You start out making lunch plans and before you know it, it feels like a getaway.
When I suggested getting together, my friend countered with an invitation to hit the the pool and have barbecue, a plan no sane person would resist in this weather. It was so appealing, I got up after 7 1/2 hours sleep instead of my usual nine so I could get my walk out of the way before it hit 97 degrees today.
Obviously a tad cooler than my usual mid-day walk, I nonetheless headed directly to the river, walking through the sprinklers on Brown's Island and spotting a stand-up paddle boarder in the James. While I've seen plenty of SUP-ing in the ocean, it was my first time in the river.
Walking back through Jackson Ward, I saw that a recent sign - "The world will ride here" (trumpeting the big UCI road world championship races coming in September)- had already been defaced since I first saw the sign two days ago.
"So what?" the anonymous marker asked. Children, please.
Once home, I changed from sweaty walking clothes into a bathing suit and went to meet my friend for our aquatic lunch. She was awaiting my arrival in her cute bathing suit cover-up, pool bag in hand.
Heading east to Varina, she commented on how delightful it is that Richmond gets rural within ten minutes of downtown. As a long-time devotee of Route 5 and points east, I heartily agree. I even use it to begin my trips to the Outer Banks every year, to the consternation of people who think it's an odd, indirect route.
She was right about the charm of the pool complex, which she described as seriously old school: a cinder block building, a snack shack and a pool that enforced an hourly adult swim. It reminded me a lot of the pool my family grew up going to, the one that formed my impression of what a neighborhood pool should be.
Experience had taught her to come before lunch because there'd be fewer kids and she was spot on. Oh, sure, there were a few in the shallow end, including an adorable father who would sit his little daughter on the side, demonstrate a stroke and then help her do it.
Personally, I had no intention of swimming. I was there to cool my core and shrivel my skin, nothing more. "When's the last time you were at a pool?" my friend asked. Except for a backyard pool in the country and a birthday pool party, both of which involved sitting on the side and dangling my legs in the water, it had been ages.
"Yea, I think it was about 30 years for me before here," she admitted. But unlike me, she had been a competitive swimmer in her youth and was reveling in having a place to swim laps again. But since you can't very well go three decades without swimming and jump right back into laps, she'd swim two laps and join me for conversation in the 5' depths of the pool before returning to her workout.
I told her some of my Portland stories and she shared gossip and details of her trek to The Shack in Staunton. We discussed the lack of infrastructure in Virginia to get small farm produce to restaurants, back routes from J-Ward to Church Hill and the princess and the pea theory.
After an hour, she'd finished her laps and I was looking like a prune but feeling deliciously cool to the core, so we dried off to head to Ronnie's Barbecue, which used to be Ronnie's Ribs when I went to its Main Street location in the Bottom. I hadn't even realized Ronnie had moved, but there he was at that cinder block building (which has been home to so many things) at the intersection of New Market Road and Varina Road.
Tooling along past fields and sparse housing, she observed, "It feels like 1975 out here, simpler times," saying it's become part of her pool routine to head to Ronnie's after the pool and then home for a nap. Now there's a solid summer day plan.
Ronnie's new digs were small with only two short counters in the front window with chairs. The idea seemed to be take-out, but we joined the all-male clientele to eat in. Saying she always got ribs, today instead she chose brisket while I was the one who got the three bone rib plate with beans and slaw.
Sitting in the front window chowing down, I paused to listen to voices and she looked at me grinning. "Yep, they're listening to the stories," she said, using a phrase I hadn't heard since my grandmother used it to describe her favorite soap operas.
Damn, 1975 probably was the last time I heard a soap opera on TV.
We made valiant attempts but neither of us finished every bite, although I did leave all my bones sucked clean, for what that's worth. Driving back,she commented on how entering Richmond from the east gives you a completely different perspective on the city, one that reminds you of its industrial and working roots, one that she'd been unaware of before joining the pool.
Stuffed, sitting on our beach towels with the air conditioning in her car chilling our still wet bathing suits and cover-ups, we decided we need to do this again...and again. A new summer ritual was initiated today.
"It's only a few hours we were gone, but it feels like we had a holiday," she enthused before we separated to both go work.
Like riding a bike, apparently you never forget how to enjoy the pool. Simpler times.
Showing posts with label ronnie's ribs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ronnie's ribs. Show all posts
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Half a Couple Date is Better Than None
I had a couple date tonight but she ended up having to work late, so it wound up being just me and him at Lemaire.
He and I are the more similar ones, so she usually provides the balance to our shared traits, so her presence was missed for that.
But he and I are the direct ones, so we enjoyed an evening of straightforward conversation about everything from his spreadsheet for the perfect woman (our starting point for next time's chat because it came up at the very end of the evening) to our perspectives on burial (don't even think about it) to the location of his upcoming birthday extravaganza.
The place was mobbed when I arrived, full of what I guessed to be corporate types engaged in some sort of meet and greet.
