It was neighborhood joint night, so I met up with two friends at Bistro 27 and, somehow we outlasted every one else in the place.
But it wasn't just another night at 27, because the menu was recently updated and now there were all kinds of new things on the menu to taste.
Regulars like me love to see things get shaken up and, let's face it, Carlos does everything so well...except my name (on purpose - tonight I was Clara).
In my continuing quest to eat like a lumberjack, I had already decided to go the entree route rather than my usual apps/salad/soup, which was a shame because there were so many tempting new appetizers: crevettes Mediterranees, rillettes of duck, duck and pork pate, baba ganoush and hummus plate, duck and lentil salad and one of my favorites, sweetbreads.
In a perfect world, I would have gotten a couple bites of each, but instead shared the baba ganoush and Hummus Plate with olives.
We all agreed that both spreads were outstanding and sure to be ordered again. The rillettes of duck was another big hit taste-wise.
I ordered the rib-eye, only to be told that the delivery guy hadn't been in, so they were substituting a N.Y. Strip.
Since my goal was meat and potatoes, the substitution filled the bill, along with mashed potatoes and veggies crisply cooked to perfection.
I also tasted my friend's short ribs since they were new to the menu (as was the stuffed quail) and undoubtedly what I would have ordered had I not just had them last night.
They were succulent; I'll be back for my own plate of those.
My music buddy there, Dave, hadn't been working the last few times I'd been in, so we needed to catch up.
He was disappointed not to have scored tickets to Vampire Weekend, which mattered not to me, since they hold no appeal whatsoever in my world (although the Chromeo remix of their "Kids Don't Stand a Chance" I can't resist, but that's thanks to Chromeo, not V.W.).
I'd even go so far as to suggest they rename their latest album from "Contra" to "Contrived," but then I suspect I'm in the minority there.
I'd just read the NY Times review of their show earlier in the week and clearly they don't have much unscripted or loose live.
And is it just me, or don't they seem like well-educated, entitled tight-asses?
But I didn't force my opinion on Dave, instead making empathetic noises about him missing out on the show.
He told me about his upcoming comedy show, which I'll want to see. The comedian I'd seen at his last show, who did the hilarious haikus, will be headlining and I loved his smart humor last time.
Come on, comedic haikus?!
And now I'm starting the rest of the evening, as per my instructions, with a glass of red (the amazing Raquillet 2007 Mercurey Rouge Viellies Vignes and a personal favorite) and listening to my newest mix tape gift, "From a Hundred Miles Away."
I was told its starting point was reconnection followed by a week and a half of 4 a.m. bed-sitting with a laptop, wanting to connect from a distance.
I'm only a few songs in and it's already beginning to put me under its spell.
Ah, music, one of the two essentials of life.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Pig Three Ways at Kuba Kuba
In all the many years I've been going to Kuba Kuba, I have gotten the exact same dish every single time (the mussels in Tasso ham and cilantro broth).
It's not just that I've been called a creature of habit, but it's such a wonderful combination of flavors that I was sure I'd regret not ordering it, so I just always did.
On one occasion when I ate there alone and didn't mention it to my then-boyfriend, George, I was found out.
The next day we were out taking a walk together in the hot sun and he started sniffing me.
"You went to Kuba Kuba last night, didn't you? I can smell it in your sweat." Such is the distinctive flavor of that dish.
Why do I tell you this?
Because at lunch today at Kuba Kuba I ignored the mussels and had the Kubanaso sandwich, consisting of Roasted Pork, Smithfield Ham, Chorizo, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard on hot pressed Kuban bread.
I know, I know, not very mussels-like, but huge, filling and with enough varieties of pig to satisfy a much bigger person than me.
So good, in fact, that I didn't give those mussels a second thought.
Naturally, I chose the bar stool nearest the kitchen to watch the action and was rewarded with conversational cooks.
The three of us were at a loss as to why it wasn't busier.
I was told that Fridays are always busy, rain guarantees a busier than usual lunch and yet there were at least six empty tables and four bar stools free when I arrived at 12:30, normally prime time.
It worked out well for me because I got plenty of talk from these guys, while watching them effortlessly turn out food.
As it turned out, I also had a direct connection when one of them insisted on taking my order, completely bypassing my server.
When he was plating my sandwich, though, two of the sections of it collapsed on the way to the plate.
He looked sheepish about it, so I reassured him that I was the last person to care about something so inconsequential. He handed it over with an enormous smile on his face.
I'm guessing he enjoyed the company, too, because as I was leaving, he said, "Have a good day, Beautiful."
That was my dessert.
It's not just that I've been called a creature of habit, but it's such a wonderful combination of flavors that I was sure I'd regret not ordering it, so I just always did.
On one occasion when I ate there alone and didn't mention it to my then-boyfriend, George, I was found out.
The next day we were out taking a walk together in the hot sun and he started sniffing me.
"You went to Kuba Kuba last night, didn't you? I can smell it in your sweat." Such is the distinctive flavor of that dish.
Why do I tell you this?
Because at lunch today at Kuba Kuba I ignored the mussels and had the Kubanaso sandwich, consisting of Roasted Pork, Smithfield Ham, Chorizo, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard on hot pressed Kuban bread.
I know, I know, not very mussels-like, but huge, filling and with enough varieties of pig to satisfy a much bigger person than me.
So good, in fact, that I didn't give those mussels a second thought.
Naturally, I chose the bar stool nearest the kitchen to watch the action and was rewarded with conversational cooks.
The three of us were at a loss as to why it wasn't busier.
I was told that Fridays are always busy, rain guarantees a busier than usual lunch and yet there were at least six empty tables and four bar stools free when I arrived at 12:30, normally prime time.
It worked out well for me because I got plenty of talk from these guys, while watching them effortlessly turn out food.
As it turned out, I also had a direct connection when one of them insisted on taking my order, completely bypassing my server.
When he was plating my sandwich, though, two of the sections of it collapsed on the way to the plate.
He looked sheepish about it, so I reassured him that I was the last person to care about something so inconsequential. He handed it over with an enormous smile on his face.
I'm guessing he enjoyed the company, too, because as I was leaving, he said, "Have a good day, Beautiful."
That was my dessert.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Rx: Stronghill Dining Co.and Theater
When I was discharged from the hospital last night, it was with prescriptions for steroids, breathing treatments and antibiotics.
But what I really needed was a fattening dinner out and some culture to make up for missing that reading at VMFA last night.
Treating the physical is required, but treating the spirit is just as essential.
The evening began at Stronghill where I enjoyed the Wedge Salad with blue cheese and bacon, followed by coffee-braised short ribs over foccacia with apple-smoked Gouda sauce.
Particularly worthy of mention is that the foccacia was fried, so it was a thin, crispy crust around a soft almost potato-like interior about two inches thick.
While it was like no foccacia I've ever had (btw, one of my absolute favorite breads), it was divine.
During their 5:30-7:30 happy hour, all wines under $9 a glass are a flat $5, so I went Sicilian with the Villa Pozzi Nero d'Avola and later, the chocolate mousse.
I told the bartender I had theater plans and she presumed I meant the Bowtie Cinema, so I explained that I was on my way to Pine Camp to see Henley Street Theater Company do A Servant of Two Masters (and for preview night, so it was only ten bucks!), which led to discussion of how she loves theater and never makes the time for it.
Her best friend is a director and playwright; she had all kinds of theater friends who nag her about not attending and still she doesn't go. But she misses seeing live theater.
We talked about the upcoming run of Wicked, which I'd seen three years ago in Baltimore and she'd never seen, how she's never been to Agecroft for Richmond Shakespeare Company, how the last thing she saw was at Theater VCU, so at least there was that.
We discussed Tom Stoppard, for goodness' sake!
I might have given her a bit of crap about her laziness in not doing something she clearly loves, resulting in her finally saying, "When I get home I'm, going to call my girlfriend and insist we see a play soon. And then she's going to give me shit for listening to a convincing stranger and not her all these years."
A server interjected with, "Sometimes you need to hear it from the outside to actually pay attention."
But she did thank me for the theater pep talk.
I also got into an enthusiastic discussion of Honeybells with another server, but unless you've had one, there's no describing them, so we'll just end that there.
Let's just say we shared the same opinion.
A Servant of Two Masters was written in the eighteenth century by Italian Carlo Goldoni, but the themes of a character evolving, hunger for love (and food) and the differences in generations are timeless.
It's a commedia dell' arte, partly scripted and partly improvised and has lots of physical humor, including breaking wind, breast-ogling, spanking and good old slapstick.
Despite being 300+ years old, the play's language has been adapted and should not put off those uncomfortable with the likes of Shakespearean verse. It's nothing like that. Don't believe me?
Love is our sickness and men the only medicine.
The patient is ready to be given her medicine.
Love makes one do remarkable things.
Everyone else is getting a happy ending. (followed by the servant's saddest face).
Not too tough, huh?
So much of the dialogue is laugh-out-loud funny and the clearly defined characters in their magnificent costumes are each delightful in their own way.
The main character, the servant Truffaldino (played by Richard Koch), with his malleable face, quick quips and physical agility, is hard to take your eyes off of.
A night of hilarity was just what the doctor ordered, my internal doctor that is.
The theme of hunger for food and love didn't hurt its appeal any, either.
I'd have to say that it was ten dollars well spent, so, if like the bartender at Stronghill, you're overdue for some theater, you could do a lot worse and spend a lot more than this rollicking good time.
And it's so satisfying to see everyone end up with their true love.
But what I really needed was a fattening dinner out and some culture to make up for missing that reading at VMFA last night.
Treating the physical is required, but treating the spirit is just as essential.
The evening began at Stronghill where I enjoyed the Wedge Salad with blue cheese and bacon, followed by coffee-braised short ribs over foccacia with apple-smoked Gouda sauce.
Particularly worthy of mention is that the foccacia was fried, so it was a thin, crispy crust around a soft almost potato-like interior about two inches thick.
While it was like no foccacia I've ever had (btw, one of my absolute favorite breads), it was divine.
During their 5:30-7:30 happy hour, all wines under $9 a glass are a flat $5, so I went Sicilian with the Villa Pozzi Nero d'Avola and later, the chocolate mousse.
I told the bartender I had theater plans and she presumed I meant the Bowtie Cinema, so I explained that I was on my way to Pine Camp to see Henley Street Theater Company do A Servant of Two Masters (and for preview night, so it was only ten bucks!), which led to discussion of how she loves theater and never makes the time for it.
Her best friend is a director and playwright; she had all kinds of theater friends who nag her about not attending and still she doesn't go. But she misses seeing live theater.
We talked about the upcoming run of Wicked, which I'd seen three years ago in Baltimore and she'd never seen, how she's never been to Agecroft for Richmond Shakespeare Company, how the last thing she saw was at Theater VCU, so at least there was that.
We discussed Tom Stoppard, for goodness' sake!
I might have given her a bit of crap about her laziness in not doing something she clearly loves, resulting in her finally saying, "When I get home I'm, going to call my girlfriend and insist we see a play soon. And then she's going to give me shit for listening to a convincing stranger and not her all these years."
A server interjected with, "Sometimes you need to hear it from the outside to actually pay attention."
But she did thank me for the theater pep talk.
I also got into an enthusiastic discussion of Honeybells with another server, but unless you've had one, there's no describing them, so we'll just end that there.
Let's just say we shared the same opinion.
A Servant of Two Masters was written in the eighteenth century by Italian Carlo Goldoni, but the themes of a character evolving, hunger for love (and food) and the differences in generations are timeless.
It's a commedia dell' arte, partly scripted and partly improvised and has lots of physical humor, including breaking wind, breast-ogling, spanking and good old slapstick.
