Sunday, that's my fun day, my "I don't have to run day."
Escaping Broad Appetit for the VMFA got me the D'Amore Duo (Yeon Jee Sohn on oboe and William Feasley on guitar) doing a concert called "Leaves of Grass."
It was a tie-in to the new exhibit I saw yesterday, here, "Bold, Cautious, True: Walt Whitman and American Art of the Civil War Era."
As the educator who introduced the musicians said, "This performance will send you running to see the exhibit."
Didn't need to run since I'd already done my homework.
The music was loosely related to themes of sadness, with "And Never the Same Way Twice, Flowing" eliciting Feasley's wry comment, "Very gruesome tuning this one has."
I don't even have a clue what that means and I loved the sound of it.
There was a guitar piece called "Ashokan Farewell" that Ken Burns used in his Civil War documentary and a fantasia and tango on Mile Davis' "So What."
"The Pateroller Sonata" was a world premiere of the piece for oboe and guitar; the second movement, "Behind the Moon" was exquisitely beautiful.
It made me long for tomorrow's full moon.
Most heartbreaking piece went to "Sonata - "To the Sadness of Buenos Aries," taken from a post- World War II Argentinian poet laureate.
On New Year's Eve she wrote this poem, now song, sent it to the national newspaper and then walked into the sea.
As the nation awoke and read her piece, she was drowned.
The sounds of the sea throughout the piece were tragic reminders.
Two sonatas, two tangos, a fantasia and a fantasy, a variation on a variation and four pieces written specifically for the D'Amore Duo.
Not bad for an afternoon's pleasure.
Food followed melancholia at Secco for the final All Sara Sunday.
No longer will there be two Saras on staff on Sundays as cheese whiz Sara Adduci prepares to head westward.
Secco was saluting her with food and wine, like the clever "ArrivAdduci" flight.
Tete a Claques was my poison, all pink and pretty, and much food was consumed along with it.
Gnocchi with sea urchin butter began things delicately and decadently.
Local green beans with speck, walnuts, hard cooked egg and mustard vinaigrette was an impeccable new flavor combination on the menu.
When a man near me saw it arrive, he raved about it, saying he and his wife had finished the same dish earlier.
I didn't realize how much earlier he meant until they went to leave and said they'd been there since 3:00.
It was 8:30 by then. That's a healthy visit to your local wine bar.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
The arugula salad with chicken confit, dried cherries, Stilton and roasted shallot vinaigrette never disappoints with its rich flavors.
The nod to Sara was a Gruyere fondue ("Had to do it," said the sous chef) with asparagus spears and house made pretzel bread sticks for dipping.
With a tribute like that, chances are she won't want to leave.
Dessert was chocolate cream in puff pastry with hazelnut praline and caramel sauce.
On a trip to the bathroom, I met a guy from Nelson County who makes lotion.
He had a tub of it with him, so I sampled it, trying it on my hands and legs, impressed with the rosemary and mint scents and the emollient quality of the beeswax based mixture.
I was quizzed. Would I pay $10 for it at a farmer's market? Yes, I would.
Heard some people talking about a woman with 23 stars tattooed on her chest.
Why 23, I wondered?
Seems 23 was how much pain she could endure from the needle before crying uncle. The actual number was meaningless to her.
Oddly enough, 23 is my favorite number, so it would have been a splendid choice for me, but her, not so much.
And me, zero interest in tattoos, stars or otherwise.
So much had been going on that all of a sudden it was time for us to fly to Balliceaux for music.
We arrived a bit after 9:00 and I waited for the song being played, "Timberline," to be finished before entering the room and finding a seat for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird.
Once in my barstool, I caught singer Antonia's eyes and she mine.
"We started on time," she said part accusingly and part matter-of-factly.
Gulp. Caught coming in late and called on it. With humor, but called.
I did my best, I told her.
"Andrew was here on time," she teased, pointing at my music buddy across the room.
Yes, the same music buddy who had been introduced to JV&SB by yours truly.
