A Day with the Gentler Sex

Praise be for sunny January afternoons.

The kind that inspire a person to get in the car and drive to the norther neck to eat at Merroir.

Yea, I know Rappahannock is 3/4 of a mile from home, but it's not the same.

And getting there is a whole different thing, too.

Getting gas at the station just before the bridge in West Point (where a friend once did a sudden U-turn, announcing to the three surprised occupants of the car,"I can't drive over that bridge"), I saw  a sign on the fence.

Dangerous Tree Removal 
693-0998

Clearly this was an enterprise that doesn't mess around removing benign trees.

And don't we all feel safer knowing someone is on top of this risky task?

Crossing the bridge, it occurred to me what a shame it is that the picaresque billowing smoke coming out of factory smokestacks is a bad thing.

Seeing the six smokestacks all putting out cartoon-like puffs of white smoke against the white and gray buildings and bright blue sky was a study in shades of gray and blue, a lovely thing.

When my oyster-loving companion and I rolled up, we found the porch at Merroir draped in plastic and nearly every seat taken.

With back-up sweaters, we took a picnic table out back with a view of the bright blue river with its surface choppy in the afternoon breeze.

But it didn't last long; our server got as far as trying to set the wineglasses on the table when the wind demonstrated why drinking outside was not an option.

A sunny table on the porch provided a stellar view of the marina and a safe surface for the bottle of Thorny Rose and wineglasses.

We'd caught the end of the lunch rush, so the porch got progressively emptier as we ate and drank.

Given the stiff breeze, we started with the lamb and clam stew, a perennial favorite no matter the season.

Honestly, that tomato-based broth thick with bits of ground lamb is a thing of beauty and required extra bread for final sopping.

The eclectic music (The Fray to John Lennon) was much easier to hear inside, but sunglasses were still required.

In the spirit of a sunny afternoon and hopes for warmer days, we did the Wagyu beef and cheddar sliders with bacon jam, meaty little burgers that were going to a lot of tables near us.

About that time, it occurred to us that we'd be lying to ourselves if we didn't get some oysters, so a plate of them soon followed.

The briney liquid in the shells tasted a lot like I imagined the salty wind that had been whipping around the point outside did.

Say what you want about Rappahannock in the heart of Richmond, but it'll never beat the price or relaxed vibe of Merroir.

During a trip to the bathroom, I found my sex's room occupied, so I took advantage of the empty men's room next door.

Walking out afterwards, a short man in boots was lounging against the door frame.

Seeing me emerge, he raised an eyebrow over his mirrored sunglasses, but didn't say a word.

I quickly explained what had happened, hoping to mollify him.

"I'd've done the same," he drawled. "Have a nice afternoon, girl."

Girl?

He and his aging Madonna-lookalike girlfriend circa 1986 (right down to the scrunchy, sunglasses and boots) soon drove off in a little, red Corvette.

It was as satisfying a moment as seeing the dangerous tree sign.

A walk down to the dock is de rigueur after a lunch at Merroir, the better to admire the distinctive winter color palette of a January day on the northern neck.

But eventually, city slickers have to motor back to the city, so as to enjoy cultural activities, or they wither and die.

My chosen culture for the evening was the Silent Music Revival at Gallery 5.

What used to be a monthly event has become a much more occasional one as organizer Jameson has spent more time touring and traveling and less time teaching us neophytes about silent movie history.

Everything I know about silent movies I owe to Jameson and while it's not sizable (my fault, not his) it at least taught me how much I enjoy silent film.

But part of the magic of the SMR is that Jameson chooses a band he thinks will best complement the movie he's showing.

He's very, very good at this, which is really what makes the whole event so special, and tonight was no exception.

Sonic Nectar was hiding behind the movie screen, ready to improvise a score to "Hands: The Life and Love of the Gentler Sex," essentially an interpretive German film about romance using only hands

The hands met, flirted, grabbed and one even rescued the other's suicide attempt.

I thought the band's psychedelic instrumental rock was a fine match for the story of hands in love.

Usually at the SMR, there is one band and one movie, but tonight we got a double feature.

"Hands" ended up being merely the prelude for the main event, "Meshes of the Afternoon," an American avant-garde movie from 1943.

The film was a collaboration between Maya Deren and her husband Alexander Hammid and she starred in it.

While that may sound egotistical, the woman was an exotic beauty with a face you couldn't take your eyes off of, so watching her dream experiences that blended in with her real life was riveting.

Brilliantly, Jameson had chosen a woman to score this female-driven film in the form of Nelly Kate.

As many times as I've seen her perform (and not nearly enough in recent months), I love hearing her work magic with her voice, keyboard and a loop pedal.

Tonight, she used her voice to make all kinds of sounds and since we couldn't see her behind the screen, sometimes it was difficult to know whether she or her keys were responsible for what we were hearing.

Only afterwards did I hear from a photographer who'd been backstage that most of that had been created with her voice.

But having a woman's voice and words over a woman working her way through an interior life was nothing short of mesmerizing.