Despite being 300+ years old, the play's language has been adapted and should not put off those uncomfortable with the likes of Shakespearean verse. It's nothing like that. Don't believe me?
Love is our sickness and men the only medicine.
The patient is ready to be given her medicine.
Love makes one do remarkable things.
Everyone else is getting a happy ending. (followed by the servant's saddest face).
Not too tough, huh?
So much of the dialogue is laugh-out-loud funny and the clearly defined characters in their magnificent costumes are each delightful in their own way.
The main character, the servant Truffaldino (played by Richard Koch), with his malleable face, quick quips and physical agility, is hard to take your eyes off of.
A night of hilarity was just what the doctor ordered, my internal doctor that is.
The theme of hunger for food and love didn't hurt its appeal any, either.
I'd have to say that it was ten dollars well spent, so, if like the bartender at Stronghill, you're overdue for some theater, you could do a lot worse and spend a lot more than this rollicking good time.
And it's so satisfying to see everyone end up with their true love.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Literary Loses to Lousy Lungs
I was supposed to be at the Poetic Principles reading at the Virginia Museum tonight. A literary-loving friend was going with me so that we could be read to by writer Randall Kenan, followed by dinner out. I've had my ticket since October and I was eager to hear this man whose fiction focuses on what it means to be black and gay in the U.S. South.
Instead, I was lying in a hospital bed, taking breathing treatments and steroids yet again. Only three days from the one-year anniversary of my 2009 diagnosis of pneumonia and I was back to coughing and wheezing. Only this time, instead of soldiering on, I went to the Emergency Room at MVC where I was told that I did not have pneumonia (whew!), but that my lungs "sounded like crap." Yes, those were the doctor's actual words. WTF?
Returning from my chest X-ray, I smiled at the man in the bed on the other side of my curtain. After my next coughing fit, he asked through the drape if I was okay, which led to a fascinating, but blind conversation. As it turned out he was a "Sir," born in Wales to a British father and Australian mother and since his grandfather had been knighted in 1935, that carried over to him and his oldest son. The things you learn through a hospital drape!
After a couple of breathing treatments, I was reluctantly moved to the CDU (Clinical Decision Unit), aka the Observation Room. I was determined not to be admitted and only agreed to four to six hours there. After my third breathing treatment, I was exhausted and requested food STAT. What I got was penne in a red meat sauce with a side of the kind of gray green beans the color of Army drab uniforms. I'm no fan of tomato sauce, but I ate all the pasta dish, although the beans remained untouched. Luckily the meal had a hefty junk food component (individually sized packages of Oreos, Cheese Nibs, Lorna Doon short breads and Ritz Peanut Butter crackers with a Schweppe's Ginger Ale to wash all those preservatives down) to flesh out the meal.
When I had arrived eight hours earlier, my lung capacity was at a pathetic 140 (optimum is 450) and rose to 220 when I got to CDU, but I wasn't allowed to leave until I got to 300. After my fourth treatment and once the steroids kicked in, I finally made it to 350 and was stripped of my IV and given prescriptions for more drugs than I can afford.
The entire staff was aware that I had one foot out the door, having been told by the ER staff that I was not willing to stay overnight. They praised my response to treatment, told me to avoid smokey places and smokers and walked me to the door.
I'm gratified and appreciative to feel better, if not normal, but totally bummed that I missed a literary evening of Randall Kenan. I wanted to hear him read from works with evocative sentences like this in his southern-raised voice:
They say that day the sun shone while the rain poured -the old folks say that's when the devil beats his wife- the day Estelle Pickett died giving birth to Clarence.
Damn these lungs!
Instead, I was lying in a hospital bed, taking breathing treatments and steroids yet again. Only three days from the one-year anniversary of my 2009 diagnosis of pneumonia and I was back to coughing and wheezing. Only this time, instead of soldiering on, I went to the Emergency Room at MVC where I was told that I did not have pneumonia (whew!), but that my lungs "sounded like crap." Yes, those were the doctor's actual words. WTF?
Returning from my chest X-ray, I smiled at the man in the bed on the other side of my curtain. After my next coughing fit, he asked through the drape if I was okay, which led to a fascinating, but blind conversation. As it turned out he was a "Sir," born in Wales to a British father and Australian mother and since his grandfather had been knighted in 1935, that carried over to him and his oldest son. The things you learn through a hospital drape!
After a couple of breathing treatments, I was reluctantly moved to the CDU (Clinical Decision Unit), aka the Observation Room. I was determined not to be admitted and only agreed to four to six hours there. After my third breathing treatment, I was exhausted and requested food STAT. What I got was penne in a red meat sauce with a side of the kind of gray green beans the color of Army drab uniforms. I'm no fan of tomato sauce, but I ate all the pasta dish, although the beans remained untouched. Luckily the meal had a hefty junk food component (individually sized packages of Oreos, Cheese Nibs, Lorna Doon short breads and Ritz Peanut Butter crackers with a Schweppe's Ginger Ale to wash all those preservatives down) to flesh out the meal.
When I had arrived eight hours earlier, my lung capacity was at a pathetic 140 (optimum is 450) and rose to 220 when I got to CDU, but I wasn't allowed to leave until I got to 300. After my fourth treatment and once the steroids kicked in, I finally made it to 350 and was stripped of my IV and given prescriptions for more drugs than I can afford.
The entire staff was aware that I had one foot out the door, having been told by the ER staff that I was not willing to stay overnight. They praised my response to treatment, told me to avoid smokey places and smokers and walked me to the door.
I'm gratified and appreciative to feel better, if not normal, but totally bummed that I missed a literary evening of Randall Kenan. I wanted to hear him read from works with evocative sentences like this in his southern-raised voice:
They say that day the sun shone while the rain poured -the old folks say that's when the devil beats his wife- the day Estelle Pickett died giving birth to Clarence.
Damn these lungs!
Early Morning Thoughts
When a recently rediscovered friend announces to the world that my devastating combination of wit and charm will render him helpless, I can't help but wonder when he was rendered.
His response?
"About 17 years ago."
That's the kind of answer that puts a smile on my face and does an ego good.
Why is it some guys don't like to compliment?
Beats me, but I'll ponder on that when I get up later.
For now, back to bed and sweet dreaming.
Did I mention his ace in the hole?
He also knows how to cast a musical spell.
G'night.
His response?
"About 17 years ago."
That's the kind of answer that puts a smile on my face and does an ego good.
Why is it some guys don't like to compliment?
Beats me, but I'll ponder on that when I get up later.
For now, back to bed and sweet dreaming.
Did I mention his ace in the hole?
He also knows how to cast a musical spell.
G'night.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Live Music Heard Right
The first rule of The Listening Room is fairly self-evident, but tonight Josh Small had to explain another rule when somebody's cell phone rang during his second song.
"You can talk on phones, it's okay. That's an amendment to the rules."
His no-so-subtle hint was taken seriously, although the old white-haired guy down the row from me continued to text throughout.
Too bad for him, though because Josh is an energetic performer and well worth watching, constantly tapping his foot and moving his shoulders.
After beginning with a boogie-woogie number with an Ode to Joy riff, Josh told the audience, "I'll continue my tuning show," a reference to the two guitars and banjo he'd brought to play and then launched into the closest thing to a love song he'd ever written, according to him.
There was a song about his grandmother, a pseudo-metal song he qualified with, "I mean, it's not metal but it's serious finger-picking" and finished with a Nilsson cover song, requesting of the other two performers that they also close with a cover.
The lovely Liza Kate's hushed performance began with her saying, "This must be how it's supposed to be.. in a good way."
There was a tribute to her mom, followed by a song that she said was "like four days old. It might be a preemie, I don't know."
Tuning her guitar afterwards, she playfully called it "doing a Josh Small cover."
With Liza's delicate voice and gentle playing, she is the ideal artist for the listening room environment.
The crowd listened with collective bated breath so as not to miss a syllable.
David Schultz, sans Skyline, closed the show by beginning with a tune (The Butcher) that will be on the new Jonathan Vassar/David Schultz collaborative album they're currently recording.
His second song was, like Liza's, a song written specifically for this show, a habit he said began back in the days before he had a band.
He had to pause mid-song to recall how the next part went.
"Tomorrow I'll be unloading a shipping container of latex gloves, " he told the audience, "Nights Ike this make that bearable."
David played songs from all three of his group's albums in stripped -down versions that were beautiful.
Per Liza's request, he finished with a John Prine cover, delighting the audience.
Pitching for all the musicians performing tonight, David said, "And there are CDs for sale in the back. And they're really good!"
The same could be said for the musicians that the nearly full house got to hear tonight.
You may want to mark your calendars for February 23 at 7:30 for the next Listening Room show.
Music begins promptly at 8, so don't be late.
That's the third rule of the Listening Room, just so you know.
"You can talk on phones, it's okay. That's an amendment to the rules."
His no-so-subtle hint was taken seriously, although the old white-haired guy down the row from me continued to text throughout.
Too bad for him, though because Josh is an energetic performer and well worth watching, constantly tapping his foot and moving his shoulders.
After beginning with a boogie-woogie number with an Ode to Joy riff, Josh told the audience, "I'll continue my tuning show," a reference to the two guitars and banjo he'd brought to play and then launched into the closest thing to a love song he'd ever written, according to him.
There was a song about his grandmother, a pseudo-metal song he qualified with, "I mean, it's not metal but it's serious finger-picking" and finished with a Nilsson cover song, requesting of the other two performers that they also close with a cover.
The lovely Liza Kate's hushed performance began with her saying, "This must be how it's supposed to be.. in a good way."
There was a tribute to her mom, followed by a song that she said was "like four days old. It might be a preemie, I don't know."
Tuning her guitar afterwards, she playfully called it "doing a Josh Small cover."
With Liza's delicate voice and gentle playing, she is the ideal artist for the listening room environment.
The crowd listened with collective bated breath so as not to miss a syllable.
David Schultz, sans Skyline, closed the show by beginning with a tune (The Butcher) that will be on the new Jonathan Vassar/David Schultz collaborative album they're currently recording.
His second song was, like Liza's, a song written specifically for this show, a habit he said began back in the days before he had a band.
He had to pause mid-song to recall how the next part went.
"Tomorrow I'll be unloading a shipping container of latex gloves, " he told the audience, "Nights Ike this make that bearable."
David played songs from all three of his group's albums in stripped -down versions that were beautiful.
Per Liza's request, he finished with a John Prine cover, delighting the audience.
Pitching for all the musicians performing tonight, David said, "And there are CDs for sale in the back. And they're really good!"
The same could be said for the musicians that the nearly full house got to hear tonight.
You may want to mark your calendars for February 23 at 7:30 for the next Listening Room show.
Music begins promptly at 8, so don't be late.
That's the third rule of the Listening Room, just so you know.
Amazing Party with Amazing Ghost
I want to make it perfectly clear that I did not participate in tonight's dance-off, despite being actively recruited and repeatedly cajoled.
What were they thinking, asking me anyway?
The invitation-only party, while held at Ipanema, featured an array and abundance of delicious food from 8 1/2 and the music of Amazing Ghost, whom I'd missed at Balliceaux just a few weeks ago due to prior plans.
Someone asked me if I was familiar with the band and I admitted that I knew of them, but hadn't actually heard them live.
But the fact was that I recognized members of the group from Fight the Big Bull, Bio Ritmo and the Great White Jenkins, so I could honestly say I'd heard over half the band play live before.
This was a group of excellent musicians with songs demonstrating a hilarious sense of humor.
Before they started, we ate ourselves silly and did the mingle thing.
I ran into Amy, whom I hadn't seen in years, and that alone yielded a long catch-up chat filled with love life advice.