The amusing part, as both Andrew and I knew, was that he's frequently late for shows only to find me already in place.
But that's okay. I can take criticism if it's merited. Mark me tardy.
The band was minus cellist Josh tonight but even without his superb bowing, it was a set of heartfelt Americana and Antonia's warbling vox saw.
When the set ended and the mingling began, I found out why it doesn't pay to be a latecomer.
Although I'd caught the first official song of the set, I'd missed the oddities that proceeded it.
They'd played a composition by their excellent trumpet player Paul Watson as well as a cover of a Sparklehorse song.
There had been been a third rarity, but I didn't even need to know what it had been.
It had been a fine Sunday. Definitely a fun day.
Even if I did have to run day.
Better tardy than absent.
Showing posts with label tete a claques. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tete a claques. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2012
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
A Pink Statement of Pride
It's not often that a rose crawl becomes a hurricane party.
Today's Carytown Rose Crawl required that I pull out one of my two pink dresses so as to be attired appropriately. I settled on the hot pink mod little shift that looks like it's straight out of 1967.
We began at Amici, a new addition to the crawling process.
As a guy held the door open for me, I walked in and was surprised at the number of people in attendance, including Matt from Secco wearing a pink headband.
The crawl was already paying off in spades.
Amici's rose of choice was Negroamaro Salento and a glass was poured for me almost as soon as I walked in. Well balanced and fruity, it was a nice start.
Our rose crawling group quickly filled the bar area and as I glanced down the bar, every glass held pink. I was definitely where I needed to be.
I met a few new people (another food writer, a woman with a large pink purse) but chose to catch up with a friend I hadn't seen in a while instead of chatting up the masses.
Almost before we knew it, it was time to move on to Amour Wine Bistro; they get points for both the wine offerings (there were eight plus two flights) and the four different food pairings.
With a bit of assistance, I chose the La Bastide St. Dominique Rose and the eggplant caviar on a baguette.
The rose had some gorgeous fruit and a long finish and the eggplant bruschetta 's fresh flavors made for a satisfying snack as we began Round #2.
The crowd grew at Amour as people who couldn't get off work by 5:30 joined us for the second stop.
I (re-) met a farmer and said hello to a few people I knew. Our rose crawlers were steadily growing, much to my delight.
Walking down to Can-Can, some of us who had been on the Riesling crawl a few months back wondered if Can-Can would be better prepared than last time (they were supposedly unaware of the Riesling crawl so I skipped them).
Strike Two; the bar was crowded with their regular crowd (shudder) and they had only two bartenders on staff, so the rose group had nowhere to go and no one to serve them.
Along with several other people, we beat feet and opted out of their offering. It was a shame.
Heading to Secco, the sky was looking ominous and I briefly considered stopping to roll up my car windows.
Bad call not to have done so since we were barely ten minutes inside Secco when the monsoon arrived.
Knowing my open car was being drenched when there was nothing I could do about it in no way hampered my continuation of rose exploration.
The bar had only one seat available, but I quickly claimed it and adventurously ordered the "Dealer's Choice" flight. It's not like rose-loving Secco was going to steer me wrong.
Fifteen minutes in and the lightening seemed to be striking the very heart of Carytown as Chef Tim and I watched from the doorway.
Moments later, we lost all power.
But with back-up lighting at the front and back and some well-placed candles (including the loo), who really needed electricity?
Um, the kitchen so they could cook and the wait staff so they could use the register system, but we customers could drink just fine in the semi-darkness.
My flight arrived on a pink placemat with pink post-it hearts announcing my wines.
From left to right, I had Mazzolino Brut Rose (list notes: "It makes us giggle"), followed by Fenouiellet Rose (beautiful nose and a long finish) and finally the Tete a Claque Rose (refreshing and dry).
Barely into my first glass and enjoying the bubbles, a guy approached me, hoping for help so he could place an order.
He moved here from Poland ten years ago and was looking for a good red, so I recommended a personal favorite, the Chateau Muser "Jeune Rouge" from a very old wine-growing region in Lebanon.
