Pork Rind Prosperity

Once is nothing, but twice is a tradition.

So I invited the same girlfriend I'd invited out last New Year's Eve and we dubbed it an annual tradition.

We were looking for a leisurely meal to celebrate 2013 so I chose Enoteca Sogno, making a reservation for two at the bar.

Points always go to restaurants that take bar reservations.

When we arrived at 9, the place was packed with revelers, but our two stools were waiting for us.

Next to us at the bar was wine god Bob from Can Can, looking extremely dapper in a dark blue suit with a pale shirt and tie combination that looked most elegant.

There was never an question but that bubbles were the order of the evening, but it was choosing the bubbles that challenged.

Luckily, the barkeep was patient as we took our time choosing glasses of Montelliana Prosecco and then toasting each other.

Then we opened up the floor for others to entertain us.

The guys next to us were of no use, using phrases like "real Amuricans," so we were glad when they left.

They were replaced with a stylish couple, she with a chignon and he with a decidedly European look and accent.

Talk of the music playing got Bob's attention and he amused us with stories of stumping the "kids" he worked with at Can Can.

Apparently he's got an encyclopedic knowledge of music from 1955 forward and a discussion of an all-night Elvis-watching party in his youth followed tales of Roy Orbison.

There was a musical quiz and I got several right as Bob sang snippets from his youth in Ames, Iowa.

Eventually the Prosecco dictated that we begin eating and we turned to the special New Year's Eve menu.

Bob had been eating the crostini with mascarpone (and a dissertation on the frequent misspelling of that word) with Osetra caviar.

He admitted that the dish had been a tease, making him want less bread and cheese and more eggs.

We decided on the Robiola cheese, a fresh cow's milk cheese from the Piedmont region and served with honey.

The cheese, with over 50% fat, was to die for and we slathered it thickly on bread like butter and drizzled it lightly with the honey before scarfing it down.

It soon became clear that more bubbles were in order, so we moved on to Orsolani Erbaluce di Caluso 2006, getting beautiful bubbles and lemony fruit in the bargain.

Looking at the special menu, I saw that they were serving a dish Italians traditionally serve for New Year's, Cotechino sausage with lentils.

I asked the bartender about it and he handed me off. "Ask Paolo," he said, gesturing toward the Italian on a nearby stool.

"My mother makes it every year since I was a little boy," he said with a smile. "But I've been eating it so long, so now I tell her no thanks when she invites me over for Cotechino for the new year."

Since we were non-Italians and hadn't been eating it since childhood, we decided to try the rustic dish with the pork rind sausage.

When it arrived smelling earthy and wonderful, the five slices of sausage were arranged over a bed of lentils and the owner said the placement was intentional, intended to evoke coins over a pile of small change.

The dish, he said, is eaten on New Year's to ensure good luck and prosperity in the new year.

Well, who couldn't use some of that?

I loved the coarse, fatty sausage and I adore lentils, so the dish was a home run for me although my friend found it too unique for her taste.

But she was wallowing in a bowl of Brussels sprouts, a dish she traditionally makes for Christmas but hadn't this year.

Her holiday wasn't going to be complete until she ate some and we finally took care of scratching that Christmas itch for her.

We got into an intense  discussion with Bob about cultural literacy, having to define words for colleagues and the  number of people with no appreciation for the Bard.

Bob surprised us both by beginning to recite a Shakespeare soliloquy as we sat back in our stools, rapt at lucking into someone willing to recite for us.

That was about the time that some French bubbly started showing up, brought by Bob to share with those who lingered long enough.

We hadn't intended to, but all of a sudden it was 11:50 and we were told, "As long as you're here now, you may as well stay and celebrate here."

Who were we to argue?

We'd wanted to order the caramel and sea salt budino but it had sold out, so the bartender brought us bread pudding, a nice gesture if an unsatisfactory substitution.

But with tastings of Barolos and Barbarescos coming our way, we'd have been fools to be anywhere else.

M Ward yielded to Led Zeppelin on the sound system and more music talk resulted.

I chatted up the woman next to me and she must have been feeling her wine because she shared all kinds of things I had no business hearing.

Let's just say the age difference and the size of her mate were among the tidbits she laughingly offered unsolicited.

But it was almost 2 a.m. by that time, so we may have all been over-sharing a bit.

All told, we'd had an excellent meal, plenty of celebratory bubbles and the kind of erudite conversation a girl can only hope for when she leaves the house on the last night of the year.

I even got a mash note.

"Karen, You are hilarious! So hilarious, as in Gene Wilder in "Young Frankenstein"! I love ya! Thanks for making me laugh."

What better night to spend laughing?

And now it's a tradition, so I already have a date for next New Year's Eve.

Auld Lang Syne with a Thumping Bass

I celebrated New Year's Eve in a room full of handsome men who were extremely well-dressed and could not have been less interested in me. Or any female.

But to begin at the beginning, I got a late start because my wrist was bothering me and I was out of ibuprofen. When I went to get some at the store, I found I had a flat tire. All of a sudden the foodie gathering at a friend's house in the West End was not a possibility.

