Every day's just another adventure in the land of the black and yellow beer can-studded snow.
Monday's foray into the greater beyond involved walking through throngs of rude students across campus to the peaceful environs of Dinamo, sparsely populated as it was (although not so sparse that I didn't see three friends).
But the non-stop slow jam reggae station provided a fine soundtrack for a low-key meal that began with Gruet Brut and the ideal cold weather welcome: a bowl of fish soup loaded with mussels, rockfish, calamari, pasta and tiny diced carrots and onions that tasted as fresh as if I'd ordered it seaside.
While the owner took many phone calls - "Yes, we're open," and "Yes, we're doing delivery" seemed to be the two stock answers - we ate our way through a flavorful arugula and crunchy green bean salad made rich with hard-boiled egg and lashings of Parmesan.
Seeing a white pizza delivered to the couple next to us caused pie envy, ensuring that we ended up with one of our own, along with crostini with thick schmears of chicken liver and red onion, a decadent and heavenly main course I'd not really earned given my minimal efforts earlier at snow-shoveling.
Yes, I know I'm breaking the law by not having my sidewalks cleared by Sunday at 11 a.m. A woman living alone does the best she can because the fragile-looking VCU students below are of no use with vigorous chores such as shoveling.
Despite the weather outside, I finished my meal with housemade mint chocolate chip gelato, although not an ice cream sandwich like the one that went to the table near us. Call me a freak, but unlike most people, I do not like sweet cookies around/on/in my ice cream.
With an elegant sufficiency, we departed Dianmo's futuristic coziness for a gander at the recently completed Cabell Library at VCU, impressively lit at night. I remember standing at the Compass last March to watch as they installed the top beam and here it was in all its completed glory.
From there, we wandered over to Ipanema for some wine and people-watching. It's tough to beat the half-priced deals on their Steal this Wine List, so I chose a bottle of 2006 Chateau-Thebaud "Betes Curieuses" Muscadet because how often do you have the option to drink a curious beast such as decade-old Muscadet, much less one described as "white flowers and mineral power"?
Even our young bartender commented on it, telling us he'd had it last year and raving about how surprisingly good it was. We gave him a taste to refresh his palate.
That led to him sharing that just a few days ago he'd been drinking young Muscadet with Olde Salts and Tangier oysters at Rappahannock, coincidentally the exact same combination I'd slurped and sipped the last non-snow weekend. Small world.
Once the dinner crowd dissipated, it was an Evolution Brewing tap takeover with three brews priced at three bucks and the beer lovers began arriving tout de suite to score Lucky 7 Porter, Lot No. 3 double IPA (get there faster with 8.75%!) and Exile Red Ale.
Suddenly, many glasses of darkness sat on the bar.
When things settled down enough that the barkeep could take a smoke break, he bundled up, made sure we wanted for nothing and headed out front. Wouldn't you know the music almost immediately crapped out?
My clever date pulled a McGyver, tuning into my favorite R & B podcast on his phone, inserting it in a cocktail shaker for a substitute speaker and supplying us with music until our boy's habit had been fed and he returned happily drugged with nicotine to restart the party.
Walking home through throngs of squealing students, we arrived at my house to find my colorful neighbors on their porch happily inhaling Swisher Sweets in the cold night air.
Proof positive that all of us are still taking our meager pleasures where we can in this winter wasteland.
Showing posts with label muscadet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label muscadet. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Friday, May 20, 2011
Use Me to Get to the UK
I'd like to think that it was a birthday lunch, but it was really all about British Airway points.
A long-time friend had suggested Bistro Bobbette for my birthday celebration today. That's one place that will get no argument from me ever.
After a miscommunication about where we were meeting, I finally arrived to find him halfway through a glass of Courbieres and a plate of country pate. So much for waiting for the birthday girl.
I quickly ordered some Muscadet and dove into his pate and cornichons, always a great way to start a meal at Bobette.
He felt guilty about misreading my message and making me late, but as far as I'm concerned, guilt is a great way to start a birthday lunch.
One of today's specials was a salmon terrine with spring veggies and I wanted that for my starter. Creamy and pink, its delicate salmon flavor was a delightful spring-like beginning to my meal.
The way I see it, if someone else is willing to go to the trouble to make a terrine, I'll be the first in line to eat it. This one was no exception.
My friend was sharing with me that our lunch was the inaugural purchase on his new credit card, acquired solely for the British Airways mileage points he'd accrue through using it.
