Sadly, 100% chance of rain means no Puck, so we adjust.
Parking in a rainstorm, I see a familiar face walking towards me. It's the musical theater/opera singer and I have a feeling we're headed in the same direction.
"Let's get tongues wagging by going in together," he wickedly suggests as we head toward Bistro 27.
Before either of us can ask, two glasses of Paarl Heights Pinotage are poured and I begin to make amends to the Pinotage gods I offended last night.
We snack on tenderloin with tomato, Mozzarella and anchovies, a flavor combination so suited to our wine as to be an intentional pairing.
Over discussion of the photography show we'll be seeing together soon, piano bars in NYC where he lived for years and Cabaret being staged at Studio 54, we also nibble on fried calamari.
I say farewell and move on to my next stop.
Lobster ceviche, vinho verde, pork and arepas are the reward for braving the pouring rain to make it to Pescado's China Street.
We decide that dessert must be served to us in a basement so we head to Ipanema.
"Karen!" I am greeted by the barsitter next to me. "I thought I'd see you at Screaming Females," she says, clearly perplexed.
One hates to disappoint.
Blueberry pie a la mode and Wineworks Viognier are served to us on the bench as we watch the parade of people coming in after the Strange Matter show lets out.
Even the band members sit at the bar, so I at least get that vicarious pleasure.
And, to be fair, I have seen Screaming Females before. And thoroughly enjoyed their energy
Last stop: music.
"Hello, darlin," chanteuse Allison Self says to me in between two-stepping across the floor.
I am asked to slow dance early on and decline, regretting it later.
It is the second time my partner in crime and I have made a point to catch the Nashville honky tonk stylings of J. P. Harris and the Tough Choices, an incredibly tight band with beards and mustaches of note.
"Everyone knows Richmond is a dirt bag town," J.P. announces. "I feel right at home here."
He asks for a show of hands on people who have tattoos they regret and people who have been divorced.
If I were to do a Venn diagram, there would be some overlap in those groups.
In a nod to the inked set, he sings, ""I'm crossing your name right off my heart," and I don't think he meant laser removal.
"Let's get those tears right out and get swinging," he says afterwards, all but inviting the two-steppers back to the dance floor.
And they obliged happily.
After the break, the magnificently bearded Harris talks about his aspirations to do a holiday album like the ones so often done by country stars in the sixties.
Apparently after enough gin, he decided his would be a Thanksgiving album and set out to write the hit single.
"I caught my baby stuffing turkey with another man," he sang plaintively, although that one line was as far as he'd gotten before the gin got the best of him.
Luckily he had plenty of full songs with which to entertain us. "Here's another sad story I wrote a couple of years ago," he said introducing the next one.
Sad sounds so good with a kickass band and a sincere delivery. Besides, we'd wandered all we wanted to for the night.
Yes, Shakespeare had been missed, although his sentiment was plainly in evidence.
"I am that merry wanderer of the night," Puck would have said.
As am I. But why not with so many fine places to wander?.
Showing posts with label pescado's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pescado's. Show all posts
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Practically a Philanthropist
Restaurant weeks aside, you have to give props to a charitable restaurant.
And I don't know of a more charitable one than Pescado's China Street with their weekly Monday fundraisers donating 15% of the night's profits to a cause.
When I walked in tonight, the place was so lively it felt like a Christmas party.
Actually, it was a lot of supporters eating and drinking to benefit Cancer Dancer, an ovarian cancer awareness group.
Sliding into the one available bar stool, I ended up next to the illustrator/graphic designer who'd created the promotional bookmarks (marked "Steal this bookmark" and listing the symptoms) all over the bar.
Since he was a Northside resident, we talked about the limited number of restaurants there and how he and his neighbors make a point to rotate their visits to each to ensure that all succeed.
We talked about Shenanigan's closing and what that means for the neighborhood's live music scene.
I laughed when he said that people badmouthed the food there but absolutely everybody ate it after four beers.
Never having had four beers, I had no way of verifying that.
My girlfriend arrived and I introduced my new friend to her while eating a mouthful of his ceviche.
And no, I wasn't poaching; he offered, saying, "I'm here to spend money so help me eat all this food."
Diners kept arriving which was good for fundraising but bad for the room temperature but the repeated door opening decided my first course for me.
Tonight's soup was chicken, carrot and mushroom with coconut rice and after being given a sample to decide, I ordered a bowl.
