backbone of the film.

And we need to do something soon. The difference in the nutritional value of fresh produce has diminished 40% since 1950. If that's not evidence that we need to change our existing food system, I can't imagine what would be.

And since study after study has now proven that a medium-sized organic farm is more productive than a large industrial-scale farm, we have a clear model for what we need to move towards. One farmer characterized it as a melding of indigenous wisdom with the best of technology.

After the screening, a panel of locals took questions and addressed issues from the movie, including the cloudy difference between natural, organic and local (as well as why many small farmers don't get USDA organic certification: it costs too much).

As one older man in the film said, in his lifetime we have gone from family farming and small markets to industrial farming and supermarkets and we need to use the rest of our lifetime to change it back.

Being the enthusiastic eater that I am, I'm all for anything that makes the food taste better and my oh-so-practical side supports raising healthier food so that I'm getting the most out of whatever I do eat.

Let's just not lose sight of the cardinal rule here: everything tastes better with bacon.

That's my indigenous wisdom for you.