I met a friend's new girlfriend, whom he'd met through a dating site, and they both enthusiastically supported the whole online method of finding someone good, even giving countless examples of friends who've met their future spouses that way.
I remain unconvinced, but wish them well.
One of the best conversations I had was with Dan about the difficulties of dating when you have atypical interests.
He's made peace with remaining solo, though, and I can't say that I have.
I got a terrific ego boost from Hunter, who reads my blog regularly late-night and told me he really likes my "city view;" apparently my off-kilter take on RVA keeps him coming back to read at all hours.
Hunter was definitely the star of the dance-off, with his alternately smooth and frenetic moves, not to mention endless energy, so it was kind of like being complimented by the prom king (well, except I didn't go to my prom, but that's another story).
And a man who can cook and dance is a force to be reckoned with, in my humble opinion.
As for me, I'd be more than satisfied if I could eventually find someone who shared some of my nerdy interests.
If he can cook or dance or anything else, it's all gravy.
Of course, first I'd have to be willing to start dating and maybe that would be easier with someone I already know.
Hmm, there's a thought...
What were they thinking, asking me anyway?
The invitation-only party, while held at Ipanema, featured an array and abundance of delicious food from 8 1/2 and the music of Amazing Ghost, whom I'd missed at Balliceaux just a few weeks ago due to prior plans.
Someone asked me if I was familiar with the band and I admitted that I knew of them, but hadn't actually heard them live.
But the fact was that I recognized members of the group from Fight the Big Bull, Bio Ritmo and the Great White Jenkins, so I could honestly say I'd heard over half the band play live before.
This was a group of excellent musicians with songs demonstrating a hilarious sense of humor.
Before they started, we ate ourselves silly and did the mingle thing.
I ran into Amy, whom I hadn't seen in years, and that alone yielded a long catch-up chat filled with love life advice.
I met a friend's new girlfriend, whom he'd met through a dating site, and they both enthusiastically supported the whole online method of finding someone good, even giving countless examples of friends who've met their future spouses that way.
I remain unconvinced, but wish them well.
One of the best conversations I had was with Dan about the difficulties of dating when you have atypical interests.
He's made peace with remaining solo, though, and I can't say that I have.
I got a terrific ego boost from Hunter, who reads my blog regularly late-night and told me he really likes my "city view;" apparently my off-kilter take on RVA keeps him coming back to read at all hours.
Hunter was definitely the star of the dance-off, with his alternately smooth and frenetic moves, not to mention endless energy, so it was kind of like being complimented by the prom king (well, except I didn't go to my prom, but that's another story).
And a man who can cook and dance is a force to be reckoned with, in my humble opinion.
As for me, I'd be more than satisfied if I could eventually find someone who shared some of my nerdy interests.
If he can cook or dance or anything else, it's all gravy.
Of course, first I'd have to be willing to start dating and maybe that would be easier with someone I already know.
Hmm, there's a thought...
Monday, January 18, 2010
And My Friends Call Me Naive. Pshaw!
You know how you go out to walk the dog and next thing you know you're in a strange man's bedroom?
Okay, I didn't either when I woke up this morning, but not so much anymore.
The beagle and I were strolling Marshall Street in the sunshine when, from across the street, a man waves and shouts hello.
I said hi and he starts crossing the street, saying he wants to talk to me, so I pause while the dog does his business.
When he reaches me, he says, "You look like one of the few responsible people in the neighborhood," to which I respond, "I like to think so," all the while thinking "Not even close, buddy."
Seems that my neighbor and new acquaintance is looking to rent his house because he's moving to Bellevue and wonders if I know of anyone looking for J-Ward digs.
Off the top of my head, I don't, but I promise that I'll give it some thought and let him know.
"Well, come inside and see it so you'll know how to describe it," he suggests.
Or does he really mean, "Come upstairs and see my etchings, why don't you?"
Don't try this at home youngsters, but I parked the dog at his fence and blithely followed a strange man into a strange house for a look-see.
Truth be told, it is a great house with huge living and dining rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows.
The charming kitchen had an old 1924 refrigerator I couldn't help commenting on.
It's the kind that actually has legs to raise it off the floor, white enamel trimmed with black and, of course, no freezer.
Vintage stuff.
Upstairs, there were three nice bedrooms; the master bedroom had a big closet and another had a New Orleans-style balcony overlooking the backyard and the off-street parking.
There was a trunk room (!) with a window even, for storing one's luggage and such in between cruises and traveling abroad.
Walking back down the staircase, he asked me what I did for a living and suggested I move in.
Seeing as how my entire household consists of me and a beagle, it seemed a bit much, so I politely declined.
But it was a lovely house and someone will be lucky to enjoy its retro charm, whether or not they have steamer trunks and valises to occupy the trunk room.
If you're looking to become part of the Jackson Ward 'hood, you'd have a prime base of operation (just ask George: 649-7067).
You'd also have me for a neighbor and I could introduce you to the guys who host Whisky Wednesdays.
What more could a newcomer to J-Ward hope for?
Okay, I didn't either when I woke up this morning, but not so much anymore.
The beagle and I were strolling Marshall Street in the sunshine when, from across the street, a man waves and shouts hello.
I said hi and he starts crossing the street, saying he wants to talk to me, so I pause while the dog does his business.
When he reaches me, he says, "You look like one of the few responsible people in the neighborhood," to which I respond, "I like to think so," all the while thinking "Not even close, buddy."
Seems that my neighbor and new acquaintance is looking to rent his house because he's moving to Bellevue and wonders if I know of anyone looking for J-Ward digs.
Off the top of my head, I don't, but I promise that I'll give it some thought and let him know.
"Well, come inside and see it so you'll know how to describe it," he suggests.
Or does he really mean, "Come upstairs and see my etchings, why don't you?"
Don't try this at home youngsters, but I parked the dog at his fence and blithely followed a strange man into a strange house for a look-see.
Truth be told, it is a great house with huge living and dining rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows.
The charming kitchen had an old 1924 refrigerator I couldn't help commenting on.
It's the kind that actually has legs to raise it off the floor, white enamel trimmed with black and, of course, no freezer.
Vintage stuff.
Upstairs, there were three nice bedrooms; the master bedroom had a big closet and another had a New Orleans-style balcony overlooking the backyard and the off-street parking.
There was a trunk room (!) with a window even, for storing one's luggage and such in between cruises and traveling abroad.
Walking back down the staircase, he asked me what I did for a living and suggested I move in.
Seeing as how my entire household consists of me and a beagle, it seemed a bit much, so I politely declined.
But it was a lovely house and someone will be lucky to enjoy its retro charm, whether or not they have steamer trunks and valises to occupy the trunk room.
If you're looking to become part of the Jackson Ward 'hood, you'd have a prime base of operation (just ask George: 649-7067).
You'd also have me for a neighbor and I could introduce you to the guys who host Whisky Wednesdays.
What more could a newcomer to J-Ward hope for?
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Let Me Distill That for You
I'm old school enough to still enjoy reading a newspaper rather than getting my news online when I can, although I only get the Washington Post these days.
I can attribute this partly to having newspaper-loving parents and partly just to my love of the written word.
But I also once worked for the R.J. Reynolds Lobbying office in D.C., where one of my daily responsibilities was to read the papers and pull out any references to Reynolds or any of their other interests (Seagram's, SeaLand, Delmonte, and others) for the lobbyists.
This meant I started every work day by reading the NY Times, the Washington Post, the Wall Street Journal and the L.A. Times.
For a devoted newspaper hound like me, it was an enviable task to call work.
Years later, a boyfriend half-jokingly suggested that I'd be the ideal person to read the papers, culling the choice articles and saving him the trouble of reading the less interesting bits.
That way, we would have the same starting points for a lively discussion of the day's paper.
Although I don't have any particular person to glean for any more, I still have a habit of reading for the best parts, if only in hopes of finding someone to discuss them with.
So it was that I headed to Tarrant's tonight for dessert and to finish today's Post.
There was a whiny piece about leisure time and time management, apparently a huge issue for many people.
But the part that grabbed me was the time-use studies done by John Robinson, a sociologist at my alma mater, the University of Maryland, and a man who says finding leisure time is an act of will; accordingly, he set out to build leisure time into his own life.
But I wanted to embrace this 74-year old man when I read his philosophy of a) not allowing yourself to be rushed and b) his insistence on going out nearly every night.
Or, as he put it, "A day without live music is like a day without sunshine." I bow to this man's brilliant thinking.
Another excellent piece was about Benjamin Latrobe, known as America's first architect.
He would be the architect of the U.S. Capitol and the unbelievably beautiful Baltimore Basilica.
But his first project in the U.S. was the State Penitentiary here in Richmond which embraced some of the newest ideas in penal reform being espoused by Thomas Jefferson at the time (and who was clearly influenced by Latrobe in designing UVA).
Unfortunately, his Richmond work was not even acknowledged in the article, but it was fascinating stuff nonetheless.
His later years were spent in New Orleans (where he eventually died from Yellow Fever), making me wish I'd taken the time to do a Latrobe tour when I was last there.
I'd also recommend the How To Deal article on how to explain a job search when you've moved to a new city simply to be with your boyfriend.
The health care reform piece on how blood tests and weigh-ins to determine individual health care costs work naturally caught my eye, as did the article on Obama's pet speech phrases.
Personally, I'm a sucker for language articles, but I think anyone would enjoy this one.
So if you're one of the rushed majority and need to get right to the good stuff, there are your recommendations for what to read in today's paper.
And most importantly, remember the live music rule.
Of course, I already knew it.
I can attribute this partly to having newspaper-loving parents and partly just to my love of the written word.
But I also once worked for the R.J. Reynolds Lobbying office in D.C., where one of my daily responsibilities was to read the papers and pull out any references to Reynolds or any of their other interests (Seagram's, SeaLand, Delmonte, and others) for the lobbyists.
This meant I started every work day by reading the NY Times, the Washington Post, the Wall Street Journal and the L.A. Times.
For a devoted newspaper hound like me, it was an enviable task to call work.
Years later, a boyfriend half-jokingly suggested that I'd be the ideal person to read the papers, culling the choice articles and saving him the trouble of reading the less interesting bits.
That way, we would have the same starting points for a lively discussion of the day's paper.
Although I don't have any particular person to glean for any more, I still have a habit of reading for the best parts, if only in hopes of finding someone to discuss them with.
So it was that I headed to Tarrant's tonight for dessert and to finish today's Post.
There was a whiny piece about leisure time and time management, apparently a huge issue for many people.
But the part that grabbed me was the time-use studies done by John Robinson, a sociologist at my alma mater, the University of Maryland, and a man who says finding leisure time is an act of will; accordingly, he set out to build leisure time into his own life.
But I wanted to embrace this 74-year old man when I read his philosophy of a) not allowing yourself to be rushed and b) his insistence on going out nearly every night.
Or, as he put it, "A day without live music is like a day without sunshine." I bow to this man's brilliant thinking.
Another excellent piece was about Benjamin Latrobe, known as America's first architect.
He would be the architect of the U.S. Capitol and the unbelievably beautiful Baltimore Basilica.
But his first project in the U.S. was the State Penitentiary here in Richmond which embraced some of the newest ideas in penal reform being espoused by Thomas Jefferson at the time (and who was clearly influenced by Latrobe in designing UVA).
Unfortunately, his Richmond work was not even acknowledged in the article, but it was fascinating stuff nonetheless.
His later years were spent in New Orleans (where he eventually died from Yellow Fever), making me wish I'd taken the time to do a Latrobe tour when I was last there.
I'd also recommend the How To Deal article on how to explain a job search when you've moved to a new city simply to be with your boyfriend.
