Baby, Come to Me

Just another evening feeding body and soul.

Remember 1986?

That's the year I moved to Richmond and the year Adam Gopnik began writing for The New Yorker.

Back in 2000, I'd read and loved his book Paris to the Moon, a series of essays about his time spent living as an ex-pat in Paris.

Tonight he was giving a talk at VCU as part of the annual Windmueller Lecture series, so I made sure to be there early enough to get a seat.

Good thing, because before long the Singleton Center was filled to capacity.

Titled "Doing Things and Doubting Things," his lecture was witty from the get-go.

He spoke of his wife, Martha Parker, remarking offhandedly that she had never changed her name or gotten U.S. citizenship despite 30 years of marriage.

Ha! Wonder how many times he's mentioned that in 30 years.

His talk centered on the mystery of mastery and were drawn from a series of essays he's written on learning to do things like drive a car (still a work in progress apparently), draw and bake bread.

As one who continues to try to learn and do new things, I could appreciate his efforts.

The emphasis was on the role of doubt in doing things, how doubt and error propel us forward.

His conclusion that the liberal arts are the basis for all change and that science follows after was bolstered with example of Galileo and Leonardo.

My opinion of him was bolstered by our shared pain. He, too, has five sisters.

The Q & A after the talk was a highlight, with the inquisitive audience really probing him on his comparisons of art and magic.

He gamely took questions for quite some time before sending us back into the world, our minds whirling with his thoughtfully intense and cockeyed way of looking at things.

Walking back up Harrison Street, I started considering where to eat.

I've been busy with so many restaurant reviews lately that I haven't been able to dine where I please as often as I like to.

But tonight no deadline called and I was free to give in to my whim.

Bingo. It had been too long since the Roosevelt.

On this beautiful evening with a last quarter moon, I walked in to find the bar half empty.

Taking a seat near the end, I settled in for a relaxing evening with nothing more than the staff for company.

It took less than two minutes for a nearby barsitter to overhear the bartender talking to me and insert herself into the conversation, letting us know that she also knew the person we were mentioning.

Next thing I knew, she was introducing herself and we were discussing tequilas.

Isn't that always the way in Richmond?

With Jerry Lee Lewis blaring on the speakers, I ordered a glass of Rockbridge Pinot Noir and fried duck nuggets with sweet and sour sauce and pineapple relish.

I couldn't resist once bartender T told me that it was Chef Lee's take on Chick-fil-A's Polynesian nuggets.

You gotta love a chef who riffs on Chick-fil-A.

Across the street, we noticed Sub Rosa Bakery's owner Evrim standing on his stoop speaking to about 20 people.

No one had any idea what the occasion could be and everyone was too lazy to walk across the street.

Me, I was ready for more food.

One of my restaurant pet peeves is tempting-sounding specials only available in entree size.

So when I heard about seared red fish with plum and salsify in black walnut butter, I politely asked about a half portion.

Not a problem, I was told and while the meaty fish was definitely the star, the contrasting textures of the soft plum and crunchy, tuberous salsify were perfect together.

Meanwhile, my infotainment was coming from T, who was lecturing two new arrivals about emerging east coast Madeiras.

I'd already noticed that there were no longer any Ports or dessert wines on the menu, replaced by ciders, probably because it's the season.

I asked and he let me know that glasses were still available if one was interested.

Good to know, but at this point, more Pinot Noir would do just fine.

Chef Lee came out to chat and ask about all the places I'd recently reviewed, making me think he's too busy to pick up a Style and read it for himself.

Or maybe he just likes to hear it from the horse's mouth.

When I inquired where he'd eaten lately, I got a typical chef answer: carryout from the local Vietnamese place in his neighborhood.

By then I was trying to decide between another small plate and dessert and he swayed me in the savory direction by suggesting an unadvertised special for a great price.

Twist my arm.

It wasn't long before an obscenely rich small plate arrived with rabbit three ways.