Chunky, aromatic and perfectly seasoned, I felt no guilt about eating yard bird in a fish restaurant.
My friend had known what she was going to order before she even arrived because she thinks Pescado's fish tacos are the best in town, but I hemmed and hawed over my choice.
"Since when do you not know what you want to eat?" she wondered.
The problem was that all that meat-covered pizza at lunch followed by the satisfying soup had left me wanting very little.
I ended up ordering a big spinach salad with strawberries, walnuts and fried scallions in a strawberry vinaigrette.
It wasn't fish, but it did the trick. Besides,this is a free country.
And I wasn't the only one. Upon arrival, one of the first things I'd heard was to "86 the rib eye."
What else did I hear? About someone else who'd been laid off in the 2008 economic downturn and how bored he got working at home.
"You finish your work and then you look at the dog and the cat and then what?" he asked. Um, go out and find something interesting to do?
About the woman who'd started Cancer Dancer and the journey that had led her to begin the campaign.
About my friend's plan to put an offer on a house in another state and if it happens, great, and if it doesn't, she'll take it as a sign that it wasn't meant to be.
About how great I looked tonight from a guy I know only by his cooking.
About how wildly successful the night of fundraising had been, setting a record even.
Props to Pescado's, where doing good is as easy as eat, drink, swallow.
And I only ate the chocolate flan for the cause. Really.
And I don't know of a more charitable one than Pescado's China Street with their weekly Monday fundraisers donating 15% of the night's profits to a cause.
When I walked in tonight, the place was so lively it felt like a Christmas party.
Actually, it was a lot of supporters eating and drinking to benefit Cancer Dancer, an ovarian cancer awareness group.
Sliding into the one available bar stool, I ended up next to the illustrator/graphic designer who'd created the promotional bookmarks (marked "Steal this bookmark" and listing the symptoms) all over the bar.
Since he was a Northside resident, we talked about the limited number of restaurants there and how he and his neighbors make a point to rotate their visits to each to ensure that all succeed.
We talked about Shenanigan's closing and what that means for the neighborhood's live music scene.
I laughed when he said that people badmouthed the food there but absolutely everybody ate it after four beers.
Never having had four beers, I had no way of verifying that.
My girlfriend arrived and I introduced my new friend to her while eating a mouthful of his ceviche.
And no, I wasn't poaching; he offered, saying, "I'm here to spend money so help me eat all this food."
Diners kept arriving which was good for fundraising but bad for the room temperature but the repeated door opening decided my first course for me.
Tonight's soup was chicken, carrot and mushroom with coconut rice and after being given a sample to decide, I ordered a bowl.
Chunky, aromatic and perfectly seasoned, I felt no guilt about eating yard bird in a fish restaurant.
My friend had known what she was going to order before she even arrived because she thinks Pescado's fish tacos are the best in town, but I hemmed and hawed over my choice.
"Since when do you not know what you want to eat?" she wondered.
The problem was that all that meat-covered pizza at lunch followed by the satisfying soup had left me wanting very little.
I ended up ordering a big spinach salad with strawberries, walnuts and fried scallions in a strawberry vinaigrette.
It wasn't fish, but it did the trick. Besides,this is a free country.
And I wasn't the only one. Upon arrival, one of the first things I'd heard was to "86 the rib eye."
What else did I hear? About someone else who'd been laid off in the 2008 economic downturn and how bored he got working at home.
"You finish your work and then you look at the dog and the cat and then what?" he asked. Um, go out and find something interesting to do?
About the woman who'd started Cancer Dancer and the journey that had led her to begin the campaign.
About my friend's plan to put an offer on a house in another state and if it happens, great, and if it doesn't, she'll take it as a sign that it wasn't meant to be.
About how great I looked tonight from a guy I know only by his cooking.
About how wildly successful the night of fundraising had been, setting a record even.
Props to Pescado's, where doing good is as easy as eat, drink, swallow.
And I only ate the chocolate flan for the cause. Really.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
You Make the Call
Our birthday party group had mixed feelings about it. Was it incredibly strange or charming in an offbeat way?
Suppose you were sitting in a restaurant and along about 10:30ish, maybe 11:00, a guy sitting in one of the front booths pulls out a guitar from under the table and starts playing. As he's sitting in the booth. Plates still on the table. With his female companion across the booth from him. Maybe he even sings softly a little. Weird or wonderful?