The health care reform piece on how blood tests and weigh-ins to determine individual health care costs work naturally caught my eye, as did the article on Obama's pet speech phrases.
Personally, I'm a sucker for language articles, but I think anyone would enjoy this one.
So if you're one of the rushed majority and need to get right to the good stuff, there are your recommendations for what to read in today's paper.
And most importantly, remember the live music rule.
Of course, I already knew it.
Can Can Conundrum
I have to eat breakfast when I wake up (okay, after I walk the dog, but immediately after I walk the dog).
I'm just made that way; after a night's sleep, my body is screaming for food.
I need first-thing-in-the-morning eats like most people need coffee to be functional.
So when a friend wants to meet for brunch, I am always eating lunch rather than breakfast. In today's case, that meant a 9:45 breakfast and an 11:30 brunch.
Said brunch took place at Can Can, which was mobbed, but we found two bar stools free mid-bar and sandwiched ourselves shoulder to shoulder with other eager eaters.
The girl to my right got her food just as I was trying to decide what to order and the smell was too wonderful for words.
She'd gotten the Ham and Gruyere Crepes with hollandaise sauce with little crisps of bacon sprinkled liberally over the plate and highly recommended them.
I had been considering the cheeseburger or Monte Cristo, but eventually played copy-cat and got those crepes.
Given the portion size, she'd been unable to finish hers, a problem I didn't have, despite being barely two hours from my last meal.
They were that good.
Meanwhile my friend had his usual Eggs Benedict since he is particularly fond of Can Can's version.
I was already finished and dreaming of dessert by this time, so I ordered up a cup of their superb hot chocolate and made short work of it.
I should have been ready to explode, but instead I just used the opportunity to allow my friend to finish up while I talked to the nearby.
I was obligated to thank the girl next door for turning me on to the crepes (she also suggested that next time I try the blueberry pancakes) considering how much I'd enjoyed them.
The guy on the other side of my friend and I our shared a fatalistic take on life.
Nothing we do is going to change our eventual outcome; when it's your time to go, you're going to go.
End of story.
He complimented my burgundy rose-patterned lace tights, saying he was sure he's seen me in them somewhere before.
I've been somewhere, so that's entirely possible.
Who would have guessed that Target tights could be so memorable?
But then, who would have guessed that so many people could wait till noon for their first meal of the day?
Not me on both counts.
I'm just made that way; after a night's sleep, my body is screaming for food.
I need first-thing-in-the-morning eats like most people need coffee to be functional.
So when a friend wants to meet for brunch, I am always eating lunch rather than breakfast. In today's case, that meant a 9:45 breakfast and an 11:30 brunch.
Said brunch took place at Can Can, which was mobbed, but we found two bar stools free mid-bar and sandwiched ourselves shoulder to shoulder with other eager eaters.
The girl to my right got her food just as I was trying to decide what to order and the smell was too wonderful for words.
She'd gotten the Ham and Gruyere Crepes with hollandaise sauce with little crisps of bacon sprinkled liberally over the plate and highly recommended them.
I had been considering the cheeseburger or Monte Cristo, but eventually played copy-cat and got those crepes.
Given the portion size, she'd been unable to finish hers, a problem I didn't have, despite being barely two hours from my last meal.
They were that good.
Meanwhile my friend had his usual Eggs Benedict since he is particularly fond of Can Can's version.
I was already finished and dreaming of dessert by this time, so I ordered up a cup of their superb hot chocolate and made short work of it.
I should have been ready to explode, but instead I just used the opportunity to allow my friend to finish up while I talked to the nearby.
I was obligated to thank the girl next door for turning me on to the crepes (she also suggested that next time I try the blueberry pancakes) considering how much I'd enjoyed them.
The guy on the other side of my friend and I our shared a fatalistic take on life.
Nothing we do is going to change our eventual outcome; when it's your time to go, you're going to go.
End of story.
He complimented my burgundy rose-patterned lace tights, saying he was sure he's seen me in them somewhere before.
I've been somewhere, so that's entirely possible.
Who would have guessed that Target tights could be so memorable?
But then, who would have guessed that so many people could wait till noon for their first meal of the day?
Not me on both counts.
A Lu-Lu of a Bar Discussion
Who: Customer and bartender
What : Uncomfortably loud and angry conversation over the bar as bar sitters glanced around nervously and pretended not to pay attention.
When: Tonight around 10
Where: Lulu's
Why: So the customer came in, sat down on the other side of my friend and and started giving crap loudly to Bartender A for something that Bartender A said he didn't say.
There were high volume accusations of embellishment and denial.
Customer finally ordered a drink but insisted that Bartender B serve him just as Bartender A sets the drink down in front of him.
Bartender A scoops up the drink from in front of customer and takes it away, with a loud "Fuck you!" as he goes.
Customer lingers awkwardly and finally exits.
Tension ends; crowd breaks into smiles and eagerly discusses amongst ourselves.
The meat loaf and garlic mashed potatoes with broccolini were really quite tasty.
What : Uncomfortably loud and angry conversation over the bar as bar sitters glanced around nervously and pretended not to pay attention.
When: Tonight around 10
Where: Lulu's
Why: So the customer came in, sat down on the other side of my friend and and started giving crap loudly to Bartender A for something that Bartender A said he didn't say.
There were high volume accusations of embellishment and denial.
Customer finally ordered a drink but insisted that Bartender B serve him just as Bartender A sets the drink down in front of him.
Bartender A scoops up the drink from in front of customer and takes it away, with a loud "Fuck you!" as he goes.
Customer lingers awkwardly and finally exits.
Tension ends; crowd breaks into smiles and eagerly discusses amongst ourselves.
The meat loaf and garlic mashed potatoes with broccolini were really quite tasty.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Hills are Alive with Wine and Film
I've been in an Austrian state of mind here lately, undoubtedly spurred by a book a friend recently sent me.
Knowing my love of old books as well as my desire to see Austria before I die, he found a wonderful glossy-paged book from the 50's, full of pictures and information about what a fascinating place it is (not that I needed convincing).
But I'm guessing that's why I've been drinking more of their top grape, Gruner Vetliner, at least when I do decide to go white during winter.
My local watering hole, The Belvidere, carries the Laurenz Singing Gruner Vetliner for $30 a bottle.
Cafe Caturra has the Huber Hugo Gruner Vetliner for a mere $22 (as well as by the glass).
I think it's the combination of fruitiness and spiciness that appeals to me...or maybe just a lust for all things Austrian.
So how could I resist three hours of Austrian panoramas on the big screen?
I couldn't, so I found a willing friend and we hit the Bowtie for the Movies and Mimosas showing of The Sound of Music.
I might have seen this in the theater during a revival years ago, but all I recalled were wide-screen landscapes that took my breath away, so I wanted to see it in all its big screen splendor again.
It was great and good god, what a fine hunk of manhood Christopher Plummer was in 1965.
Not everyone likes musicals, not everyone wants a history lesson in the Third Reich's takeover of Austria, but who wouldn't enjoy all that magnificent scenery?
And as beautiful as the panoramic views of rivers, mountains and ravines were, it's really the city views that interest me more.
Shots of Salzburg's streets, steeples and fountains proved to me that I need to see the architecture of Austria.
And considering that 75% of the Gruner Vetliner grown in Austria never leaves the country, it should be a cinch to find plenty of good sipping in between wandering the streets admiring the urban landscape.
Don't fret, though, I'll be sure to admire the natural beauty en route to the wineries.
I wouldn't want to miss any of the Austrian experience, excepting perhaps singing children.
Knowing my love of old books as well as my desire to see Austria before I die, he found a wonderful glossy-paged book from the 50's, full of pictures and information about what a fascinating place it is (not that I needed convincing).
But I'm guessing that's why I've been drinking more of their top grape, Gruner Vetliner, at least when I do decide to go white during winter.
My local watering hole, The Belvidere, carries the Laurenz Singing Gruner Vetliner for $30 a bottle.
Cafe Caturra has the Huber Hugo Gruner Vetliner for a mere $22 (as well as by the glass).
I think it's the combination of fruitiness and spiciness that appeals to me...or maybe just a lust for all things Austrian.
So how could I resist three hours of Austrian panoramas on the big screen?
I couldn't, so I found a willing friend and we hit the Bowtie for the Movies and Mimosas showing of The Sound of Music.
I might have seen this in the theater during a revival years ago, but all I recalled were wide-screen landscapes that took my breath away, so I wanted to see it in all its big screen splendor again.
It was great and good god, what a fine hunk of manhood Christopher Plummer was in 1965.
Not everyone likes musicals, not everyone wants a history lesson in the Third Reich's takeover of Austria, but who wouldn't enjoy all that magnificent scenery?
And as beautiful as the panoramic views of rivers, mountains and ravines were, it's really the city views that interest me more.
Shots of Salzburg's streets, steeples and fountains proved to me that I need to see the architecture of Austria.
And considering that 75% of the Gruner Vetliner grown in Austria never leaves the country, it should be a cinch to find plenty of good sipping in between wandering the streets admiring the urban landscape.
Don't fret, though, I'll be sure to admire the natural beauty en route to the wineries.
I wouldn't want to miss any of the Austrian experience, excepting perhaps singing children.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thai, Cake and Solos
Here's the thing: some of the most interesting people I know have limited availability because of their jobs (ah, yes, I vaguely remember the concept). So when we are able to get together for an evening, we try to cram in as much as possible while we enjoy each other's company; that was how it went down tonight. Luckily, we're both Geminis so it's more like having four people trying to do it all, making it far more achievable.
We began in Carytown at Ginger Thai, which was crowded when we arrived and standing room only when we left. First off we had the Spicy Papaya salad and the Spicy Squid Salad, both of which packed a lot of heat. Next up she got Tiger Cry Steak (the name alone was compelling), flank steak marinated in lemongrass and garlic with Num Prik sauce and jasmine rice. I had the Spicy Drunken Noodles with pork because I'm a fan of those soft nat rice noodles. No surprise that we couldn't finish it all.
Our next stop was Ipanema for wine and dessert. I chose the Vanilla Chocolate Cake with Mocha icing; it's the ideal dessert when you want both flavors because it has one layer of each. We leisurely sipped our wine, chatting up some of the contented bar sitters. The question posed earlier today in a comment by Johnny H (the mayor of Ipanema) on my Divine Comedy post was answered: we saw each other there.
After each downing a couple of glasses of Malbec, we moved our cars to my neck of the woods and walked over to Gallery 5 for a solo music performance benefit show for G5. The four musicians, Patrick Ball (of Autocue), Brett Adams (of the Riot Before), Evan Setzer (previously in the Silent Type) and Chris Dowhan (previously in Adara) each did a couple of songs followed by a group performance.
The crowd was annoyingly talkative and my friend and I wished we had had a means of eliminating those who wouldn't shut up. We may be Geminis, but we can get ugly when surrounded by self-involved blabbers. Granted, Gallery 5 was benefiting from them having paid to get in the door, but we couldn't imagine the musicians appreciated trying to sing over the din.
By this time, my overworked friend was yawning and ready to call it a night, so we strolled back to my place, with my "Whiskey Wednesday" neighbors shouting out to me, beckoning me over, as we passed by their front porch gathering.
Of course, for all I know it was "Frangelico Friday" or some such thing, but two of the four of us were ready for bed.
We began in Carytown at Ginger Thai, which was crowded when we arrived and standing room only when we left. First off we had the Spicy Papaya salad and the Spicy Squid Salad, both of which packed a lot of heat. Next up she got Tiger Cry Steak (the name alone was compelling), flank steak marinated in lemongrass and garlic with Num Prik sauce and jasmine rice. I had the Spicy Drunken Noodles with pork because I'm a fan of those soft nat rice noodles. No surprise that we couldn't finish it all.