Tiny, little pieces of liver, loin, kidneys and slivers of belly sat atop black lentils with golden raisins, fried brussels sprouts and radish slices.

Be still my heart (which the rabbit's apparently was given the other items on the plate), this was a mighty decadent thing to be eating at this point in the evening.

Did that stop me? Perish the thought.

I ate most of it anyway, my arteries clogging and blood thickening as I savored the distinct flavors of each.

So much for dessert. Goodbye, Port.

As for doing things and doubting things, Adam Gopnik would have been proud.

I never doubted that I could eat so much delectable food and I ended up doing it.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't what he meant...

Eating Young Buck Style

I've admitted I'm no fan of restaurant week.

It's not that it's not for a good cause (it is), but it's such a crazy time for restaurants (where many of my friends work) and I just prefer not to be part of the madness-generating public.

Which is not to say that I don't like a good deal (I do), even during restaurant week.

Enter 2113.

After a leisurely happy hour on my balcony savoring Borsao Garnacha and the exquisite late October weather, we made a bee line for 2113 and their Wednesday wine 'n dine night.

Unlike a lot of the "cheap date" nights, this one isn't only pasta or foisting a dessert of stale bread (pudding) on you.

Walking in to great music and a half full bar, we decided to take further advantage of the pre-Sandy weather and eat outside on the patio.

The last time we'd tried the patio, there's been no music, but a simple request resulted in a promise of music there.

We took seats on the banquette that lines the wall, amid two dwarf trees that made us feel like we were in a conservatory.

The music was a terrific change from all the innocuous indie music I've been hearing in restaurants lately: kind of lounge-y, sometimes with a good beat and other times just sort of smooth and mellow.

In other words, perfect.

The mild, cloudy night sky was above us and we settled in for a cheap meal par excellence.

Wine is part of the deal (unlike restaurant week), so we chose a bottle of Rockbridge Pinot Noir, a velvety Virginian that was as soft as the night air around us.

For a mere $35 (not the $50.24 of restaurant week, not to mention wine included) you also get to choose two first courses and one main course, all served family style.

My date and I may not be a family, but our appetites could play one on TV.

Sea scallop crudo was thinly sliced scallops with radish slices, fennel pollen, olive oil and lemon.

The fennel and lemon played off each other beautifully with the sweetness of the pollen being cut by the astringency of the lemon.

Next up we got the blistered dates despite having had them before. They're just that good.

Medjool dates with almonds, herbs and lardon sat atop greens with buttermilk dressing.

The thick pieces of lardon brought the salty to the obscenely sweet and rich dates for a match made in heaven.

We may not be one of those, either, but at least we have music and laughter.

Choosing our main course was more problematic.

Although one of the offerings was house made fresh pasta, I am reluctant to eat pasta after having had several sublime varieties so recently in Italy.

I thought the moules frites sounded like just the thing (especially with the fries cooked in beef fat) but my date was feeling fowl.

So on our second date night at 2113, we got the exact same entree we'd gotten the first time we'd done the wine 'n dine night there: herb-roasted half chicken.

The half bird that arrived on the platter was enormous, the skin was crispy and crusted with thyme and it was surrounded by vegetables like carrots and brussels sprouts in an herb butter.

Like last time, we tore into it, first leg and then breast, pulling off skin to eat with my fingers and appreciating how perfectly cooked the veggies were.

And just like last time, we couldn't finish the half a yard bird that had been set in front of us.

It's going to make someone a great lunch tomorrow.

I'd read somewhere that Chef Aaron Hoskins was leaving 2113 at the end of the month so I couldn't resist asking for the story.

Seems Aaron is eager for the next step in his career, hoping to have his own place, of course.

2113 is hoping to replace him with another young buck looking to use 2113 as a stepping stone to his future.

In fact, they foresee an arc of young bucks, each putting in a year before moving on to his or her next dream job.

I know I've loved the food since Aaron's been cooking at 2113, but I will also look forward to seeing what the next young Turk can do in that grooviest of spaces.