He knew a birthday lunch with me at Bobette would get him off to a great start mileage-wise. Before he knew it, he'd be in Ireland or Wales.
Our main course reflected a special and a standby, both strengths at this place. He ordered the lamb brochette over cous cous and I got the trout amandine over French green beans.
The lamb was barely medium rare, pink and perfect, and my trout crispy and buttery at the same time. We both agreed that the green beans were praise-worthy, crisp, fresh-tasting and buttery. Coincidentally, we'd both chosen the right wines for our entrees.
When it came time to refill, my friend had a surprise suggestion for me. Rather than another Muscadet, his perusal of the cocktail list had him suggesting a Bobette as the ideal libation for me now.
And while I rarely venture beyond wine or good tequila (okay, or a good absinthe drip), this sounded tempting. "I think you'd like it," he said sweetly. What a guy!
Sparkling wine, Campari and an hibiscus flower made for a beautiful drink that tasted as good as it looked. Silly me, I assumed he'd suggested it for its festive quality but he laid it out for me.
"That gets me fifteen B.A. points," he laughed, losing him all his thoughtful friend points. It didn't matter because I like it and, to our server's great satisfaction, I also ate the flower at the end of the drink. According to her, most people leave it. Tragic.
Our final course was the croustillant with its multiple layers of crispy and creamy chocolate and just lovely with the Bobette and the end of his Courbieres. By then, we were done. Stick a fork in us.
"Can I come to your place and take a nap?" he asked, not for the first time. Negative, I answered. "But I need to see your bookshelves," he countered, smiling.
It's true, every guy should see my bookshelves; it can only help a person understand who I am. But I can't let just everyone see my bookshelves, now can I?
Even birthday girls need to exercise a little restraint. I've got to; there's days left to go in this celebration.
A long-time friend had suggested Bistro Bobbette for my birthday celebration today. That's one place that will get no argument from me ever.
After a miscommunication about where we were meeting, I finally arrived to find him halfway through a glass of Courbieres and a plate of country pate. So much for waiting for the birthday girl.
I quickly ordered some Muscadet and dove into his pate and cornichons, always a great way to start a meal at Bobette.
He felt guilty about misreading my message and making me late, but as far as I'm concerned, guilt is a great way to start a birthday lunch.
One of today's specials was a salmon terrine with spring veggies and I wanted that for my starter. Creamy and pink, its delicate salmon flavor was a delightful spring-like beginning to my meal.
The way I see it, if someone else is willing to go to the trouble to make a terrine, I'll be the first in line to eat it. This one was no exception.
My friend was sharing with me that our lunch was the inaugural purchase on his new credit card, acquired solely for the British Airways mileage points he'd accrue through using it.
He knew a birthday lunch with me at Bobette would get him off to a great start mileage-wise. Before he knew it, he'd be in Ireland or Wales.
Our main course reflected a special and a standby, both strengths at this place. He ordered the lamb brochette over cous cous and I got the trout amandine over French green beans.
The lamb was barely medium rare, pink and perfect, and my trout crispy and buttery at the same time. We both agreed that the green beans were praise-worthy, crisp, fresh-tasting and buttery. Coincidentally, we'd both chosen the right wines for our entrees.
When it came time to refill, my friend had a surprise suggestion for me. Rather than another Muscadet, his perusal of the cocktail list had him suggesting a Bobette as the ideal libation for me now.
And while I rarely venture beyond wine or good tequila (okay, or a good absinthe drip), this sounded tempting. "I think you'd like it," he said sweetly. What a guy!
Sparkling wine, Campari and an hibiscus flower made for a beautiful drink that tasted as good as it looked. Silly me, I assumed he'd suggested it for its festive quality but he laid it out for me.
"That gets me fifteen B.A. points," he laughed, losing him all his thoughtful friend points. It didn't matter because I like it and, to our server's great satisfaction, I also ate the flower at the end of the drink. According to her, most people leave it. Tragic.
Our final course was the croustillant with its multiple layers of crispy and creamy chocolate and just lovely with the Bobette and the end of his Courbieres. By then, we were done. Stick a fork in us.
"Can I come to your place and take a nap?" he asked, not for the first time. Negative, I answered. "But I need to see your bookshelves," he countered, smiling.
It's true, every guy should see my bookshelves; it can only help a person understand who I am. But I can't let just everyone see my bookshelves, now can I?