The evening started innocuously enough at Pescado's China Street with an overdue happy hour with a girlfriend. We enjoyed the deals on wine and appetizers (shrimp nachos, tomato and fennel mussels), did the usual socializing with one of the owners and tried to cover all the personal ground since our last get-together three weeks ago.
For a change, I even had contributions to make to the "what's new in your personal life?" portion of the conversation. As always, we share everything with each other (okay, almost everything), based on our long-time friendship and understanding of each another's needs. And, probably, general nosiness, too. I'll make you feel better about your life by telling you about mine. Deal.
But also as always, she has a significant other waiting at home for her and the talking ends when she asks what else I'm doing for the evening. Sigh. Not what she has planned, that's for sure.
Kate Duffy's new show at Column B Gallery at Chop Suey was entitled Three-Oh! An Early Onset of Midlife Crisis, surely a title ripe for interpretation and commentary (if 30 is the new midlife, I have a few things to say on the subject). The accessibility and appeal of the drawings was clear by the time I arrived late in the opening; easily three quarters of the pieces had already been sold.
Had I been of a mind to buy a piece (and I wasn't, having just this week hung two new pieces on my walls), my choice had already been earmarked for someone else's collection, so it wouldn't have mattered. But it pleased me to see that she'd done so well already. Even in a recession, it's good to know that people still choose to spend money on local art.
My evening was due to culminate at a birthday dinner for a friend at Zeus and I was the last to arrive. The group was well entrenched at the bar, with one bottle of wine already history, so I dove right in to the second bottle and the conversation.
I've mentioned before how friends who read my blog use it as a starting point to dig for further information when they see me and such was the case tonight. A friend immediately pulled me aside, asking "So who was it you went to the beach with and how do you know them?" That wasn't all he asked, either.
I found out from a friend what it will take before he marries his delightful girlfriend (fortunately, she already knows). We had a discussion about how soon a guy should call after a date (I sided with the male opinion on this one, but then I'm not a phone person).
Like with any group eating endeavor, there was much sharing, so I got to enjoy the braised veal and pasta special, the beef tenderloin meatloaf, the Tasso ham grits, the beef carpaccio and whatever else I was offered, being the equal opportunity eater that I am.
And then there was the guitar guy who began strumming away just before we indulged in cake and ice cream, birthday singing, lit candles and picture-taking. One of our group who was especially unimpressed with the impromptu performance went over and asked the guy's girlfriend what in the world he was doing.
"Oh, he does this at Arby's, too," she explained nonsensically.
"Arby's is a Yugo and this place is a Maserati," my friend retorted, making a poor wine-influenced analogy, but it didn't change anything. Our waitress was as baffled and put off by it as some in our group.
But the birthday girl liked it and said so to the rest of us. And the other booth patrons were drifting out into the night, until it was just us and one other group in the side room and they couldn't hear him.
Eventually guitar guy gave up, packed up and took his show on the road. Or home, more likely.
The romantic in me wants to think that he was going to do a private performance for the adoring girlfriend. And that's great.
It's the PDG (public display of guitar) that seemed somehow inappropriate, especially in such a tiny restaurant. And that's coming from a music lover.
My preference would be to keep it in the case, friend. At least until you're in private.
Or at Arby's.
Suppose you were sitting in a restaurant and along about 10:30ish, maybe 11:00, a guy sitting in one of the front booths pulls out a guitar from under the table and starts playing. As he's sitting in the booth. Plates still on the table. With his female companion across the booth from him. Maybe he even sings softly a little. Weird or wonderful?
The evening started innocuously enough at Pescado's China Street with an overdue happy hour with a girlfriend. We enjoyed the deals on wine and appetizers (shrimp nachos, tomato and fennel mussels), did the usual socializing with one of the owners and tried to cover all the personal ground since our last get-together three weeks ago.
For a change, I even had contributions to make to the "what's new in your personal life?" portion of the conversation. As always, we share everything with each other (okay, almost everything), based on our long-time friendship and understanding of each another's needs. And, probably, general nosiness, too. I'll make you feel better about your life by telling you about mine. Deal.
But also as always, she has a significant other waiting at home for her and the talking ends when she asks what else I'm doing for the evening. Sigh. Not what she has planned, that's for sure.
Kate Duffy's new show at Column B Gallery at Chop Suey was entitled Three-Oh! An Early Onset of Midlife Crisis, surely a title ripe for interpretation and commentary (if 30 is the new midlife, I have a few things to say on the subject). The accessibility and appeal of the drawings was clear by the time I arrived late in the opening; easily three quarters of the pieces had already been sold.