The way I see it, the music is distinctive, the place has not a single TV screen, and the space is a conversationalist's dream.

As long as the food coming out of the kitchen continues to impress like it has the last four or five times I've been there, I'm okay with whatever young buck is in the kitchen.

Just one piece of advice, guys: Keep wine 'n dine night.

It's like restaurant week year round, only light years better (and I can still send a check to the food bank).

And I don't have to go anywhere near the madness. Score!

Outlyer Observations

Honestly, things just keep getting better at The Roosevelt.

When I first ate dinner there, it was opening night and I fell in love with everything about the place, here.

Now almost three months and many visits later, I continue to default to it for its ever-changing and creative menu, all-Virginia wine list and guarantee of interesting people with whom I can chat.

Knowing that, I was in a bar stool and choosing my wine early on tonight.

A girl next to me was just finishing up her buttermilk panna cotta with regret.

"The only problem with this Mason jar is that I can't get my tongue in it to lick it clean," she bemoaned.

When I suggested she could lick it partly clean, she inserted her finger and began swiping out the last bits on her finger.

"Not embarrassed to lick my finger at all, " she bragged to no one in particular, getting the last of her dessert the only way possible.

Despite the balmy temperatures, I decided to go for red wine, choosing the Rockbridge Pinot Noir.

Later a guy observed that every single person at the bar had white wine and said dryly, "I see you're the outlyer."

Not just in wine, my friend, but in many things.

As always, the company was outstanding.

I started with a favorite girlfriend, followed by a talkative radio rat, a teacher suffering from parent/teacher conference-itis (my second of the week), a musician couple out for their anniversary, a photographer/copywriter duo and Tony, the neighborhood gent who's writing his memoirs of life in Amelia County ("My marriage went south and so did I").

And then there's the food. My first plate was magnificent.

Seared foie gras pate on crispy pork rinds with apple moustard was enough to make me swoon and harden my arteries at the same time.

Bartender T. made me laugh out loud, saying,"Bringing the class back to pork rinds," while my friend Josh asked, "Is your mind being blown now?" when he saw me eating them.

Yes, yes it was being blown, as were my taste buds. Decadent as foie gras is, eating it on pork rinds took it to a whole new level.

I gave my girlfriend a taste but she said one was enough while I went on to finish an entire plate of this rich take on snack food.

When Chef Lee came by to see how I liked it, I tripped over my words praising it and he said with his usual nonchalance, "I don't know how I didn't think of it before."

The restaurant was crazy busy tonight with a lot of tables reserved for large parties and, unlike past visits, lots of older people instead of the usual young, hip crowd.

Nearly full but wanting a second course, I chose the chicken and rice soup with a slow-cooked farm egg.

The richness of the egg only added to the taste of the savory stock dense with hunks of chicken and tender rice.

I must have looked like I was enjoying it because after I finished, the couple next to me asked what I'd eaten and each ordered a bowl.

And then there were the fried sugar toads with bacon aioli, always a treat when I find them on a menu. Insert in mouth, scrape and chew. Yum.

Not content to stay with one Virginia wine, it being Virginia Wine Month and all, I moved on to the Veritas Claret, a Bordeaux-style blend recommended by my girlfriend.

And still people continued to arrive for dinner.

A trio of guys sidled up to the bar next to me, the one telling the others, "This place is always busy because the food's amazing. Just smell that!"

Since I was two stools from the kitchen and plates had been coming out all night, I was well aware of how delicious the aroma was, but to the unfed, it must have seemed unbearable.

I finished up my evening with a slice of coconut cake and a discussion with neighbor Tony of  "Playing for Change," a multi-media movement dedicated to peace through music.

He highly recommended it to me when he discovered I was a music lover.

"Look at the website," Tony instructed me and I promised him a full report next time I see him there.

"Not a report," he said smiling, "Just your observations."

I'm always glad to share my observations when I'm at the Roosevelt because there's so much pleasurable to observe.

Now please pass the pork rinds.