I knew my neighborhood joint would welcome me, even at such late notice, so I ended up at Bistro 27.This worked out especially well because once there I found out they were having a DJ later so I wouldn't even have to hoof it over to the Nile afterwards for entertainment (sorry, Rattlemouth, I do love your offbeat time signatures).

One thing you can count on for New Year's Eve is crowded restaurants, lots of female skin showing and over-the-top jewelry. Check, check and check. When I walked in, Ron the bartender greeted me by saying, "I was wondering if we'd see any of our regulars tonight." Just me.

I grabbed a corner stool at the bar (now padded booster-seat style to accommodate the slanted floor) and ordered Prosecco pronto while checking out the noisy crowd.

Before long, a guy in a tux took the stool next to mine, introduced himself and I then had a companion for the next four hours. Funny how that works out. Like me, he's a big 27 fan and was there for the duration. I knew he was a keeper for the evening when he immediately started scoping out the room and commenting to me.

There was no way I could resist ordering off the NYE menu, so I chose the lobster fra diavalo with house made red pepper fettuccine (half a lobster, jumbo shrimp and a fra diavolo sauce). Meanwhile a couple of wine reps, one a friend, came in for a glass of bubbly and he and I dished and made plans to meet up soon.

The heat of the fra diavolo was perfect for the dish: unmistakable but not overpowering and the serving of pasta so generous I shared it with my new friend while he awaited the arrival of his rock fish and jumbo prawn. You score a lot of points when you give a new friend fine food.

Meanwhile, the handsome men continued streaming through the door. Unique tuxedos abounded. One guy had on a blazer with low-key skulls and flowers. Another had coordinated his black and white dotted jacket with his shoes. Still another had a gold lame ruffled shirt and houndstooth shoes. Total awesomeness.

I got a chance to ask the DJ what he intended to play and he asked me what I wanted to hear (we settled for indie pop). I saw a friend for the first time since the Dashboard Confessional show and we blathered about how much we'd both enjoyed it. One of the servers complimented me on my curls. A restaurant owner told me that with legs like mine, I must be an amazing dancer (not true).

Dessert was mixed berries in a dark chocolate cup with mascarpone and more bubbles, right about the time the DJ kicked into gear and the colored lights started flashing around the room and ceiling.

As someone said to me during a particularly bass-heavy medley of "Let's Hear it for the Boy" and "Girls Just want to Have Fun," (and with no trace of irony), "Hey, Club 27!"

I could tell it was getting close to the bewitching hour when I saw the staff start moving closer to their main squeezes and glasses of bubbly being poured like crazy. Then we were counting down and everyone was kissing everyone.

So, I did get kissed, quite a lot actually, but not on the lips and not by anyone who mattered. Still, I'd lucked into good company, plenty of eye candy (my new friend estimated the room at 75% male) and enough people who knew me to feel like I belonged.

When I went to say goodbye to my new friend, he was visibly disappointed at my leaving. "You meet a lot of people in life and most are disposable," he said. "You're real. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed sharing your company tonight. Thank you."

After a compliment like that, walking home to the sound of fireworks exploding everywhere was just icing on the cake.

Welcome 2011. Would it be too much to ask for this to be a really good year for me for a change?

Ringing in the New Year at Ipanema

I was hoping that last night's blue moon would signal an auspicious start to 2010 after my disastrous 2009, but first I had to find something to do for the changeover.

Since I haven't been in town for NYE since 2004, I was at a loss.

Fortunately for me, Kendra at Ipanema decided to close the restaurant and throw a Shanghai Surprise themed evening and I was invited to join the hijinks.

I spent the late afternoon helping to transform the restaurant into an Asian den of inequity, draping gauzy fabric around the booths to create intimate alcoves, hanging Chinese lanterns from the already precariously low ceiling and covering the walls in intricate paper cut-outs.

The front area was cleared for the dancing masses and everything was set.

When I arrived back around 9ish, guests were already gathering.

Cam from Denali was DJing and dim sum covered the back tables. It was to be a great party with plenty of good people to talk to.

Hugel was there with his Christmas camera and we talked extensively about the year in music;

Andrew of Makeout Creek and the former occupant of my apartment compared notes with me on the J-Ward life and I had some great music and blogging talk with Nicole, the Food Punk blogger from NYC.

One of the best parts of the party was seeing such a dressed up crowd at Ipanema, definitely not the usual RVA attire.

I was totally impressed by how wonderful some of the guys looked in their tuxes and cutaways.

It's not often you see the local men looking so fine. Well done, gentlemen.

When the clock struck midnight, DJ Cambot launched into "Thriller" and the dancing began as soon as the champagne was swallowed; 2010 got an enthusiastic welcome from us all.

By the time I left, you could still hear the occasional celebratory gunshot in the distance but the moon was pretty much obscured by the clouds.

But once in a blue moon, you get what you really want, so I started 2010 with high hopes for happiness.

Let the year unfold.