Had I been of a mind to buy a piece (and I wasn't, having just this week hung two new pieces on my walls), my choice had already been earmarked for someone else's collection, so it wouldn't have mattered. But it pleased me to see that she'd done so well already. Even in a recession, it's good to know that people still choose to spend money on local art.
My evening was due to culminate at a birthday dinner for a friend at Zeus and I was the last to arrive. The group was well entrenched at the bar, with one bottle of wine already history, so I dove right in to the second bottle and the conversation.
I've mentioned before how friends who read my blog use it as a starting point to dig for further information when they see me and such was the case tonight. A friend immediately pulled me aside, asking "So who was it you went to the beach with and how do you know them?" That wasn't all he asked, either.
I found out from a friend what it will take before he marries his delightful girlfriend (fortunately, she already knows). We had a discussion about how soon a guy should call after a date (I sided with the male opinion on this one, but then I'm not a phone person).
Like with any group eating endeavor, there was much sharing, so I got to enjoy the braised veal and pasta special, the beef tenderloin meatloaf, the Tasso ham grits, the beef carpaccio and whatever else I was offered, being the equal opportunity eater that I am.
And then there was the guitar guy who began strumming away just before we indulged in cake and ice cream, birthday singing, lit candles and picture-taking. One of our group who was especially unimpressed with the impromptu performance went over and asked the guy's girlfriend what in the world he was doing.
"Oh, he does this at Arby's, too," she explained nonsensically.
"Arby's is a Yugo and this place is a Maserati," my friend retorted, making a poor wine-influenced analogy, but it didn't change anything. Our waitress was as baffled and put off by it as some in our group.
But the birthday girl liked it and said so to the rest of us. And the other booth patrons were drifting out into the night, until it was just us and one other group in the side room and they couldn't hear him.
Eventually guitar guy gave up, packed up and took his show on the road. Or home, more likely.
The romantic in me wants to think that he was going to do a private performance for the adoring girlfriend. And that's great.
It's the PDG (public display of guitar) that seemed somehow inappropriate, especially in such a tiny restaurant. And that's coming from a music lover.
My preference would be to keep it in the case, friend. At least until you're in private.
Or at Arby's.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Drooling the Night Away
"I will be coming from the dentist and I'm not sure how I'll be. I just hope I'm not drooling," read the e-mail from the friend I was meeting for happy hour.
But she's a really good friend, so even if she had been drooling, I think we could have worked around it.
I like her enough that I'd wipe her chin dry if it came to that.
The plan was to meet up at Pescado's China Street since she'd never been to either location, despite living on the southside.
My reluctance to go south of the river is common knowledge, but actually I had been to China Street on the night it opened, here. I had held off since then to allow for the novelty to lessen a bit.
But just in case, we'd also arrived early.
Even so, the bartender and chef both said they remembered me; maybe it's sitting in that end bar stool that makes a person memorable.
Hopefully it wasn't the sheer quantity of what I ate that time.
The owner greeted me and introduced himself and my friend arrived without drool, but there was adhesive stuck to her jaw, which I had to point out (it's like broccoli in your teeth...wouldn't you want to know?).
After three hours in the dentist's chair, I was just glad she'd shown up.
We were early enough to enjoy all the great specials, so we availed ourselves of the $3 wine (Malbec or Chardonnay) and the $4 appetizers in a nearly empty blue dining room.
It gave the owner time to chat us up about what we do, where we live and his recent reviews.
I am always curious to hear what owners and chefs offer up about their opinions of critics.
The lobster quesadilla was plump and the accompanying cheese sauce flavorful, the mussels in coconut curry broth were devoured before we began drinking the broth with a spoon and the shrimp nachos used blue corn chips (my favorite) and plenty of shrimp, cheese, green onions, red peppers and even cabbage for crunch.
Friend had to switch from wine to beer though, because the acidity of the wine was hurting her mouth, but given today's heat, she didn't seem to mind too terribly much.
Or maybe she was just trying to compensate for the numbness wearing off.
We finished with the steaming-hot conch fritters because everybody likes fried bread with sauce.
By that time, the dining room was nearing capacity and we saw plenty of impressive-looking seafood being carried past us, but we were full.