Upon my friend's arrival, he confirmed them to be worker bees; he should know because he has referred to himself on more than one occasion as a corporate drone (for the time being anyway) and recognizes his kind.
Eventually they faded away, leaving a much calmer bar for the rest of us.
But he's very much a food lover, too, so we ordered a cheese plate (Drunken Goat, Midnight Moon and Humboldt Fog) and the fried mac and cheese balls with truffled cheese fondue (totally unnecessary cheese for cheese) at his suggestion.
It was only when it arrived that we looked at each other and realized what a lot of cheese we had.
The grapes and mixed berries were a welcome break from the fromage feast.
We discovered a mutual love of talking about other bar sitters (the out-of-town cougar in the straw hat was worth her considerable weight in gold for conversational value).
He sought out specifics on some of my posts and I regaled him with the details of a new acquaintance's efforts to get to know me better at a recent show at the National.
"That's a really great story," he said, amazed at the audacity of a virtual stranger.
I love to share stories like that and just sit back and watch the reaction they get. Welcome to my world.
As the one who had recommended Ronnie's Ribs to me, he wanted my assessment of Ronnie's dry-rub magic (personally, I thought ribs and wings ruled that roost).
He told me about some of his recent out-of-town meals, including an amazing tomato pie at the hole-in-the-wall Dixie Supply Bakery & Cafe in Charleston.
Notable here is the fact that he doesn't like tomatoes and said he could have eaten two pies.
Since we're still getting to know each other, he gleans a lot about me from reading my posts.
Not long into tonight's conversation, he looked at me and said, "I can't imagine you at Costco!" referring to my first visit there earlier today.
Needless to say, I took this as a compliment.
I shared with him how I'd once mentioned running into a musician I knew at Target and my friend Andrew had had a similar reaction.
"You go to Target?" he'd marveled. His amazement was clear; he had no idea that my world included Target on occasion.
It's interesting the wild stories my friends can easily imagine happening to me, but when I veer anywhere close to typical, they're left shocked and surprised.
I'm actually pretty normal; it's how the rest of the world reacts to me that brings on the craziness.
At least that's what I tell myself.
He and I are the more similar ones, so she usually provides the balance to our shared traits, so her presence was missed for that.
But he and I are the direct ones, so we enjoyed an evening of straightforward conversation about everything from his spreadsheet for the perfect woman (our starting point for next time's chat because it came up at the very end of the evening) to our perspectives on burial (don't even think about it) to the location of his upcoming birthday extravaganza.
The place was mobbed when I arrived, full of what I guessed to be corporate types engaged in some sort of meet and greet.
Upon my friend's arrival, he confirmed them to be worker bees; he should know because he has referred to himself on more than one occasion as a corporate drone (for the time being anyway) and recognizes his kind.
Eventually they faded away, leaving a much calmer bar for the rest of us.
But he's very much a food lover, too, so we ordered a cheese plate (Drunken Goat, Midnight Moon and Humboldt Fog) and the fried mac and cheese balls with truffled cheese fondue (totally unnecessary cheese for cheese) at his suggestion.
It was only when it arrived that we looked at each other and realized what a lot of cheese we had.
The grapes and mixed berries were a welcome break from the fromage feast.
We discovered a mutual love of talking about other bar sitters (the out-of-town cougar in the straw hat was worth her considerable weight in gold for conversational value).
He sought out specifics on some of my posts and I regaled him with the details of a new acquaintance's efforts to get to know me better at a recent show at the National.
"That's a really great story," he said, amazed at the audacity of a virtual stranger.
I love to share stories like that and just sit back and watch the reaction they get. Welcome to my world.
As the one who had recommended Ronnie's Ribs to me, he wanted my assessment of Ronnie's dry-rub magic (personally, I thought ribs and wings ruled that roost).
He told me about some of his recent out-of-town meals, including an amazing tomato pie at the hole-in-the-wall Dixie Supply Bakery & Cafe in Charleston.
Notable here is the fact that he doesn't like tomatoes and said he could have eaten two pies.
Since we're still getting to know each other, he gleans a lot about me from reading my posts.
Not long into tonight's conversation, he looked at me and said, "I can't imagine you at Costco!" referring to my first visit there earlier today.
Needless to say, I took this as a compliment.
I shared with him how I'd once mentioned running into a musician I knew at Target and my friend Andrew had had a similar reaction.
"You go to Target?" he'd marveled. His amazement was clear; he had no idea that my world included Target on occasion.
It's interesting the wild stories my friends can easily imagine happening to me, but when I veer anywhere close to typical, they're left shocked and surprised.
I'm actually pretty normal; it's how the rest of the world reacts to me that brings on the craziness.
At least that's what I tell myself.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Finger Lickin' Good, Not Crazy
A friend had recently commented to me that,"Hey, it's been a year we've been not dating," an interesting way to acknowledge our year-old friendship. But he's been an enjoyable and reliable friend to me and that alone is worth celebrating. So I suggested going out for ribs today.