He got two bottles and came back twice to chat me up. It may sound like I was pimping owner Julia's wine, but honestly, I was just recommending a favorite of mine to a stranger.
After a bit, the amount of oxygen left in the room became scarce, so the front and back doors were propped open to cool things off and improve air flow.
And that's when it began to feel like a hurricane party. We had no music, no food, and no light. You'd have thought people would leave for brighter pastures, but they didn't.
I chatted with a girl who loves her Church Hill neighborhood as much as I love Jackson Ward.
I met a guy who works at Edo's who admitted that it's impossible to hear any music there, much less his favorite band, Led Zeppelin.
I met a bartender who blogs about going out who offered to over-serve me if I came to his bar.
After a while, the chef and sous chef were so bored that they began polishing glasses. Finally the sous chef told me that they could still produce some food in the dark.
Cheese was out because they didn't want to open the refrigerator, but they had spicy almonds, marinated olives, and the tortilla Espanola, which I opted for.
He brought it out seconds later and I felt like all eyes were on me as I ate it, but that didn't stop me. Eggs and ramps were just what I needed at at that point.
My pink dress was mentioned several times by strangers, but only after owner Julia acknowledged her pink underwear did I allow that I was wearing the same. Hey, anything for a good rose crawl.
I ended on Punkt Genau for its bubbles and refreshing quality in a room where the temperature continued to climb.
The transplanted Pole returned to chat and, all at once, Dominion let there be light.
Although it had been just under three hours in the dark, the mood inside the bar had been convivial. The restored lights were immediately dimmed to power outage levels and the remaining devotees carried on.
But after a time, the thrill of being trapped by the rain and in the dark had spent itself, so people began cashing out.
Still, with a personal best of six roses under my belt, I felt no shame about calling it a night.
Even if a certain Facebook friend did immediately give me a hard time about being home at a reasonable hour.
I hope he took note so I don't have to do it again any time soon.
What's the point in being home this early anyway?
Today's Carytown Rose Crawl required that I pull out one of my two pink dresses so as to be attired appropriately. I settled on the hot pink mod little shift that looks like it's straight out of 1967.
We began at Amici, a new addition to the crawling process.
As a guy held the door open for me, I walked in and was surprised at the number of people in attendance, including Matt from Secco wearing a pink headband.
The crawl was already paying off in spades.
Amici's rose of choice was Negroamaro Salento and a glass was poured for me almost as soon as I walked in. Well balanced and fruity, it was a nice start.
Our rose crawling group quickly filled the bar area and as I glanced down the bar, every glass held pink. I was definitely where I needed to be.
I met a few new people (another food writer, a woman with a large pink purse) but chose to catch up with a friend I hadn't seen in a while instead of chatting up the masses.
Almost before we knew it, it was time to move on to Amour Wine Bistro; they get points for both the wine offerings (there were eight plus two flights) and the four different food pairings.
With a bit of assistance, I chose the La Bastide St. Dominique Rose and the eggplant caviar on a baguette.
The rose had some gorgeous fruit and a long finish and the eggplant bruschetta 's fresh flavors made for a satisfying snack as we began Round #2.
The crowd grew at Amour as people who couldn't get off work by 5:30 joined us for the second stop.
I (re-) met a farmer and said hello to a few people I knew. Our rose crawlers were steadily growing, much to my delight.
Walking down to Can-Can, some of us who had been on the Riesling crawl a few months back wondered if Can-Can would be better prepared than last time (they were supposedly unaware of the Riesling crawl so I skipped them).
Strike Two; the bar was crowded with their regular crowd (shudder) and they had only two bartenders on staff, so the rose group had nowhere to go and no one to serve them.
Along with several other people, we beat feet and opted out of their offering. It was a shame.
Heading to Secco, the sky was looking ominous and I briefly considered stopping to roll up my car windows.
Bad call not to have done so since we were barely ten minutes inside Secco when the monsoon arrived.