After discussing the usual (her love life, the absence of mine), she wanted to know what was next.
"I know I'm only Act One, so what's after this?" she teased.
Can you guess she works in theater?
Music at Gallery 5 was next and when I described the bands, she regretted not being able to go.
And it was a great line-up, starting with Lob Marino ("Karen, it's the same set you heard at Sprout, but we're just about done with some new stuff." Promises, promises).
Every song except one had been written while they were in South America and the one written here was about last winter, undoubtedly a shock to their system upon their return.
The witty and self-deprecating Liza Kate followed, randomly telling the audience that she loves attention and that she'd ridden a horse today.
"Ever been famous?" she asked. "It's hot up here!"
Chapel Hill's Birds and Arrows was next and I was especially eager to hear them for the first time.
Tuning up and sound-checking, lead singer Andrea asked the sound guy for less reverb.
"A little less far down the well," she clarified. "Less My Morning Jacket."
As my close musical friends know, it's not about a well, it's about a cave, for crying out loud, and I love the sound of music from a cave, but apparently it's not what B & A are going for.
They launched into their latest single and mid-way through, the place went dark.
In the highlight of the evening, the band kept right on playing.
The cello, drums and acoustic guitar all still worked and the audience cheered them for not stopping.
"We're so rock and roll, we blew the power," Andrea laughed.
The next song began while the stage was still dark but electricity was restored and they went on with their set of beautiful harmonies, well-crafted songs and obvious enthusiasm for what they do.
Introducing a song about having her 11-year old dog put down this spring, Andrea warned the audience not to cry.
And I didn't cry, but there was definite welling up since the same thing had happened to me this past spring.
Or maybe I just needed an excuse to well. In any case, the song seemed to be a crowd favorite, one of many the audience responded enthusiastically to.
Finishing up the night was the stellar Ophelia and unfortunately their set was limited by the noise ordinance curfew (don't get me started), so it was shorter than the fans would have liked.
I can only hope that the next time I see them, I get much more of them.
I seem to be hoping for a lot more of several things lately.
Just not more sad dog songs; they're just gateway music to the harder stuff and who needs that?
First I well and next thing you know I'll be drooling...and have to wipe my own chin.
Just give me some reverb to do it by.
But she's a really good friend, so even if she had been drooling, I think we could have worked around it.
I like her enough that I'd wipe her chin dry if it came to that.
The plan was to meet up at Pescado's China Street since she'd never been to either location, despite living on the southside.
My reluctance to go south of the river is common knowledge, but actually I had been to China Street on the night it opened, here. I had held off since then to allow for the novelty to lessen a bit.
But just in case, we'd also arrived early.
Even so, the bartender and chef both said they remembered me; maybe it's sitting in that end bar stool that makes a person memorable.
Hopefully it wasn't the sheer quantity of what I ate that time.
The owner greeted me and introduced himself and my friend arrived without drool, but there was adhesive stuck to her jaw, which I had to point out (it's like broccoli in your teeth...wouldn't you want to know?).
After three hours in the dentist's chair, I was just glad she'd shown up.
We were early enough to enjoy all the great specials, so we availed ourselves of the $3 wine (Malbec or Chardonnay) and the $4 appetizers in a nearly empty blue dining room.
It gave the owner time to chat us up about what we do, where we live and his recent reviews.
I am always curious to hear what owners and chefs offer up about their opinions of critics.
The lobster quesadilla was plump and the accompanying cheese sauce flavorful, the mussels in coconut curry broth were devoured before we began drinking the broth with a spoon and the shrimp nachos used blue corn chips (my favorite) and plenty of shrimp, cheese, green onions, red peppers and even cabbage for crunch.
Friend had to switch from wine to beer though, because the acidity of the wine was hurting her mouth, but given today's heat, she didn't seem to mind too terribly much.
Or maybe she was just trying to compensate for the numbness wearing off.
We finished with the steaming-hot conch fritters because everybody likes fried bread with sauce.
By that time, the dining room was nearing capacity and we saw plenty of impressive-looking seafood being carried past us, but we were full.
After discussing the usual (her love life, the absence of mine), she wanted to know what was next.
"I know I'm only Act One, so what's after this?" she teased.
Can you guess she works in theater?
Music at Gallery 5 was next and when I described the bands, she regretted not being able to go.
And it was a great line-up, starting with Lob Marino ("Karen, it's the same set you heard at Sprout, but we're just about done with some new stuff." Promises, promises).