Even birthday girls need to exercise a little restraint. I've got to; there's days left to go in this celebration.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Proper French Kissing
I don't do the new year's resolution thing. It's not that I couldn't stand to improve myself, but I kind of feel like I'm always working on that anyway.
Like when I broke up with my boyfriend in 2002 and decided for the first time in my life to start doing exercises to reshape my arms. What's the correlation, you wonder?
None, but I had some extra time being single and it seemed about time I got stronger arms. So I resolved in late February to get them and I still work at it every day. So that's my idea of a resolution.
But I can tell that plenty of people like the arbitrary designation of January first as the starting point for making change. And I saw proof positive of that tonight when I drove down Franklin Street past the YMCA around 8:00 and saw the gym teeming with active bodies. It was like a workout party in there.
I got further proof when I arrived at Bistro Bobbette (the new name for Bouchon) to a dining room with a mere two tables occupied. Mondays usually hop at BB, but, as owner Wendy pointed out, "They're all on diets or at the gym." Gee, I wonder how long that will last?
So I planted myself at the bar, the better to look at the bar menu ($6 and $14) and enjoy some Muscadet. Dinner was the ham, onion and asparagus quiche and the onion and olive tart, both of which came with small well-dressed salads of mixed greens. A perfect little bistro supper.
My only barmate was a girl enjoying a large bowl of the creamy mushroom soup and salad combo ("I can't believe how much food this is for $6," she marveled). Somehow the topic of marriage came up and she insisted that she would never marry.
Wendy corrected her. "Never say never. I swore I'd never get married and then I met the right man and that was it. And I was 47!" The girl looked unconvinced, but allowed that the same thing could happen to her, unlikely as it seemed. I kept my mouth shut.
It turned out that she, too, had worked the census last spring, so we compared notes on the highs and lows of that job. I told her about the highlight of my census experience, here, and she was awestruck, agreeing that I was very fortunate to have made such a difference with my simple blunder.
The real fun started when Chef Francis came out to join us. Greeting me, I kissed his cheek, but only one. He turned his face to offer the other cheek and reminded me, "Deux!" a lesson he had imparted at our very first meeting. It is essential to kiss the French properly.
He joined Wendy, my fellow barmate and I at the bar for (what else?) restaurant talk as he ate his veal kidneys and crusty bread for supper. Francis and Wendy are just back from an eating weekend in DC and wanted to share.
It's fun for me to get updates about my hometown's restaurant scene, especially from a chef who used to work there. Naturally DC restaurant talk segued into Richmond restaurant talk and we had a lively discussion of which places have held up well and which seem to be coasting on former glory.
We all had opinions about how some people negatively judge a restaurant by its white tablecloths, presuming a snobbishness or higher price tag than is necessarily warranted (this happens to my neighborhood joint all the time).
Two restaurant sore points were overly dim lighting and serious din. Personally, I don't care about the lighting but I always want to be able to hear at least a bit of music no matter how loud the conversation gets. It just makes the food taste better, at least in my world.
That would be the world with no cell phones, no TV, no jewelry, no chain restaurants and year-round resolutions.
I know, I know. The world only I live in.
Like when I broke up with my boyfriend in 2002 and decided for the first time in my life to start doing exercises to reshape my arms. What's the correlation, you wonder?
None, but I had some extra time being single and it seemed about time I got stronger arms. So I resolved in late February to get them and I still work at it every day. So that's my idea of a resolution.
But I can tell that plenty of people like the arbitrary designation of January first as the starting point for making change. And I saw proof positive of that tonight when I drove down Franklin Street past the YMCA around 8:00 and saw the gym teeming with active bodies. It was like a workout party in there.
I got further proof when I arrived at Bistro Bobbette (the new name for Bouchon) to a dining room with a mere two tables occupied. Mondays usually hop at BB, but, as owner Wendy pointed out, "They're all on diets or at the gym." Gee, I wonder how long that will last?
So I planted myself at the bar, the better to look at the bar menu ($6 and $14) and enjoy some Muscadet. Dinner was the ham, onion and asparagus quiche and the onion and olive tart, both of which came with small well-dressed salads of mixed greens. A perfect little bistro supper.
My only barmate was a girl enjoying a large bowl of the creamy mushroom soup and salad combo ("I can't believe how much food this is for $6," she marveled). Somehow the topic of marriage came up and she insisted that she would never marry.