Knowing my open car was being drenched when there was nothing I could do about it in no way hampered my continuation of rose exploration.
The bar had only one seat available, but I quickly claimed it and adventurously ordered the "Dealer's Choice" flight. It's not like rose-loving Secco was going to steer me wrong.
Fifteen minutes in and the lightening seemed to be striking the very heart of Carytown as Chef Tim and I watched from the doorway.
Moments later, we lost all power.
But with back-up lighting at the front and back and some well-placed candles (including the loo), who really needed electricity?
Um, the kitchen so they could cook and the wait staff so they could use the register system, but we customers could drink just fine in the semi-darkness.
My flight arrived on a pink placemat with pink post-it hearts announcing my wines.
From left to right, I had Mazzolino Brut Rose (list notes: "It makes us giggle"), followed by Fenouiellet Rose (beautiful nose and a long finish) and finally the Tete a Claque Rose (refreshing and dry).
Barely into my first glass and enjoying the bubbles, a guy approached me, hoping for help so he could place an order.
He moved here from Poland ten years ago and was looking for a good red, so I recommended a personal favorite, the Chateau Muser "Jeune Rouge" from a very old wine-growing region in Lebanon.
He got two bottles and came back twice to chat me up. It may sound like I was pimping owner Julia's wine, but honestly, I was just recommending a favorite of mine to a stranger.
After a bit, the amount of oxygen left in the room became scarce, so the front and back doors were propped open to cool things off and improve air flow.
And that's when it began to feel like a hurricane party. We had no music, no food, and no light. You'd have thought people would leave for brighter pastures, but they didn't.
I chatted with a girl who loves her Church Hill neighborhood as much as I love Jackson Ward.
I met a guy who works at Edo's who admitted that it's impossible to hear any music there, much less his favorite band, Led Zeppelin.
I met a bartender who blogs about going out who offered to over-serve me if I came to his bar.
After a while, the chef and sous chef were so bored that they began polishing glasses. Finally the sous chef told me that they could still produce some food in the dark.
Cheese was out because they didn't want to open the refrigerator, but they had spicy almonds, marinated olives, and the tortilla Espanola, which I opted for.
He brought it out seconds later and I felt like all eyes were on me as I ate it, but that didn't stop me. Eggs and ramps were just what I needed at at that point.
My pink dress was mentioned several times by strangers, but only after owner Julia acknowledged her pink underwear did I allow that I was wearing the same. Hey, anything for a good rose crawl.
I ended on Punkt Genau for its bubbles and refreshing quality in a room where the temperature continued to climb.
The transplanted Pole returned to chat and, all at once, Dominion let there be light.
Although it had been just under three hours in the dark, the mood inside the bar had been convivial. The restored lights were immediately dimmed to power outage levels and the remaining devotees carried on.
But after a time, the thrill of being trapped by the rain and in the dark had spent itself, so people began cashing out.
Still, with a personal best of six roses under my belt, I felt no shame about calling it a night.
Even if a certain Facebook friend did immediately give me a hard time about being home at a reasonable hour.
I hope he took note so I don't have to do it again any time soon.
What's the point in being home this early anyway?
Saturday, October 23, 2010
From the Fan to the Bottom to the Slip Version 2.0
What if there was a party and nobody but women came? What if nobody but women were invited? That would be a friend's annual Thesmophoria extravaganza, celebrating the ancient Greek festival for women only (men were supposed to be working, although frequently they came to ogle).
I'm always flattered to be asked since she gathers such an interesting group together for the evening. Julia from River City Cellars brings three great wines (I was unashamedly back to her favorite breakfast bubbles, the Tete a Claques I'd been drinking just two nights before) and all the best cheeses and the women bring the rest of the food (which always means an obscene amount of desserts).
The first thing I overheard when I walked in late to the already in-progress party was, " So do you take Nyquil?" It doesn't have the same ring as other self-medicating questions I have heard at parties.
But that was just one of many conversations I joined and then exited as I made my way through the house to meet and greet all these women.