Every song except one had been written while they were in South America and the one written here was about last winter, undoubtedly a shock to their system upon their return.
The witty and self-deprecating Liza Kate followed, randomly telling the audience that she loves attention and that she'd ridden a horse today.
"Ever been famous?" she asked. "It's hot up here!"
Chapel Hill's Birds and Arrows was next and I was especially eager to hear them for the first time.
Tuning up and sound-checking, lead singer Andrea asked the sound guy for less reverb.
"A little less far down the well," she clarified. "Less My Morning Jacket."
As my close musical friends know, it's not about a well, it's about a cave, for crying out loud, and I love the sound of music from a cave, but apparently it's not what B & A are going for.
They launched into their latest single and mid-way through, the place went dark.
In the highlight of the evening, the band kept right on playing.
The cello, drums and acoustic guitar all still worked and the audience cheered them for not stopping.
"We're so rock and roll, we blew the power," Andrea laughed.
The next song began while the stage was still dark but electricity was restored and they went on with their set of beautiful harmonies, well-crafted songs and obvious enthusiasm for what they do.
Introducing a song about having her 11-year old dog put down this spring, Andrea warned the audience not to cry.
And I didn't cry, but there was definite welling up since the same thing had happened to me this past spring.
Or maybe I just needed an excuse to well. In any case, the song seemed to be a crowd favorite, one of many the audience responded enthusiastically to.
Finishing up the night was the stellar Ophelia and unfortunately their set was limited by the noise ordinance curfew (don't get me started), so it was shorter than the fans would have liked.
I can only hope that the next time I see them, I get much more of them.
I seem to be hoping for a lot more of several things lately.
Just not more sad dog songs; they're just gateway music to the harder stuff and who needs that?
First I well and next thing you know I'll be drooling...and have to wipe my own chin.
Just give me some reverb to do it by.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Pescado's in High Summer Mode
One of the husbands I borrow on occasion lives south of the river.
I don't hold this against him because he eats everything and likes coming in to the city to eat.
It also means that although he's been telling me good things about Pescado's for a while, he sensed that there was not much likelihood I'd end up there.
Which probably explains why he seized the moment and suggested we try Pescado's China Street tonight.
While it hasn't taken quite as long as Center Stage or the VMFA to complete, it does seem like it's been a work-in-progress for some time now.
Since I hadn't been to the original, I was unprepared for how colorful it was, with its blue walls, yellow and orange woodwork and mottled green bar.
Even underfoot, it was a floor of many colors. The bar was smaller than I would have expected, especially given the limited bar options in Oregon Hill.
One neighborhood guy at the bar observed that he was seeing "a lot of regulars. I completely support that in the neighborhood." I could see his point.
Our end bar stools had a straight shot view to the kitchen and the abundance of staff.
My friend knows restaurant kitchens intimately and he found several things to praise about the design of Pescado's kitchen; the overhead sauce caddy alone put him in a reverie.
But that aside, it was clear the kitchen was on point all evening (or at least the three hours we were there).
We began with white sangria (vino verdhe, triple sec and gobs of fruit and their juices squeezed into it) because my friend wanted to and I hadn't had it in years.
It certainly seemed appropriate given the decor and the menu.
To munch as we sipped, we got the conch fritters and I have to say that they were the best I've had since discovering them in Guadaloupe when I was 21.
Instead of oily, heavy balls of dough, they were full of clearly discernible ingredients with a light, crispy outer shell.
They were served with micro-greens and an aioli, an updated take on a classic island appetizer. We were definitely into the beach vibe by this point (although Guadeloupe still would have been preferable).
Because he's the Pescado's expert, he insisted we get the voodoo shrimp (shrimp, habanero, banana, chorizo, allspice/rum/garlic sauce over bread with a fried egg on top) and I had to admit that its depth of flavor and intense heat were perfectly balanced. T
he dripping yolk didn't hurt the overall effect, either.
I wanted the arepas (South American corn cakes with pork and a pobalano/corn salsa with a jalapeno sauce) and, hands down, I picked a winner.
The pork was tender and plentiful, the little corn cakes perfect with pig and that corn and poblano salsa positively made the dish, with its freshness and subtle flavors.
I shared but not as much as I should have.
We lingered over our pitcher, talking to a couple of guys trying to rationalize not going to Friday Cheers.
I told them not to beat themselves up too much cause there'll always be good music in Richmond on another night.