Our next stop was Ipanema for wine and dessert. I chose the Vanilla Chocolate Cake with Mocha icing; it's the ideal dessert when you want both flavors because it has one layer of each. We leisurely sipped our wine, chatting up some of the contented bar sitters. The question posed earlier today in a comment by Johnny H (the mayor of Ipanema) on my Divine Comedy post was answered: we saw each other there.
After each downing a couple of glasses of Malbec, we moved our cars to my neck of the woods and walked over to Gallery 5 for a solo music performance benefit show for G5. The four musicians, Patrick Ball (of Autocue), Brett Adams (of the Riot Before), Evan Setzer (previously in the Silent Type) and Chris Dowhan (previously in Adara) each did a couple of songs followed by a group performance.
The crowd was annoyingly talkative and my friend and I wished we had had a means of eliminating those who wouldn't shut up. We may be Geminis, but we can get ugly when surrounded by self-involved blabbers. Granted, Gallery 5 was benefiting from them having paid to get in the door, but we couldn't imagine the musicians appreciated trying to sing over the din.
By this time, my overworked friend was yawning and ready to call it a night, so we strolled back to my place, with my "Whiskey Wednesday" neighbors shouting out to me, beckoning me over, as we passed by their front porch gathering.
Of course, for all I know it was "Frangelico Friday" or some such thing, but two of the four of us were ready for bed.
Art for Lunch
Yet another great facet of Richmond is the proliferation of alternate spaces in which we can take in art.
That shows can be found at libraries, restaurants and coffee shops takes away any excuses for not having a schedule that accommodates gallery hours.
So let's just say that's how I ended up taking in the Nathan Motley show during lunch at 821 today.
His artist's statement was a fascinating expose of Nathan's circuitous path that led to the current exhibit.
It's his belief that his early years as a baker taught him the discipline required for art.
With advanced degrees from VCU and Pratt Institute, as well as the requisite attendant restaurant jobs during that same period, Nathan has been showing successfully in galleries for years.
The work I saw today was bold and colorful; clearly the artist favors bright red and yellow, ensuring bold contrast in all his work.
The paint is almost sculptural, layered and thickly applied.
Many of his figures have a Cubist bent, with fractured faces and disjointed body parts.
It's almost as if texture and color are battling it out on the canvas; visually, it's striking.
You can see it for yourself at Nate the Great's current show at 821 Cafe.
And, sure, since I was there anyway, I might have enjoyed a plate of my beloved black bean nachos.
But only because I was already there.
Right.
That shows can be found at libraries, restaurants and coffee shops takes away any excuses for not having a schedule that accommodates gallery hours.
So let's just say that's how I ended up taking in the Nathan Motley show during lunch at 821 today.
His artist's statement was a fascinating expose of Nathan's circuitous path that led to the current exhibit.
It's his belief that his early years as a baker taught him the discipline required for art.
With advanced degrees from VCU and Pratt Institute, as well as the requisite attendant restaurant jobs during that same period, Nathan has been showing successfully in galleries for years.
The work I saw today was bold and colorful; clearly the artist favors bright red and yellow, ensuring bold contrast in all his work.
The paint is almost sculptural, layered and thickly applied.
Many of his figures have a Cubist bent, with fractured faces and disjointed body parts.
It's almost as if texture and color are battling it out on the canvas; visually, it's striking.
You can see it for yourself at Nate the Great's current show at 821 Cafe.
And, sure, since I was there anyway, I might have enjoyed a plate of my beloved black bean nachos.
But only because I was already there.
Right.
It's Not About Wilco
I'm not a big Wilco fan, although I can appreciate their music and interesting musical journey.
I had no intention of going to the National to see them though.
But I am beyond impressed that a week after tickets for their March 29th show went on sale, it is sold out.
In a town notorious for waiting until the last possible minute to buy tickets, RVA has rallied and scarfed up every single ticket for a show that is two and a half months away.
And, as any regular concert-goer knows, we just don't do that, which makes this particularly notable.
I've been to more than a few sold-out shows at The National, among them MGMT, Neko Case, The Shins, My Bloody Valentine, The Decemberists and not one of those shows sold out so far in advance.
I remember a friend deciding to go to the Shins the day of the show, only to be surprised that it had sold out four days earlier.
Four days!
But Richmond has redeemed itself in my eyes.
True, it's not a show I had any desire to attend (unless I'd been offered a free ticket), but for those who did, committing early is a beautiful thing.
Could we maybe carry this over to future shows, demonstrating to the music world that we are worthy and will support touring bands before the day of the event?
I can only hope.
I had no intention of going to the National to see them though.
But I am beyond impressed that a week after tickets for their March 29th show went on sale, it is sold out.
In a town notorious for waiting until the last possible minute to buy tickets, RVA has rallied and scarfed up every single ticket for a show that is two and a half months away.
And, as any regular concert-goer knows, we just don't do that, which makes this particularly notable.
I've been to more than a few sold-out shows at The National, among them MGMT, Neko Case, The Shins, My Bloody Valentine, The Decemberists and not one of those shows sold out so far in advance.
I remember a friend deciding to go to the Shins the day of the show, only to be surprised that it had sold out four days earlier.
Four days!
But Richmond has redeemed itself in my eyes.
True, it's not a show I had any desire to attend (unless I'd been offered a free ticket), but for those who did, committing early is a beautiful thing.
Could we maybe carry this over to future shows, demonstrating to the music world that we are worthy and will support touring bands before the day of the event?
I can only hope.
Getting Up My Nerve
You know how sometimes you want to do or say something that would require you to step outside of your comfort zone and really put yourself out there?
It always starts with taking a deep breath and just going for it, whether it's physical, like grabbing onto a zip line and flying or emotional, like crossing a room full of strangers to introduce yourself to someone who attracts you and you'd love to meet.
That was me this morning and even with a couple of deep breaths, I apparently didn't have what it took.
On the other hand, life is a process and what I lack today I may discover in myself in the future.
I'm usually a pretty nervy person so there's hope for taking that deep breath and just doing it.
And, if not, admit I can't and stop aspiring to it.
I think I can, I think I can...
It always starts with taking a deep breath and just going for it, whether it's physical, like grabbing onto a zip line and flying or emotional, like crossing a room full of strangers to introduce yourself to someone who attracts you and you'd love to meet.
That was me this morning and even with a couple of deep breaths, I apparently didn't have what it took.
On the other hand, life is a process and what I lack today I may discover in myself in the future.
I'm usually a pretty nervy person so there's hope for taking that deep breath and just doing it.
And, if not, admit I can't and stop aspiring to it.
I think I can, I think I can...
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Divine Comedy at Gallery 5
Apparently plenty of people were in the mood to laugh tonight.
I say that because of the nearly full house at Gallery 5 for an improv comedy performance by the Richmond Comedy Coalition followed by a screening of Trust Us, This Is All Made Up.
The bar was open, the popcorn was free and this Chop Suey/G5 event drew a diverse crowd, some of whom had never been in the gallery before.
The Richmond Comedy Coalition began by soliciting a location from the audience as a starting point (a New York apartment) and then were off and running from there.
What began with a freelance exterminator showing up to torch mice in said apartment segued into a restaurant called Roofies where both roofies and bread sticks were served to a spoof on perceptions of Germany ("That's so German of you," says one hipster to another. "Do you even know what that means?" the other shoots back) and winding back to all of these plot lines at one point or another.
Next up was the documentary featuring Second City kings of long-form improv, TJ and Dave.
The film began with them discussing how their art develops by wandering the city, both together and alone to observe life, and then parlaying that into an hour-long improv performance, in this case in NYC.
It was kind of amazing how they planned nothing in advance, but relied on what they felt and read from each other at the start of each show.
Playing multiple characters and exchanging roles (they mimicked each other's character's voices and mannerisms beautifully) they wove through a story with subplots and colorful characters.
Most of us were laughing out loud during RCC's performance and again during the film.
As impressive as it is to witness the creativity of improvisation, it's the spontaneous humor that is irresistible.
Besides, I love to laugh.
Ask anyone who knows me
I say that because of the nearly full house at Gallery 5 for an improv comedy performance by the Richmond Comedy Coalition followed by a screening of Trust Us, This Is All Made Up.
The bar was open, the popcorn was free and this Chop Suey/G5 event drew a diverse crowd, some of whom had never been in the gallery before.
The Richmond Comedy Coalition began by soliciting a location from the audience as a starting point (a New York apartment) and then were off and running from there.
What began with a freelance exterminator showing up to torch mice in said apartment segued into a restaurant called Roofies where both roofies and bread sticks were served to a spoof on perceptions of Germany ("That's so German of you," says one hipster to another. "Do you even know what that means?" the other shoots back) and winding back to all of these plot lines at one point or another.
Next up was the documentary featuring Second City kings of long-form improv, TJ and Dave.
The film began with them discussing how their art develops by wandering the city, both together and alone to observe life, and then parlaying that into an hour-long improv performance, in this case in NYC.
It was kind of amazing how they planned nothing in advance, but relied on what they felt and read from each other at the start of each show.
Playing multiple characters and exchanging roles (they mimicked each other's character's voices and mannerisms beautifully) they wove through a story with subplots and colorful characters.
Most of us were laughing out loud during RCC's performance and again during the film.
As impressive as it is to witness the creativity of improvisation, it's the spontaneous humor that is irresistible.
Besides, I love to laugh.
Ask anyone who knows me
Ladies Who Lunch at Chez Foushee
Sometimes girls simply must put on their pearls and lunch like grown-ups.
Okay, so I don't wear jewelry (much less own pearls) and my friend had no idea where we were going, so hers were at home, but Chez Foushee definitely has the ambiance of a place where those types can be found mid-day.
And, just for the record, I saw three women in pearls there today.
All of my male friends who have eaten at Chez Foushee have essentially said the same thing about it: the chairs and portions are inadequate for their needs.
Having an X chromosome, however, neither of those things have ever been an issue for me.
And it's not like there aren't plenty of businessmen types there on an given day, so clearly some men are able to satisfy their appetites and posteriors there.
I may have fulfilled a stereotype by being one of those women who order a quiche or salad for lunch, but I couldn't resist the Asian Pot Sticker Salad (steamed pork and shrimp pot stickers over mixed greens with Asian dressing, peanuts, red peppers, carrots and crispy noodles).
My pearl-less friend got the grilled salmon with capellini, zucchini and squash matchsticks in a Putenesca sauce with unusually good iced tea.
Unlike the real ladies who lunch, we are not old money, nor do we plan charity events.
What we do after a delicious girls' lunch out is order dessert, in this case the bourbon chocolate pecan pie with Chantilly cream.
We also aren't Southerners, but a little bourbon on the palate after lunch sits awfully well with both of us.
Despite neither of us having actually been there, we imagine the Miller & Rhodes Tea Room must have been a lot like Chez Foushee feels today.
We'll call it nouveau southern fem.
Good iced tea, appealing girl food and bourbon-soaked dessert.
Pearls not required.
Okay, so I don't wear jewelry (much less own pearls) and my friend had no idea where we were going, so hers were at home, but Chez Foushee definitely has the ambiance of a place where those types can be found mid-day.
And, just for the record, I saw three women in pearls there today.
All of my male friends who have eaten at Chez Foushee have essentially said the same thing about it: the chairs and portions are inadequate for their needs.
Having an X chromosome, however, neither of those things have ever been an issue for me.
And it's not like there aren't plenty of businessmen types there on an given day, so clearly some men are able to satisfy their appetites and posteriors there.