I finally had to say my goodbyes since I'd promised to pick up a friend for an evening of light. We parked in the Bottom and began at Julep, which is always fun when Bobby's mixing.
I knew he'd been busy lately making new concoctions and listening to David Bowie, and was curious about the results. If Bowie's not old-school inspirational, I don't know who is (actually I do: Bryan Ferry).
It wasn't long before he got out his torch and presented each of us with a big roasted coconut marshmallow he'd made. I'm a coconut fan anyway, but Bobby had used coconut water instead of plain water in his recipe.
The result was scrumptious, the most sublime over-sized marshmallow I've ever put into my mouth. He created it to sit atop the Jack Skellington, but I had it as a side for my (surprise!) Corozon tequila.
Friend enjoyed a couple of cocktails (including two off Bobby's list) before we decided that it was time to join the throngs and start exploring InLight. The first piece that really grabbed me was the covered wagon with its projections of new frontier travel. Sitting in the middle of Cary Street, it was like a ghost from another era.
Sacer-totem, made of plasric nativity scene figures stacked up totem pole-like brought a smile to many viewers' faces. The Virgin Mary perched on top of assorted Wise Men made for a particularly arresting lighted visual.
All of Cary Street was transformed simply by having the street lights off. It gave the area a much different vibe (which I liked) and allowed people to drop into the shadows when they wanted to. Kind of cool.
At Bouchon, we were greeted by a madhouse. The last time I saw the place that crazy was the Bastille Day party. But the kissing bartender and chef promised us a table or bar stools and we only had to stand to sip our drinks for a bit.
The bar menu of which I'm so fond had some new listings for the evening, so we tried the onion tart, the pork and beans (so popular it had been changed from a full serving to a half) and the mushroom soup.
Friend had been unsure what to expect out of the standard-sounding pork and beans, so the sausage and white bean combo was a pleasant surprise to him. I knew Francis would do it up right, so I wasn't the least bit surprised.
The guy on the other side of me joined in our conversation about Caddyshack and music after a while and I didn't hold it against him that he liked Vampire Weekend, although I did share my opinion of the copycat little prepsters (even so, it couldn't have been too off-putting because when he got up to leave later, apropos of nothing, he said, "Come on, leave with me").
It was while he was sampling around the bar offerings (Port, pear-infused brandy, red wine) that bartender Olivier asked me if I liked apple pie and set a glass down in front of me. Very apple-like and I didn't even bother to ask what it might be. Next time.
The conversation was varied and, at times downright revealing, and before I knew it we were nearing the bewitching hour when InLight would go dark. Before that happened, Olivier grabbed me and led me downstairs and out the back way to see all the installations on the block behind Bouchon. Chef Francis joined me for the art.
There were two pop-up galleries back there, so a lot to see. Probably my favorite was Unwilling Nervous Courage, consisting of both a male nude and a reclining female nude, both magnificently carved in wood with video projections across them. We were both fascinated by the implications.
Another piece that fed the viewer's ego used a camera in one little room to project our image onto another wall. "If we stand here, the camera records whatever we do." Risky business for some.
Francis and I were both impressed by Horizon in the Fold; the columns of light behind the curtain gave a blowing, billowing effect that mirrored a balmy day with the window open, except with light as the moving force. For me, it was like seeing a sunset through the curtain of a beach cottage window, all gentle movement and subtle colors.
By the time I'd finished seeing everything I could, artists and friends had began pulling up extension cords and untaping power strips, so I headed back upstairs. We enjoyed more conversation as the bar finally began to thin out and eventually close down.
Walking back to the Bottom to retrieve my car, a passing girl said to me, "I love your purple tights!" And they don't compare to the new burgundy lace ones. Still, there is nothing quite like a random compliment at 1:45 a.m.
Actually, there's nothing like random compliment anytime. It won't give me a big head, I promise.