That was the great part. The less great part was that there won't be another SMR for months, probably not until April.

Leave 'em wanting, Jameson. Well done.

Because the SMR starts early and on time, it ends early, there was time to head to the Camel to see Scolaro, a band I had seen only once and that was a year and a half ago, here.

Not one to rush things, they were tonight doing their second live show.

I couldn't risk missing it since it might be mid-2014 before they bother to play out again.

I could tell as soon as I walked into the Camel that a lot of people must have tomorrow off because it was a fat crowd for a Sunday night.

There are two things you can count on at a Camel show: it won't start on time and all too often the sound is muddy.

Tonight we were two for two.

So much so that I changed locations, hoping for a better mix if I stood dead center in the room.

Sadly, no.

Scolaro, a sextet, has three vocalists and yet it placed a serious strain on my ear to hear the vocals in the mix, especially over the drums.

Not fair.

Josh, the leader and a long-time music buddy, began by saying, "I now it's silly to introduce ourselves 'cause I know most of you, but we're Scolaro."

I recognized several of the songs they played, including "Innervention," from some tracks Josh had sent me a while back.

They did a song so new it's still untitled, although they were referring to it as "Megan's song" because she sang it.

Although there was some question about Megan remembering all the words, we agreed as a group that it wouldn't matter since none of us had ever heard the song before.

It turned out to be one of my favorites tonight, with both women singing.

"Regift" shone brightest, sounding for all the world like well-produced, smooth R&B, a very good thing.

By the time they got to the end of their set, guitarist/vocalist Josh was obviously hot, wiping sweat from his face.

"Who'd like to hear another girl song?" he asked, steering the band toward his sister Megan singing again. "I would."

I would have too, although it would have been even better with the vocals higher in the mix.

But I'm not complaining because I was just happy to come back from the river and have so much fun stuff to do tonight.

I'd overheard a woman at Merroir today tell her friends that the great thing about visiting Richmond was that there was so much going on, that you could walk to bars, restaurants and music any night you go.

Isn't it the truth?

Chowderhead in Shades

It's different in the fall.

Sure, I'd been to Merroir three times this summer, but the drive out to the northern neck wasn't the same today.

Trees were leafless or colorful. Fields were golden or brown. Everything looked exposed.

Green was mostly absent from the landscape except the occasional stand of pines.

It was after 2:00 when we got to the restaurant and it was empty.

Our server said we'd just missed the lunch rush, but there are worse things than being the lone occupants of a picnic table overlooking the river on a day like today.

Two months ago, the enormous tree overhead had provided ample shade for a sunny meal and today its bare branches meant sunglasses were required for eating without squinting.

For the first time, I looked at the red wine offerings on the menu, eventually choosing a Thorny Rose red blend from Washington.

It took a while for me to notice the music, maybe because it wasn't immediately recognizable, but eventually I realized that it was a distinctive enough playlist that it wasn't a radio station, even a satellite one.

A little nosing around and I learned that the mix had been made by Travis, one of the owners.

I'd interviewed Travis a while back and he seemed like the kind of guy who'd know exactly the type of music he'd want in his place.

His thoughtful selections ranged from Social Distortion covering "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" to Van Morrison's "And It Stoned Me" with some cool Americana around them.

I always appreciate a well-thought out restaurant music list.

Merroir's menu is understandably smaller than it was during the heydays of summer, but we managed, even with fewer choices.

Our first was one of today's specials, a Kobe all-beef hot dog with housemade kimchee.

Let's just say it was a really meaty dog and the mild kimchee was beautiful.

Next, we each downed a bowl of Barcat oyster chowder, finally able to appreciate a warm dish at Merroir.

Make no mistake, we'd had the lamb and clam stew in the heat of July, but it hadn't been as easy to enjoy then as it was today.

Slurping up oyster crackers and oysters, we watched as a waterman came back to shore, his small boat loaded with oysters.

A guy met him at the dock and hauled several heavy bags of oysters from the dock to his truck.

From the river to your lips, or at least ours.

One thing on the menu we'd never had was the pan-seared barbecued shrimp over cheddar grits, another warmly satisfying dish.

When the grits were gone, we turned ourselves around on the picnic bench to face the late afternoon sun behind us.

A long-limbed cowboy-looking type walked by us, stopping to attempt some reconnaissance work with the nearby duo of women sipping craft beers.

They weren't biting and he loped off.

Our server told us how incredibly busy they'd been the last two days with the weather bringing in hordes of people wanting one last outdoor meal at Merroir.

Sure, sure, I know they're opening a restaurant on Grace Street barely 3/4 of a mile from my house.

But no matter how good the menu turns out to be, it can't compete with a lazy afternoon meal as sailboats and fishing boats glide across the water while you eat.

Even once the hot weather ends.

No, it's not the same experience now as it was drinking endless bottles of Gruner Veltliner and slurping raw oysters for hours, the very definition of a languid summer day in Topping.

But this is fall.

And I don't need to think twice. It's way better than all right.