I may have fulfilled a stereotype by being one of those women who order a quiche or salad for lunch, but I couldn't resist the Asian Pot Sticker Salad (steamed pork and shrimp pot stickers over mixed greens with Asian dressing, peanuts, red peppers, carrots and crispy noodles).
My pearl-less friend got the grilled salmon with capellini, zucchini and squash matchsticks in a Putenesca sauce with unusually good iced tea.
Unlike the real ladies who lunch, we are not old money, nor do we plan charity events.
What we do after a delicious girls' lunch out is order dessert, in this case the bourbon chocolate pecan pie with Chantilly cream.
We also aren't Southerners, but a little bourbon on the palate after lunch sits awfully well with both of us.
Despite neither of us having actually been there, we imagine the Miller & Rhodes Tea Room must have been a lot like Chez Foushee feels today.
We'll call it nouveau southern fem.
Good iced tea, appealing girl food and bourbon-soaked dessert.
Pearls not required.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sax at The Belvidere at Broad
I went to my friendly neighborhood corner bar tonight because they were starting a new music series and, good god, I hadn't been out for live music in five days.
Please don't judge me.
Playing tonight was the guitar/saxophone duo of Alan Parker and Roger Carroll and the gig looks to be a regular happening on Wednesdays at The Belvidere at Broad.
When I walked in shortly after 7, every table was taken and there were only a couple of bar stools available.
I picked a corner stool, with a clear view of the musicians, with good and bad results.
Fortuitously, the couple on my left were wine-savvy foodies and terrific conversationalists.
Sadly, the guy to my right was rapidly becoming drunk and overly friendly.
The first question out of his mouth was, "You're gorgeous. How old are you?"
Now there's a way to make a first impression.
To my utter delight, The Belvidere had added some new items to the menu and deleted a few.
After five months in business, they were ready to shake up the menu a bit (fear not, that magnificent smoked salmon and award-winning burger are still there).
The Roasted Red and Golden Beet Salad with Maytag Bleu Cheese, Toasted Pine Nuts and Micro-Greens and Beet Puree was generously sized and a great value.
The Roasted Stuffed Mushrooms with Spinach, Tomato, Herbed Cream Cheese, Parmigiana Reggiano over a Red Pepper Cream Sauce was decadently rich (and gluten free).
The Grilled Tenderloin canapes were crostini topped with a mound of grilled tenderloin, caramelized red onion, chives and house horseradish sauce.
The tenderloin was melt-in-your-mouth wonderful. They come five to a plate and are a meal in and of themselves, so order it for yourself at your own risk.
Also new on the menu was the poached pear dessert, which I was too full for, but the charming couple shared it and raved about it.
Of course, in my world additional dessert choices are always a good thing.
The music was clearly a draw as the crowd stayed or left and was replaced for the entire three hours it was being played.
The occasional person stood outside to listen through the window.
At times the wail of the saxophone got loud, but was so well done that the crowd just backed off on their noise level.
Meanwhile, the obnoxious drunk guy continued his assault, repeating himself endlessly and asking me everything from whether or not I'd go outside and smoke weed with him to how I managed to look so good when he was 13 years younger and looked so awful.
I had a few theories, but mostly pretended like I was deaf.
I've got no problem ignoring one bad apple when the rest of the evening includes well-prepared food, live music and interesting people to talk to.
That's three things I inevitably find at my corner bar.
Please don't judge me.
Playing tonight was the guitar/saxophone duo of Alan Parker and Roger Carroll and the gig looks to be a regular happening on Wednesdays at The Belvidere at Broad.
When I walked in shortly after 7, every table was taken and there were only a couple of bar stools available.
I picked a corner stool, with a clear view of the musicians, with good and bad results.
Fortuitously, the couple on my left were wine-savvy foodies and terrific conversationalists.
Sadly, the guy to my right was rapidly becoming drunk and overly friendly.
The first question out of his mouth was, "You're gorgeous. How old are you?"
Now there's a way to make a first impression.
To my utter delight, The Belvidere had added some new items to the menu and deleted a few.
After five months in business, they were ready to shake up the menu a bit (fear not, that magnificent smoked salmon and award-winning burger are still there).
The Roasted Red and Golden Beet Salad with Maytag Bleu Cheese, Toasted Pine Nuts and Micro-Greens and Beet Puree was generously sized and a great value.
The Roasted Stuffed Mushrooms with Spinach, Tomato, Herbed Cream Cheese, Parmigiana Reggiano over a Red Pepper Cream Sauce was decadently rich (and gluten free).
The Grilled Tenderloin canapes were crostini topped with a mound of grilled tenderloin, caramelized red onion, chives and house horseradish sauce.
The tenderloin was melt-in-your-mouth wonderful. They come five to a plate and are a meal in and of themselves, so order it for yourself at your own risk.
Also new on the menu was the poached pear dessert, which I was too full for, but the charming couple shared it and raved about it.
Of course, in my world additional dessert choices are always a good thing.
The music was clearly a draw as the crowd stayed or left and was replaced for the entire three hours it was being played.
The occasional person stood outside to listen through the window.
At times the wail of the saxophone got loud, but was so well done that the crowd just backed off on their noise level.
Meanwhile, the obnoxious drunk guy continued his assault, repeating himself endlessly and asking me everything from whether or not I'd go outside and smoke weed with him to how I managed to look so good when he was 13 years younger and looked so awful.
I had a few theories, but mostly pretended like I was deaf.
I've got no problem ignoring one bad apple when the rest of the evening includes well-prepared food, live music and interesting people to talk to.
That's three things I inevitably find at my corner bar.
Carytown Cupcakes in the Sunshine
Let's face it, with the temperature hovering at a balmy 46 degrees this afternoon, it might as well be Spring after the tundra-like weather of the past few weeks.
And that was as good an excuse as any to hit sunny Carytown and take care of some business, namely cards and Carytown Cupcakes.
You can challenge me on this, but there's no better place to buy a card in rva than Mongrel.
If you prefer the pablum of Hallmark, that's your business, but when I need to translate my feelings into the snarky card format, Mongrel is where I have the most choices to do so.
I'd have to get busy awfully quickly to need any Valentine's Day cards, so I bypassed the entire front of the store for the year-round sentiments in the back and scored a couple of appropriately sarcastic ones.
After the arduous card procurement process, I strolled around the corner reveling in the sunshine to Carytown Cupcakes.
This little pink store carries six regular varieties of cupcakes and two weekly specials so it came down to choosing at least one of each.
From the regular offerings, of course I had to get the chocolate/chocolate with sprinkles but I couldn't resist the Red Velvet because it was undoubtedly the prettiest of everything in the case.
From the specials, I got the Peanut Butter/Reese's Pieces extravaganza.
They do have a couch and table, sort of a cupcake lounge, at which two girls were giggling and eating their cupcakes, but I opted to take mine back out into the sunshine.
Facing the sun, I tore into my treats.
The chocolate was very chocolaty, but a little dry, with the kind of old-school chocolate icing my mom taught me to make when I was 10.
The Red Velvet was magnificent, cake and icing alike, both of which oozed a rich butteriness.
I had to stop there, so I can't yet give a report on the peanut butter/Reese's specimen.
When I come down off my sugar buzz, I'll reopen the little white box and let you know.
And that was as good an excuse as any to hit sunny Carytown and take care of some business, namely cards and Carytown Cupcakes.
You can challenge me on this, but there's no better place to buy a card in rva than Mongrel.
If you prefer the pablum of Hallmark, that's your business, but when I need to translate my feelings into the snarky card format, Mongrel is where I have the most choices to do so.
I'd have to get busy awfully quickly to need any Valentine's Day cards, so I bypassed the entire front of the store for the year-round sentiments in the back and scored a couple of appropriately sarcastic ones.
After the arduous card procurement process, I strolled around the corner reveling in the sunshine to Carytown Cupcakes.
This little pink store carries six regular varieties of cupcakes and two weekly specials so it came down to choosing at least one of each.
From the regular offerings, of course I had to get the chocolate/chocolate with sprinkles but I couldn't resist the Red Velvet because it was undoubtedly the prettiest of everything in the case.
From the specials, I got the Peanut Butter/Reese's Pieces extravaganza.
They do have a couch and table, sort of a cupcake lounge, at which two girls were giggling and eating their cupcakes, but I opted to take mine back out into the sunshine.
Facing the sun, I tore into my treats.
The chocolate was very chocolaty, but a little dry, with the kind of old-school chocolate icing my mom taught me to make when I was 10.
The Red Velvet was magnificent, cake and icing alike, both of which oozed a rich butteriness.
I had to stop there, so I can't yet give a report on the peanut butter/Reese's specimen.
When I come down off my sugar buzz, I'll reopen the little white box and let you know.
Romance, Grace Street Style
Sex and romance must have been in the air on Grace Street this morning, judging by the sights and sounds I encountered on my walk.
Grace Street Still Life: A long-stem red rose next to a Bud Light tall boy with the bag pushed down.
Maybe the two things were a thoughtful gift and by the time she finished the beer she forgot all about the rose.
Or maybe he was drinking to get up his nerve to present the rose to her and never quite worked it up.
Touching.
Sing Me a Song: A guy walking towards me singing "Me and Mrs. Jones" at the top of his lungs and in fine voice, I might add.
When he reached me, he threw his arms out dramatically and circled me, singing full-on.
I stopped long enough to be the recipient of a chorus and then clapped and moved on.
A Lesson in the Important Stuff: The window of Exile had a must-read book on display, A Study of Group Sex in Wife Swapping: Sex groups, Free Love, Voyeurs, Exhibitionists, Discipline, Homosexuals, Lesbians.
The subhead keeps going, but I think you get the idea.
Judging by the original price of the book (95 cents) I'm guessing it's a self-help gem from the 60s.
Looking for a bedside reference? Now you know where to find it.
Okay, it wasn't as good as morning sex, but it all had its charm, nonetheless.
Grace Street Still Life: A long-stem red rose next to a Bud Light tall boy with the bag pushed down.
Maybe the two things were a thoughtful gift and by the time she finished the beer she forgot all about the rose.
Or maybe he was drinking to get up his nerve to present the rose to her and never quite worked it up.
Touching.
Sing Me a Song: A guy walking towards me singing "Me and Mrs. Jones" at the top of his lungs and in fine voice, I might add.
When he reached me, he threw his arms out dramatically and circled me, singing full-on.
I stopped long enough to be the recipient of a chorus and then clapped and moved on.
A Lesson in the Important Stuff: The window of Exile had a must-read book on display, A Study of Group Sex in Wife Swapping: Sex groups, Free Love, Voyeurs, Exhibitionists, Discipline, Homosexuals, Lesbians.
The subhead keeps going, but I think you get the idea.
Judging by the original price of the book (95 cents) I'm guessing it's a self-help gem from the 60s.
Looking for a bedside reference? Now you know where to find it.
Okay, it wasn't as good as morning sex, but it all had its charm, nonetheless.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Take Her Wheels. She's Got Legs.
One of the reasons I love living in the city is so I can walk to most of my necessary and pleasurable destinations.
So with my car in the shop for two full days, I've been walking everywhere while I'm car-less.
Every time I take my car into my mechanic Curtis, he reminds me what great cars Nissan Altimas are.
He says they're well-built and reliable and I shouldn't begrudge my 9 1/2 -year old vehicle with 119,000 miles on it the occasional mechanical malfunction.
But when the car's needs are being addressed and it's friggin' freezing (or more accurately, below friggin' freezing) I am naturally more inclined to choose a nearby restaurant, the sooner to get to the warmth.
Of course, seeing a couple in shorts out jogging on my way over sent an additional chill through my body, but, hey, more power to them and their frigid little bodies.