I'm always flattered to be asked since she gathers such an interesting group together for the evening. Julia from River City Cellars brings three great wines (I was unashamedly back to her favorite breakfast bubbles, the Tete a Claques I'd been drinking just two nights before) and all the best cheeses and the women bring the rest of the food (which always means an obscene amount of desserts).
The first thing I overheard when I walked in late to the already in-progress party was, " So do you take Nyquil?" It doesn't have the same ring as other self-medicating questions I have heard at parties.
But that was just one of many conversations I joined and then exited as I made my way through the house to meet and greet all these women.
I finally had to say my goodbyes since I'd promised to pick up a friend for an evening of light. We parked in the Bottom and began at Julep, which is always fun when Bobby's mixing.
I knew he'd been busy lately making new concoctions and listening to David Bowie, and was curious about the results. If Bowie's not old-school inspirational, I don't know who is (actually I do: Bryan Ferry).
It wasn't long before he got out his torch and presented each of us with a big roasted coconut marshmallow he'd made. I'm a coconut fan anyway, but Bobby had used coconut water instead of plain water in his recipe.
The result was scrumptious, the most sublime over-sized marshmallow I've ever put into my mouth. He created it to sit atop the Jack Skellington, but I had it as a side for my (surprise!) Corozon tequila.
Friend enjoyed a couple of cocktails (including two off Bobby's list) before we decided that it was time to join the throngs and start exploring InLight. The first piece that really grabbed me was the covered wagon with its projections of new frontier travel. Sitting in the middle of Cary Street, it was like a ghost from another era.
Sacer-totem, made of plasric nativity scene figures stacked up totem pole-like brought a smile to many viewers' faces. The Virgin Mary perched on top of assorted Wise Men made for a particularly arresting lighted visual.
All of Cary Street was transformed simply by having the street lights off. It gave the area a much different vibe (which I liked) and allowed people to drop into the shadows when they wanted to. Kind of cool.
At Bouchon, we were greeted by a madhouse. The last time I saw the place that crazy was the Bastille Day party. But the kissing bartender and chef promised us a table or bar stools and we only had to stand to sip our drinks for a bit.
The bar menu of which I'm so fond had some new listings for the evening, so we tried the onion tart, the pork and beans (so popular it had been changed from a full serving to a half) and the mushroom soup.
Friend had been unsure what to expect out of the standard-sounding pork and beans, so the sausage and white bean combo was a pleasant surprise to him. I knew Francis would do it up right, so I wasn't the least bit surprised.
The guy on the other side of me joined in our conversation about Caddyshack and music after a while and I didn't hold it against him that he liked Vampire Weekend, although I did share my opinion of the copycat little prepsters (even so, it couldn't have been too off-putting because when he got up to leave later, apropos of nothing, he said, "Come on, leave with me").
It was while he was sampling around the bar offerings (Port, pear-infused brandy, red wine) that bartender Olivier asked me if I liked apple pie and set a glass down in front of me. Very apple-like and I didn't even bother to ask what it might be. Next time.
The conversation was varied and, at times downright revealing, and before I knew it we were nearing the bewitching hour when InLight would go dark. Before that happened, Olivier grabbed me and led me downstairs and out the back way to see all the installations on the block behind Bouchon. Chef Francis joined me for the art.
There were two pop-up galleries back there, so a lot to see. Probably my favorite was Unwilling Nervous Courage, consisting of both a male nude and a reclining female nude, both magnificently carved in wood with video projections across them. We were both fascinated by the implications.
Another piece that fed the viewer's ego used a camera in one little room to project our image onto another wall. "If we stand here, the camera records whatever we do." Risky business for some.
Francis and I were both impressed by Horizon in the Fold; the columns of light behind the curtain gave a blowing, billowing effect that mirrored a balmy day with the window open, except with light as the moving force. For me, it was like seeing a sunset through the curtain of a beach cottage window, all gentle movement and subtle colors.
By the time I'd finished seeing everything I could, artists and friends had began pulling up extension cords and untaping power strips, so I headed back upstairs. We enjoyed more conversation as the bar finally began to thin out and eventually close down.