Wendy corrected her. "Never say never. I swore I'd never get married and then I met the right man and that was it. And I was 47!" The girl looked unconvinced, but allowed that the same thing could happen to her, unlikely as it seemed. I kept my mouth shut.
It turned out that she, too, had worked the census last spring, so we compared notes on the highs and lows of that job. I told her about the highlight of my census experience, here, and she was awestruck, agreeing that I was very fortunate to have made such a difference with my simple blunder.
The real fun started when Chef Francis came out to join us. Greeting me, I kissed his cheek, but only one. He turned his face to offer the other cheek and reminded me, "Deux!" a lesson he had imparted at our very first meeting. It is essential to kiss the French properly.
He joined Wendy, my fellow barmate and I at the bar for (what else?) restaurant talk as he ate his veal kidneys and crusty bread for supper. Francis and Wendy are just back from an eating weekend in DC and wanted to share.
It's fun for me to get updates about my hometown's restaurant scene, especially from a chef who used to work there. Naturally DC restaurant talk segued into Richmond restaurant talk and we had a lively discussion of which places have held up well and which seem to be coasting on former glory.
We all had opinions about how some people negatively judge a restaurant by its white tablecloths, presuming a snobbishness or higher price tag than is necessarily warranted (this happens to my neighborhood joint all the time).
Two restaurant sore points were overly dim lighting and serious din. Personally, I don't care about the lighting but I always want to be able to hear at least a bit of music no matter how loud the conversation gets. It just makes the food taste better, at least in my world.
That would be the world with no cell phones, no TV, no jewelry, no chain restaurants and year-round resolutions.
I know, I know. The world only I live in.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Lingering over a Long Lunch
I was supposed to have one kind of lunch with one friend and ended up with a completely different kind of lunch with another.
In between, I had to turn down the birthday boy, who had also suggested lunch today. Please note, I had no lunch plans any other day this week. Murphy's law of lunch invitations, perhaps?
Work threw me a monkey wrench, so by the time that was resolved, it was 1:30 and my original plans had been rescheduled. I didn't want to insult the birthday boy with a last minute invitation, so I let Door #3 know that I was free after all. Pick me up and pick the place, he said. Can do, I said.
Never having been to Bouchon for lunch, it seemed like the logical place when he said he wanted someplace we could enjoy a multi-course lunch. We were so late arriving that there was only one other couple lunching so we soon had the place to ourselves.
And then we did what the French espouse: ate our way through multiple courses as the afternoon progressed, until we were satisfied and ready for the weekend. Or a nap. Or whatever.
Friend is a baguette snob, so when he pronounced the warm crusty bread the best baguette he's had in Richmond (it was his first visit to Bouchon), I knew I'd made the right choice. We began with glasses of Muscadet and today's soup special, lobster bisque.
As orange as lobster claws and with a depth of flavor that spoke of time and talent, the bisque was the perfect way to take the chill off. It's been a cold week and while it may have warmed up from 25 to 43 degrees, it's still way too chilly for me.
So in the interest of being seasonal, our next course was bacon-wrapped venison pate with cranberry compote (kind of a sick nod to Rudolph and the whole holiday season), cornichons and hot mustard. My, my but this was outstanding, the kind of thing that requires wine and an unhurried attitude. We had plenty of both.
Friend had the beef tenders with potato gratin next and I opted for one of the specials. It was the Crozet Grayson cassoulet, consisting of crozet (tiny buckwheat pasta squares brought back from Francis' trip to France), onions, speck and Grayson cheese from Meadow Creek Dairy. I may have been a very French lunch, but a little touch of Virginia is always appreciated in these parts.
Rich, satisfying and the kind of homey, comforting dish that everyday people eat, just the pungent aroma of that rich and nutty Grayson melted on top was enough to tell me that I'd made the right choice. Maybe I should have been a French peasant instead of a...what? Whatever it is I am.
Friend's beef was exquisite, perfectly cooked and sauced, and the gratin so well done that he said it'll be his new standard for making a potato gratin at home, but I still liked mine better, even after multiple bites of his deliciousness.
You'd think that by this point, so much food and wine would have had us sprawled on the banquette groaning. Instead, we were having a terrific time being the welcoming committee for the restaurant staff as they came in to work dinner or returned from lunch.
Sipping and greeting, we chatted with Chef Francis (who applauded our course selections), bartender Olivier (doing the heavy lifting, but charming as always) and owner Wendy, recently returned from NYC and quick to note that it was my first lunch at Bouchon (when she asked what I'd eaten, she said to my friend, "She always gets the good stuff").