Unfortunately, he already had lunch plans. Fortunately, it wasn't long before his lunch partner canceled on him, so we headed up the hill, following our noses, to Ronnie's Ribs. But what to choose for our picnic lunch? So many slow-cooked meats to choose from and being hungry wasn't helping the decision making process any.
And there at the end of the menu was our solution: The Sampler. Three slices of slow-cooked brisket, a couple of slow-cooked chicken wings, pulled pork BBQ and a half pound of hickory-smoked ribs with a sandwich bun and a roll. My friend asked if it came with any sides and the guy said, "Nope just meat." Good enough. With the addition of a side of Ronnie's cole slaw and four Wet Naps, we had all we needed for our picnic.
Up to Libbie Hill Park we drove and spread out the food on a picnic table overlooking the bend in the river. With the cloud-covered sky, non-stop breeze and the sound of the fountain flowing behind us, we had easily the most wonderful lunch spot in all of RVA today.
We saw a boat and a jet-skier on the river. We heard train whistles un-muffled by humidity. We saw a mockingbird doing a warm-up dance pre-flight. At one point the breeze got suddenly cooler and I actually got goose bumps. I pointed to the ones on my arm to show my friend and he pointed to the ones on my legs. I'd forgotten how great it feels to be cool.
Yet again, I proved my lack of femininity by finishing first. We licked our fingers clean before resorting to the Wet Naps. All that meat had made us a bit logy, so we sat there for a while just enjoying the view and talking about my friend's recent attempts at sorting through the dating pool (he was advised, "Date anything that moves...once."), an endeavor I can't really give advice on.
He wanted coffee afterwards, so we headed to Globehopper. We lamented the fact that we were too full for dessert (Aziza's being in the neighborhood and both of us so fond of their cream puff), but just meat makes for full picnickers.
Until, that is, we spotted the chocolate marshmallow cookies under glass on the counter. I suggested we share one and my friend insisted we each have our own. We took our cookies and his coffee to their back patio and settled into wicker chairs under the trees and within view of the kissing bench (so Victorian!).
The cookies were fascinating for their absence of visible marshmallow, although we could easily taste where the marshmallows had melted into the chocolate/chocolate chip dough surrounding them. I ate mine slowly, admiring the pockets of missing marshmallow, while we continued our dating discussion.
It was such a sweet finish to our meaty meal, but not quite as good as my friend's words. "You make it hard to find people to date."
But he wasn't fooling me. He just wants to be my friend because I'm not crazy (his words). It certainly isn't for my dainty feminine appetite.
Unfortunately, he already had lunch plans. Fortunately, it wasn't long before his lunch partner canceled on him, so we headed up the hill, following our noses, to Ronnie's Ribs. But what to choose for our picnic lunch? So many slow-cooked meats to choose from and being hungry wasn't helping the decision making process any.
And there at the end of the menu was our solution: The Sampler. Three slices of slow-cooked brisket, a couple of slow-cooked chicken wings, pulled pork BBQ and a half pound of hickory-smoked ribs with a sandwich bun and a roll. My friend asked if it came with any sides and the guy said, "Nope just meat." Good enough. With the addition of a side of Ronnie's cole slaw and four Wet Naps, we had all we needed for our picnic.
Up to Libbie Hill Park we drove and spread out the food on a picnic table overlooking the bend in the river. With the cloud-covered sky, non-stop breeze and the sound of the fountain flowing behind us, we had easily the most wonderful lunch spot in all of RVA today.
We saw a boat and a jet-skier on the river. We heard train whistles un-muffled by humidity. We saw a mockingbird doing a warm-up dance pre-flight. At one point the breeze got suddenly cooler and I actually got goose bumps. I pointed to the ones on my arm to show my friend and he pointed to the ones on my legs. I'd forgotten how great it feels to be cool.
Yet again, I proved my lack of femininity by finishing first. We licked our fingers clean before resorting to the Wet Naps. All that meat had made us a bit logy, so we sat there for a while just enjoying the view and talking about my friend's recent attempts at sorting through the dating pool (he was advised, "Date anything that moves...once."), an endeavor I can't really give advice on.
He wanted coffee afterwards, so we headed to Globehopper. We lamented the fact that we were too full for dessert (Aziza's being in the neighborhood and both of us so fond of their cream puff), but just meat makes for full picnickers.
Until, that is, we spotted the chocolate marshmallow cookies under glass on the counter. I suggested we share one and my friend insisted we each have our own. We took our cookies and his coffee to their back patio and settled into wicker chairs under the trees and within view of the kissing bench (so Victorian!).
The cookies were fascinating for their absence of visible marshmallow, although we could easily taste where the marshmallows had melted into the chocolate/chocolate chip dough surrounding them. I ate mine slowly, admiring the pockets of missing marshmallow, while we continued our dating discussion.
It was such a sweet finish to our meaty meal, but not quite as good as my friend's words. "You make it hard to find people to date."
But he wasn't fooling me. He just wants to be my friend because I'm not crazy (his words). It certainly isn't for my dainty feminine appetite.
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