Walking back to the Bottom to retrieve my car, a passing girl said to me, "I love your purple tights!" And they don't compare to the new burgundy lace ones. Still, there is nothing quite like a random compliment at 1:45 a.m.
Actually, there's nothing like random compliment anytime. It won't give me a big head, I promise.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Showing Off Richmond
Once you've done an initial tour of Richmond, what's left to show a friend from out of town? How about some of my favorite hangouts?
When I went to leave the house, I saw a group of kids lighting sparklers on the corner of Belvidere and Broad. Smoke was enveloping them, but they appeared to be having a great time swinging them around. Why not sparklers on a street corner on a fall night?
Secco was stop number one. All I know is wine (and he knows much more about wine than I do), but I'd heard from enough beer fans that Secco did them right to know that he'd have some good choices. And there's always the plus of great crowd-watching.
I couldn't resist Julia's favorite Loire breakfast bubbles Tete a Claques, being pink and all, and he went for the Sunner Kolsch. I got a peek at Secco's Restaurant Week menu, which looks to be a most interesting one.
We walked down to Acacia for the prix fix menu after he told me he was in a fish mood. (Dale does more fish and does it better than anyone I know). Friend had the grouper with pasta and I had the mahi-mahi with grits. He got the chocolate dessert and I got the almond cake, it should be noted, since I invariably get the chocolate on the menu.
He was suitably impressed with his rum cooler, courtesy of Arthur (we sat at a table rather than the bar, a first for me, so we couldn't thank Arthur directly) which got me bragging about our local mixologists. I'd already taken him to Julep, so I made our last stop Balliceaux.
Walking in, I asked one of the bartenders which bars were open. "Both," he said, "But Austin's at the front, so you'll go there." Correct he was. We settled in to help Austin kill the rest of the evening (and admire the new Chris Milk Hulbert show hanging in the back room), discussing eateries and bars in the cities Austin had recently been visiting, all the while listening to Animal Collective.
Friend had a Moscow Mule and I had, well, Don Julio. I hate being predictable, but I am what I am. For our second cocktail, I had more Don and he gave Austin free rein and seemed suitably impressed with the results.
But then, Richmond's an impressive town. At least I think so.
When I went to leave the house, I saw a group of kids lighting sparklers on the corner of Belvidere and Broad. Smoke was enveloping them, but they appeared to be having a great time swinging them around. Why not sparklers on a street corner on a fall night?
Secco was stop number one. All I know is wine (and he knows much more about wine than I do), but I'd heard from enough beer fans that Secco did them right to know that he'd have some good choices. And there's always the plus of great crowd-watching.
I couldn't resist Julia's favorite Loire breakfast bubbles Tete a Claques, being pink and all, and he went for the Sunner Kolsch. I got a peek at Secco's Restaurant Week menu, which looks to be a most interesting one.
We walked down to Acacia for the prix fix menu after he told me he was in a fish mood. (Dale does more fish and does it better than anyone I know). Friend had the grouper with pasta and I had the mahi-mahi with grits. He got the chocolate dessert and I got the almond cake, it should be noted, since I invariably get the chocolate on the menu.
He was suitably impressed with his rum cooler, courtesy of Arthur (we sat at a table rather than the bar, a first for me, so we couldn't thank Arthur directly) which got me bragging about our local mixologists. I'd already taken him to Julep, so I made our last stop Balliceaux.
Walking in, I asked one of the bartenders which bars were open. "Both," he said, "But Austin's at the front, so you'll go there." Correct he was. We settled in to help Austin kill the rest of the evening (and admire the new Chris Milk Hulbert show hanging in the back room), discussing eateries and bars in the cities Austin had recently been visiting, all the while listening to Animal Collective.
Friend had a Moscow Mule and I had, well, Don Julio. I hate being predictable, but I am what I am. For our second cocktail, I had more Don and he gave Austin free rein and seemed suitably impressed with the results.
But then, Richmond's an impressive town. At least I think so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