One guy looked amazed. "I've been here six months and I didn't realize there was a good live music scene here."
Well then, you've come to the right person, my new friend.
Band of Horses, Manchester Orchestra and we were off and running.
Also offering conversation was a couple who lives in the neighborhood and had walked over; of course they are thrilled to have a new spot in O-Hill.
He was telling us he'd just gone to his 40 year reunion, so naturally I asked, "Anyone dead yet?"
They thought that was hilarious, but actually several people had died, so there you have it.
Not so funny after all.
Afterwards, I met friends for a drink at Mint and got to praise Bobby in person for his superb watermelon soda offering at Broad Appetit.
He showed his gratitude by making a watermelon and vodka drink for me so I could have a grown-up watermelon soda.
As I pointed out to my friends as I tasted it, though, I'm the boring customer mixologists dread.
All I want is my single spirit on ice.
So dull.
Seeing the rate at which I was drinking my pretty in pink drink, Bobby poured me his new favorite tequila, Cazadores Reposado.
He'd fallen for its delicate flavor, lush finish and, most importantly, because it has a picture of a deer on the label. I understand completely being captivated by something so random and odd.
And the connection between tequila and deer is...what?
It didn't matter because I liked it as much as he did.
These friends eat out as much as I do, so when they asked where I'd had dinner and I told them, their response came as if rehearsed. "Pescado's CHINA STREET?"
It was pretty funny to hear their shock in unison.
Needless to say, they'll be there tomorrow night and, like my friend, make comparisons since they've eaten at the original too.
Tonight they were heading to White Dog for one last helping of the bread pudding so many people swear by.
I wished them well and moved on to Poe's Pub for music by The Wiremen, followed by Marionette.
I arrived shortly after the Wiremen started and they were making almost too much sound for the room to hold.
I've seen them several times at Ghostprint Gallery, but you really can't compare a show there to a Poe's show, if you know what I'm saying.
Poe's is a noisy place, a fact suffered only because it used to be a loud AND smoky place and now it has only half the annoying factor.
They were incredibly tight and I love what that trumpet brings to their sound.
The lead singer had a bit of a warble which made me think Brian Ferry; my musician friend Adam heard Jeff Buckley doing Billie Holiday.
Either way, it was a great voice.
The crowd filled the room, so clearly others knew these NYC guys are worth a trip up the hill.
I rave about Marionette every time I see them, so instead of repeating myself, how about I just suggest that you make a point to hear them live?
You won't be disappointed and you may begin to understand why I see so many of their shows.
The only problem tonight was the band's starting time.
Fortunately for me, the late start gave me a chance to do a song-by-song analysis of The National's High Violet with guitarist Adam, something I'd been jonesing to do since becoming infatuated with it last month.
It was gratifying to hear that he'd fallen in love with the same songs I had (but then we have a history of mutual National attraction).
I had tried to get some of the friends I'd seen earlier in the evening to join me for music, but they all had issues with the late starting time.
Sort of like I have issues with going to the other side of the river if I don't have to.
Happily for me, sometimes those places cross the river for me, like Pescado's did.
If I'm patient enough, perhaps everything I want will come.
I can wait.
I don't hold this against him because he eats everything and likes coming in to the city to eat.
It also means that although he's been telling me good things about Pescado's for a while, he sensed that there was not much likelihood I'd end up there.
Which probably explains why he seized the moment and suggested we try Pescado's China Street tonight.
While it hasn't taken quite as long as Center Stage or the VMFA to complete, it does seem like it's been a work-in-progress for some time now.
Since I hadn't been to the original, I was unprepared for how colorful it was, with its blue walls, yellow and orange woodwork and mottled green bar.
Even underfoot, it was a floor of many colors. The bar was smaller than I would have expected, especially given the limited bar options in Oregon Hill.
One neighborhood guy at the bar observed that he was seeing "a lot of regulars. I completely support that in the neighborhood." I could see his point.
Our end bar stools had a straight shot view to the kitchen and the abundance of staff.
My friend knows restaurant kitchens intimately and he found several things to praise about the design of Pescado's kitchen; the overhead sauce caddy alone put him in a reverie.
But that aside, it was clear the kitchen was on point all evening (or at least the three hours we were there).
We began with white sangria (vino verdhe, triple sec and gobs of fruit and their juices squeezed into it) because my friend wanted to and I hadn't had it in years.