Despite the weather, this particular friend is constitutionally unable to resist homemade ice cream and Bouchon was offering bourbon ice cream with toasted pumpkin seed on top, so his choice was a given.
I had the chocolate cloustillant, a multi-layered dessert, part crispy bottom and part dense mousse on top; all chocolate all the time, and the last bite savored with the last sip of wine. Two and a half hours gone, but not soon forgotten.
Best of all, I still have the lunch with Door #1 to look forward to next week. And lunch with the birthday boy is always certain to be a good time.
But as epic French Friday lunches go, today's really couldn't have been any more pleasurable. Considering it was a last-minute substitute for what I really wanted to do, I'm feeling pretty fortunate right about now.
Or maybe that's just fullness. Either way, well satisfied.
In between, I had to turn down the birthday boy, who had also suggested lunch today. Please note, I had no lunch plans any other day this week. Murphy's law of lunch invitations, perhaps?
Work threw me a monkey wrench, so by the time that was resolved, it was 1:30 and my original plans had been rescheduled. I didn't want to insult the birthday boy with a last minute invitation, so I let Door #3 know that I was free after all. Pick me up and pick the place, he said. Can do, I said.
Never having been to Bouchon for lunch, it seemed like the logical place when he said he wanted someplace we could enjoy a multi-course lunch. We were so late arriving that there was only one other couple lunching so we soon had the place to ourselves.
And then we did what the French espouse: ate our way through multiple courses as the afternoon progressed, until we were satisfied and ready for the weekend. Or a nap. Or whatever.
Friend is a baguette snob, so when he pronounced the warm crusty bread the best baguette he's had in Richmond (it was his first visit to Bouchon), I knew I'd made the right choice. We began with glasses of Muscadet and today's soup special, lobster bisque.
As orange as lobster claws and with a depth of flavor that spoke of time and talent, the bisque was the perfect way to take the chill off. It's been a cold week and while it may have warmed up from 25 to 43 degrees, it's still way too chilly for me.
So in the interest of being seasonal, our next course was bacon-wrapped venison pate with cranberry compote (kind of a sick nod to Rudolph and the whole holiday season), cornichons and hot mustard. My, my but this was outstanding, the kind of thing that requires wine and an unhurried attitude. We had plenty of both.
Friend had the beef tenders with potato gratin next and I opted for one of the specials. It was the Crozet Grayson cassoulet, consisting of crozet (tiny buckwheat pasta squares brought back from Francis' trip to France), onions, speck and Grayson cheese from Meadow Creek Dairy. I may have been a very French lunch, but a little touch of Virginia is always appreciated in these parts.
Rich, satisfying and the kind of homey, comforting dish that everyday people eat, just the pungent aroma of that rich and nutty Grayson melted on top was enough to tell me that I'd made the right choice. Maybe I should have been a French peasant instead of a...what? Whatever it is I am.
Friend's beef was exquisite, perfectly cooked and sauced, and the gratin so well done that he said it'll be his new standard for making a potato gratin at home, but I still liked mine better, even after multiple bites of his deliciousness.
You'd think that by this point, so much food and wine would have had us sprawled on the banquette groaning. Instead, we were having a terrific time being the welcoming committee for the restaurant staff as they came in to work dinner or returned from lunch.
Sipping and greeting, we chatted with Chef Francis (who applauded our course selections), bartender Olivier (doing the heavy lifting, but charming as always) and owner Wendy, recently returned from NYC and quick to note that it was my first lunch at Bouchon (when she asked what I'd eaten, she said to my friend, "She always gets the good stuff").
Despite the weather, this particular friend is constitutionally unable to resist homemade ice cream and Bouchon was offering bourbon ice cream with toasted pumpkin seed on top, so his choice was a given.
I had the chocolate cloustillant, a multi-layered dessert, part crispy bottom and part dense mousse on top; all chocolate all the time, and the last bite savored with the last sip of wine. Two and a half hours gone, but not soon forgotten.
Best of all, I still have the lunch with Door #1 to look forward to next week. And lunch with the birthday boy is always certain to be a good time.
But as epic French Friday lunches go, today's really couldn't have been any more pleasurable. Considering it was a last-minute substitute for what I really wanted to do, I'm feeling pretty fortunate right about now.
Or maybe that's just fullness. Either way, well satisfied.
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