All this is just a prelude as to why I ended up at 27 for dinner yet again.
The fact is, the food never disappointments, the staff knows me all too well and there are almost always other bar sitters for companionship during my meal.
It's hard to resist soup in this weather and the Three Bean with Chorizo was everything I could hope for in a large bowl.
Add to that the crusty bread and red pepper dipping oil and I was a happy camper and quite full afterwards.
I used my Malbec/Shiraz blend to bridge the gap until I was ready for dessert. After much deliberation, I ordered the mixed berries served in a chocolate cup with Zabaglione.
I've loved this dessert since first having it at Amici back in the 90s.
Truly, I wanted to lick the plate (but restrained myself).
The entire staff was hungover from Chef Carlos' birthday party the night before and looked it.
I was thrilled to hear the restaurant's soundtrack had finally changed with the addition of four Beatles compilations, replacing the ancient mix that the staff and I had long ago memorized.
Love, love me do.
One of the servers rushed over to tell me that he was waiting on a couple of gay lobbyists on the other side who, when asked what they wanted for dessert, replied, "The chocolate gelato and the raspberry sorbet.
And you and the bartender on top of our table." I think there should be an extra charge for that.
Coincidentally, the bar diner two stools down had already brought up the topic of RVA's gay bar scene and its weaknesses.
He expressed a desire for the day when there is no distinction between bars based on sexuality.
It's a lofty goal, but I hope he doesn't hold his breath.
You must admit, a person doesn't need a car with such terrific food and entertainment value within a short chilly walk.
And I'm not foolish enough to wear shorts to get there, either.
So with my car in the shop for two full days, I've been walking everywhere while I'm car-less.
Every time I take my car into my mechanic Curtis, he reminds me what great cars Nissan Altimas are.
He says they're well-built and reliable and I shouldn't begrudge my 9 1/2 -year old vehicle with 119,000 miles on it the occasional mechanical malfunction.
But when the car's needs are being addressed and it's friggin' freezing (or more accurately, below friggin' freezing) I am naturally more inclined to choose a nearby restaurant, the sooner to get to the warmth.
Of course, seeing a couple in shorts out jogging on my way over sent an additional chill through my body, but, hey, more power to them and their frigid little bodies.
All this is just a prelude as to why I ended up at 27 for dinner yet again.
The fact is, the food never disappointments, the staff knows me all too well and there are almost always other bar sitters for companionship during my meal.
It's hard to resist soup in this weather and the Three Bean with Chorizo was everything I could hope for in a large bowl.
Add to that the crusty bread and red pepper dipping oil and I was a happy camper and quite full afterwards.
I used my Malbec/Shiraz blend to bridge the gap until I was ready for dessert. After much deliberation, I ordered the mixed berries served in a chocolate cup with Zabaglione.
I've loved this dessert since first having it at Amici back in the 90s.
Truly, I wanted to lick the plate (but restrained myself).
The entire staff was hungover from Chef Carlos' birthday party the night before and looked it.
I was thrilled to hear the restaurant's soundtrack had finally changed with the addition of four Beatles compilations, replacing the ancient mix that the staff and I had long ago memorized.
Love, love me do.
One of the servers rushed over to tell me that he was waiting on a couple of gay lobbyists on the other side who, when asked what they wanted for dessert, replied, "The chocolate gelato and the raspberry sorbet.
And you and the bartender on top of our table." I think there should be an extra charge for that.
Coincidentally, the bar diner two stools down had already brought up the topic of RVA's gay bar scene and its weaknesses.
He expressed a desire for the day when there is no distinction between bars based on sexuality.
It's a lofty goal, but I hope he doesn't hold his breath.
You must admit, a person doesn't need a car with such terrific food and entertainment value within a short chilly walk.
And I'm not foolish enough to wear shorts to get there, either.
On Nick's Deli and Naps
When you're entertaining until 2:30 but have to get up at 6 a.m. and you're not a coffee drinker, some adjustments are in order.
The energy's got to come from somewhere and for me it's food and lots of it (and doubtlessly a little nap before I go out tonight).
And not just any food, but the kind of eats that will distract me from my fatigue and keep me going long enough to get a few things done before giving into it.
Despite a crack of dawn breakfast, that meant a mid-morning chocolate chip scone hot out of the oven at Garnett's.
They bake their scones fresh every morning and while it's true that most baked goods are better fresh out of the oven, scones are sublime when they're warm and steaming.
The variety of scone changes daily but with my chocolate sweet tooth, I lucked into the ideal taste delight for me today.
And when you get up at 6, you're ready for lunch by 11.
I hung on until after 11:30, but not by much, and then I made the two-block dash to Nick's Deli on Broad Street (okay, Nick's Produce and International Market, if you want me to be specific).
As a recent commenter to one of my restaurant posts wrote, "...nothing in the world beats a sandwich from Nick's."
I heard that and today I needed an 8" ham, turkey and bacon sub doused in oil and vinegar.
What a huge and delicious sandwich; with a pile of potato chips almost as big as the sub, I got enough sustenance to be relatively productive before shifting into siesta mode.
At the counter being rung up, I was asked how my day was going.
I explained that it was a 3 1/2 hour night with an early morning wake-up call.
Handing me my bag, the girl empathetically said, "Eat this and then take a nice long nap."
You know, I think I will.
The energy's got to come from somewhere and for me it's food and lots of it (and doubtlessly a little nap before I go out tonight).
And not just any food, but the kind of eats that will distract me from my fatigue and keep me going long enough to get a few things done before giving into it.
Despite a crack of dawn breakfast, that meant a mid-morning chocolate chip scone hot out of the oven at Garnett's.
They bake their scones fresh every morning and while it's true that most baked goods are better fresh out of the oven, scones are sublime when they're warm and steaming.
The variety of scone changes daily but with my chocolate sweet tooth, I lucked into the ideal taste delight for me today.
And when you get up at 6, you're ready for lunch by 11.
I hung on until after 11:30, but not by much, and then I made the two-block dash to Nick's Deli on Broad Street (okay, Nick's Produce and International Market, if you want me to be specific).
As a recent commenter to one of my restaurant posts wrote, "...nothing in the world beats a sandwich from Nick's."
I heard that and today I needed an 8" ham, turkey and bacon sub doused in oil and vinegar.
What a huge and delicious sandwich; with a pile of potato chips almost as big as the sub, I got enough sustenance to be relatively productive before shifting into siesta mode.
At the counter being rung up, I was asked how my day was going.
I explained that it was a 3 1/2 hour night with an early morning wake-up call.
Handing me my bag, the girl empathetically said, "Eat this and then take a nice long nap."
You know, I think I will.
An Old Friend Returns to the Scene of the Crime
How great is it when your blog reconnects you with an old friend you haven't seen in fifteen years?
And not just any guy, but the one who makes the world's best mix tapes.
Last month I blogged his praises and tonight we spent all evening catching up on each other's lives in the interim, aided by much Clos La Coutale Cahors and shared music.
It was awesome to discover that we're still amazingly alike in all the same ways we were back then, which amounts to about about a million similarities.
Now if only we could convince everyone else of our wisdom, the world would be so much better off.
Honestly, kids, we know what we're talking about.
Did I mention he came bearing the gift of a mix tape for me?
It's labeled "The Ghosts That Haunt Me" and he gave it to me with the assurance that I'd understand why the songs were chosen.
Knowing his consummate mixing ability, I think I am in for something wonderful and I have my blog to thank for that.
Well, that and the mix tape master.
And not just any guy, but the one who makes the world's best mix tapes.
Last month I blogged his praises and tonight we spent all evening catching up on each other's lives in the interim, aided by much Clos La Coutale Cahors and shared music.
It was awesome to discover that we're still amazingly alike in all the same ways we were back then, which amounts to about about a million similarities.
Now if only we could convince everyone else of our wisdom, the world would be so much better off.
Honestly, kids, we know what we're talking about.
Did I mention he came bearing the gift of a mix tape for me?
It's labeled "The Ghosts That Haunt Me" and he gave it to me with the assurance that I'd understand why the songs were chosen.
Knowing his consummate mixing ability, I think I am in for something wonderful and I have my blog to thank for that.
Well, that and the mix tape master.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Your Concern for My Lungs is Touching
So I've been doing my daily walk religiously for years now, regardless of weather or circumstance.
That's not so much the case anymore and sometimes all it takes is the perfect storm of the two for me to just blow it off without a second thought.
Yesterday morning, for instance, followed a late Saturday night with lots of wine and the thermometer was reading 17 degrees.
Walking four miles? I don't think so.
Without a moment's regret, I used that time instead to have a lovely breakfast of oatmeal, bacon and toast slathered with butter and homemade blackberry jam while reading the Sunday Post.
But I was back out there today and as I walked by a small business on Grace Street, the two guys who work there were outside taking a smoke break.
Any time this happens, which is fairly often, I stop for some conversation, so we've kind of gotten to know each other.
When they saw me today and asked how I was, I gave the only logical answer, "Cold. It's 12 degrees out here."
Exhaling smoke, one of them said, "You know, when it's this cold outside, physical activity can be dangerous for your lungs."
You know, as opposed to smoking cigarettes outside in this weather.
Thanks for the tip, guys.
That's not so much the case anymore and sometimes all it takes is the perfect storm of the two for me to just blow it off without a second thought.
Yesterday morning, for instance, followed a late Saturday night with lots of wine and the thermometer was reading 17 degrees.
Walking four miles? I don't think so.
Without a moment's regret, I used that time instead to have a lovely breakfast of oatmeal, bacon and toast slathered with butter and homemade blackberry jam while reading the Sunday Post.
But I was back out there today and as I walked by a small business on Grace Street, the two guys who work there were outside taking a smoke break.
Any time this happens, which is fairly often, I stop for some conversation, so we've kind of gotten to know each other.
When they saw me today and asked how I was, I gave the only logical answer, "Cold. It's 12 degrees out here."
Exhaling smoke, one of them said, "You know, when it's this cold outside, physical activity can be dangerous for your lungs."
You know, as opposed to smoking cigarettes outside in this weather.
Thanks for the tip, guys.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Partying Like It's 2010
Any idiot knows better than to turn down a party invitation from a friend who is both a wine shop owner and a talented cook, especially when the guests are a cross-section of interesting types.
Tonight's final fling at our hostess' recently-sold house provided the opportunity to mingle with assorted people in the wine biz, both new and familiar, a fellow art geek from VMFA, a vegetarian I've known since she was in her teens, a fellow Marionette fan, a butcher and a pizza maker, to name just a few.
And even at this late date, I ran into someone who hadn't heard about my status changes.
Sigh, will I never have to stop sharing that series of unfortunate events?
And the food was to die for.
Pork scallopini with tuna sauce, truffled popcorn, curried oysters, probably the best hummus I've ever tasted, meats from Belmont Butchery, sesame noodles, sweet potato and onion salad and cheese, glorious cheeses and that's only a partial list.
I won't even attempt to list the wine smorgasbord because there were so many wine geek types there, all trying to outdo each other with interesting bottles, benefiting us guests greatly.
Our hostess had made a killer party mix tape, making finding her house a snap because of the booming bass line emanating from it.
Her mix ended up being 11 hours, but she edited it to 6+, so we were constantly hearing good stuff.
Between the well-chosen music, the local gossip and the food scene tidbits I heard tonight, I'd have to say the party was practically perfect.
But then I'm a Gemini, like our hostess, and we're known to be enthusiastic party people.
We just bring both of our selves to the party.
Tonight's final fling at our hostess' recently-sold house provided the opportunity to mingle with assorted people in the wine biz, both new and familiar, a fellow art geek from VMFA, a vegetarian I've known since she was in her teens, a fellow Marionette fan, a butcher and a pizza maker, to name just a few.