It certainly seemed appropriate given the decor and the menu.
To munch as we sipped, we got the conch fritters and I have to say that they were the best I've had since discovering them in Guadaloupe when I was 21.
Instead of oily, heavy balls of dough, they were full of clearly discernible ingredients with a light, crispy outer shell.
They were served with micro-greens and an aioli, an updated take on a classic island appetizer. We were definitely into the beach vibe by this point (although Guadeloupe still would have been preferable).
Because he's the Pescado's expert, he insisted we get the voodoo shrimp (shrimp, habanero, banana, chorizo, allspice/rum/garlic sauce over bread with a fried egg on top) and I had to admit that its depth of flavor and intense heat were perfectly balanced. T
he dripping yolk didn't hurt the overall effect, either.
I wanted the arepas (South American corn cakes with pork and a pobalano/corn salsa with a jalapeno sauce) and, hands down, I picked a winner.
The pork was tender and plentiful, the little corn cakes perfect with pig and that corn and poblano salsa positively made the dish, with its freshness and subtle flavors.
I shared but not as much as I should have.
We lingered over our pitcher, talking to a couple of guys trying to rationalize not going to Friday Cheers.
I told them not to beat themselves up too much cause there'll always be good music in Richmond on another night.
One guy looked amazed. "I've been here six months and I didn't realize there was a good live music scene here."
Well then, you've come to the right person, my new friend.
Band of Horses, Manchester Orchestra and we were off and running.
Also offering conversation was a couple who lives in the neighborhood and had walked over; of course they are thrilled to have a new spot in O-Hill.
He was telling us he'd just gone to his 40 year reunion, so naturally I asked, "Anyone dead yet?"
They thought that was hilarious, but actually several people had died, so there you have it.
Not so funny after all.
Afterwards, I met friends for a drink at Mint and got to praise Bobby in person for his superb watermelon soda offering at Broad Appetit.
He showed his gratitude by making a watermelon and vodka drink for me so I could have a grown-up watermelon soda.
As I pointed out to my friends as I tasted it, though, I'm the boring customer mixologists dread.
All I want is my single spirit on ice.
So dull.
Seeing the rate at which I was drinking my pretty in pink drink, Bobby poured me his new favorite tequila, Cazadores Reposado.
He'd fallen for its delicate flavor, lush finish and, most importantly, because it has a picture of a deer on the label. I understand completely being captivated by something so random and odd.
And the connection between tequila and deer is...what?
It didn't matter because I liked it as much as he did.
These friends eat out as much as I do, so when they asked where I'd had dinner and I told them, their response came as if rehearsed. "Pescado's CHINA STREET?"
It was pretty funny to hear their shock in unison.
Needless to say, they'll be there tomorrow night and, like my friend, make comparisons since they've eaten at the original too.
Tonight they were heading to White Dog for one last helping of the bread pudding so many people swear by.
I wished them well and moved on to Poe's Pub for music by The Wiremen, followed by Marionette.
I arrived shortly after the Wiremen started and they were making almost too much sound for the room to hold.
I've seen them several times at Ghostprint Gallery, but you really can't compare a show there to a Poe's show, if you know what I'm saying.
Poe's is a noisy place, a fact suffered only because it used to be a loud AND smoky place and now it has only half the annoying factor.
They were incredibly tight and I love what that trumpet brings to their sound.
The lead singer had a bit of a warble which made me think Brian Ferry; my musician friend Adam heard Jeff Buckley doing Billie Holiday.
Either way, it was a great voice.
The crowd filled the room, so clearly others knew these NYC guys are worth a trip up the hill.
I rave about Marionette every time I see them, so instead of repeating myself, how about I just suggest that you make a point to hear them live?
You won't be disappointed and you may begin to understand why I see so many of their shows.
The only problem tonight was the band's starting time.
Fortunately for me, the late start gave me a chance to do a song-by-song analysis of The National's High Violet with guitarist Adam, something I'd been jonesing to do since becoming infatuated with it last month.
It was gratifying to hear that he'd fallen in love with the same songs I had (but then we have a history of mutual National attraction).
I had tried to get some of the friends I'd seen earlier in the evening to join me for music, but they all had issues with the late starting time.
Sort of like I have issues with going to the other side of the river if I don't have to.
Happily for me, sometimes those places cross the river for me, like Pescado's did.
If I'm patient enough, perhaps everything I want will come.
I can wait.
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