And even at this late date, I ran into someone who hadn't heard about my status changes.
Sigh, will I never have to stop sharing that series of unfortunate events?
And the food was to die for.
Pork scallopini with tuna sauce, truffled popcorn, curried oysters, probably the best hummus I've ever tasted, meats from Belmont Butchery, sesame noodles, sweet potato and onion salad and cheese, glorious cheeses and that's only a partial list.
I won't even attempt to list the wine smorgasbord because there were so many wine geek types there, all trying to outdo each other with interesting bottles, benefiting us guests greatly.
Our hostess had made a killer party mix tape, making finding her house a snap because of the booming bass line emanating from it.
Her mix ended up being 11 hours, but she edited it to 6+, so we were constantly hearing good stuff.
Between the well-chosen music, the local gossip and the food scene tidbits I heard tonight, I'd have to say the party was practically perfect.
But then I'm a Gemini, like our hostess, and we're known to be enthusiastic party people.
We just bring both of our selves to the party.
I Miss You Terribly
Temperatures warmer than 60 degrees.
Open windows and the sounds of the city.
Drinking white wine and smoothies.
Shorts and sundresses.
Sleeping without covers.
Having a travel companion.
Showering in cool water.
Fruits grown in this hemisphere.
Working with people I like enough to hang out with after work.
Evening daylight.
Sweating before breakfast.
Eating on the porch.
Having a main squeeze.
Napping because it's too hot to do anything else.
Endless optimism.
i.m.y.t.
Open windows and the sounds of the city.
Drinking white wine and smoothies.
Shorts and sundresses.
Sleeping without covers.
Having a travel companion.
Showering in cool water.
Fruits grown in this hemisphere.
Working with people I like enough to hang out with after work.
Evening daylight.
Sweating before breakfast.
Eating on the porch.
Having a main squeeze.
Napping because it's too hot to do anything else.
Endless optimism.
i.m.y.t.
Stalking the Wild Boar at Bacchus
Since tonight was the Richmond Forum, I knew in advance that most of the decent restaurants within a two-mile radius of the Landmark would be mobbed until 7:40 and right I was.
Accordingly, I made plans to meet a friend at Bacchus at 7:30 (which to her means 7:45). I arrived a little early to an overflowing restaurant, most of whom exited stage right within ten minutes.
I sat down at the bar nearest the heater, shivering and waiting for my friend to arrive. In no time at all, the restaurant completely filled up again.
The two guys sitting next to me genially engaged me in conversation.
They had just come from seeing Pedro Almodovar's "Broken Embraces" at the Westhampton.
Since I was already considering seeing this movie, I asked how they'd liked it (greatly) and commented that I was a big fan of Almodovar's films.
"Like what?" one of them asked. "Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down," I responded.
"Would you like to see more of that sort of thing?" one of the guys suggestively asked.
At that moment my friend arrived, effectively ending a potential discussion of bondage with a complete stranger.
We had a lovely meal.
I had white beans with pesto and mixed greens, followed by wild boar meatballs with mushrooms over white beans.
Yes, it was more white beans than I probably needed, but the subtly seasoned meatballs were absolutely delicious, not that they screamed wild boar (or wild anything for that matter) for the gastronomically timid, like my friend.
By this time, friend was ready for a change of scenery, so we headed up the block to Rowland for dessert.
Seating ourselves at the bar near a lone bar sitter, we were surprised at how full the restaurant was.
It didn't take long for the bar sitter to join us in conversation and merrymaking, making for a most enjoyable shift in dynamic for the evening.
A Philly native, he told us where to find the best Philly cheese steak in RVA and friend told him where to find the best rotisserie chicken in Arlington.
We ordered desserts (tiramisu and hazelnut chocolate torte) and liquid refreshment and proceeded to fill the next three hours with mutual getting-to-know-you-superficially conversation.
At times fast and furious and at times teasing and jocular, we inadvertently delayed our new friend from his intended plans for the rest of the evening.
He didn't complain about it and seemed strong enough of character to have left if he'd really wanted to.
I will give him credit, though; he stayed consistent with his story (his claim, not mine), quoted Shakespeare and complimented my smile.
Bonus points for all three.
Shortly after 1, the owners remembered that they had brunch coming up in too few hours, so we bundled up against the cold and started down the sidewalk.
Across the street, groups were still heading into Sidewalk, but we adjourned for the evening with our hunger and humor satisfied.
Accordingly, I made plans to meet a friend at Bacchus at 7:30 (which to her means 7:45). I arrived a little early to an overflowing restaurant, most of whom exited stage right within ten minutes.
I sat down at the bar nearest the heater, shivering and waiting for my friend to arrive. In no time at all, the restaurant completely filled up again.
The two guys sitting next to me genially engaged me in conversation.
They had just come from seeing Pedro Almodovar's "Broken Embraces" at the Westhampton.
Since I was already considering seeing this movie, I asked how they'd liked it (greatly) and commented that I was a big fan of Almodovar's films.
"Like what?" one of them asked. "Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down," I responded.
"Would you like to see more of that sort of thing?" one of the guys suggestively asked.
At that moment my friend arrived, effectively ending a potential discussion of bondage with a complete stranger.
We had a lovely meal.
I had white beans with pesto and mixed greens, followed by wild boar meatballs with mushrooms over white beans.
Yes, it was more white beans than I probably needed, but the subtly seasoned meatballs were absolutely delicious, not that they screamed wild boar (or wild anything for that matter) for the gastronomically timid, like my friend.
By this time, friend was ready for a change of scenery, so we headed up the block to Rowland for dessert.
Seating ourselves at the bar near a lone bar sitter, we were surprised at how full the restaurant was.
It didn't take long for the bar sitter to join us in conversation and merrymaking, making for a most enjoyable shift in dynamic for the evening.
A Philly native, he told us where to find the best Philly cheese steak in RVA and friend told him where to find the best rotisserie chicken in Arlington.
We ordered desserts (tiramisu and hazelnut chocolate torte) and liquid refreshment and proceeded to fill the next three hours with mutual getting-to-know-you-superficially conversation.
At times fast and furious and at times teasing and jocular, we inadvertently delayed our new friend from his intended plans for the rest of the evening.
He didn't complain about it and seemed strong enough of character to have left if he'd really wanted to.
I will give him credit, though; he stayed consistent with his story (his claim, not mine), quoted Shakespeare and complimented my smile.
Bonus points for all three.
Shortly after 1, the owners remembered that they had brunch coming up in too few hours, so we bundled up against the cold and started down the sidewalk.
Across the street, groups were still heading into Sidewalk, but we adjourned for the evening with our hunger and humor satisfied.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Cutting the (Ewe) Cheese
Fridays before I go out often find me at the wine tasting at River City Cellars in Carytown. Not always, but often enough to score some wine or cheese for future use. I'm seldom buying for any specific reason other than that I've found a new libation or piece of mold I fancy.
Which makes it a bit like Christmas when I need a bottle or snack before going out. Such was the case tonight as I sat on the couch, cozy under a quilt and reading my book Subterranean: The Hidden Life of Jack Kerouac, a really compelling study of his life-long struggles with his homo/bisexuality. But my attention was gradually being diverted from sex to something baser.
It was my stomach reminding me that my dinner plans don't start for hours and snackage was in order. Fortunately for me, a pre-Christmas visit to RCC had enticed me to buy half a pound of Ossau-Iraty, a raw ewe's milk cheese made from Northern Basque Country sheep (and an AOC) and all of a sudden, it was calling to me.
What a genius I must have been, although I know now that I should have bought at least a pound of this rich, dense, nutty and buttery cheese (50% fat!). As I sit here finishing up the quarter pound I allowed myself for snack time, I seem to recall being told that the nickname for this cheese was the "farmer's dessert," but it's actually richer than most of the desserts I can think of. Crackers or bread not required.
Which means I just ate a quarter pound of dessert and I'm going out to dinner in two hours. Of course, the old axiom, "Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first" gives me the perfect justification for my Ossau-Iraty orgy. Note to self, though: get over to RCC and re-stock. Soon.
Which makes it a bit like Christmas when I need a bottle or snack before going out. Such was the case tonight as I sat on the couch, cozy under a quilt and reading my book Subterranean: The Hidden Life of Jack Kerouac, a really compelling study of his life-long struggles with his homo/bisexuality. But my attention was gradually being diverted from sex to something baser.
It was my stomach reminding me that my dinner plans don't start for hours and snackage was in order. Fortunately for me, a pre-Christmas visit to RCC had enticed me to buy half a pound of Ossau-Iraty, a raw ewe's milk cheese made from Northern Basque Country sheep (and an AOC) and all of a sudden, it was calling to me.
What a genius I must have been, although I know now that I should have bought at least a pound of this rich, dense, nutty and buttery cheese (50% fat!). As I sit here finishing up the quarter pound I allowed myself for snack time, I seem to recall being told that the nickname for this cheese was the "farmer's dessert," but it's actually richer than most of the desserts I can think of. Crackers or bread not required.
Which means I just ate a quarter pound of dessert and I'm going out to dinner in two hours. Of course, the old axiom, "Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first" gives me the perfect justification for my Ossau-Iraty orgy. Note to self, though: get over to RCC and re-stock. Soon.
Today's Lesson on Michael Jackson
Love him or hate him in his later years, I don't know anyone who could deny the sheer musical brilliance of the early Jackson 5 music. And considering how often I hear Jackson 5 songs on a variety of friends' iPods, clearly the music has stood the test of time.
Today I went to a terrific musicology lecture to close out the "Life and Career of Michael Jackson" exhibit at the Black History Museum, located in beautiful downtown Jackson Ward, not that you shouldn't have already known that. The speaker was Roi Boyd, who teaches at Virginia Union and whose personal collection of artifacts, album covers, posters, magazines and newspapers was on display. Today's lecture was about the Jackson 5's early years and included a whole lot of video clips, music clips and pictures; I found the whole thing fascinating and only vaguely unsettling.
I didn't remember just how powerful a singer and amazing a dancer Jackson was at age 9. Or how disturbing it was to watch a ten year old sing songs of passion and love. And I don't think I ever knew that almost all of their first album, the one with the mega-hit "I Want You Back" on it was cover songs (Sly Stone, Stevie Wonder, Four Tops, Delphonics, Temptations).
We got to see the Jackson 5's audition tape for Berry Gordy from back in 1968 and I marveled at how his dance moves were already so well developed at that early stage. Before the group signed to Motown, they were on Steeltown records and we heard an early recording of a song called "Big Boy" from that label. Amazing stuff.
The exhibit included some concert posters, including a specific hand-made one for the Washington, D.C. Victory Tour, a show for which I had tickets and didn't go; undoubtedly I was the only person in the world who made that choice, at least in D.C.
It was a shame that the lecture didn't attract a bigger crowd given how un-lecture like the experience was. It was more of an audio/visual immersion experience in the Jackson 5 and I'm willing to bet that even non-music geeks would have been into it. For a music and lecture lover like me, it was an hour and a half of pure pleasure.
Today I went to a terrific musicology lecture to close out the "Life and Career of Michael Jackson" exhibit at the Black History Museum, located in beautiful downtown Jackson Ward, not that you shouldn't have already known that. The speaker was Roi Boyd, who teaches at Virginia Union and whose personal collection of artifacts, album covers, posters, magazines and newspapers was on display. Today's lecture was about the Jackson 5's early years and included a whole lot of video clips, music clips and pictures; I found the whole thing fascinating and only vaguely unsettling.
I didn't remember just how powerful a singer and amazing a dancer Jackson was at age 9. Or how disturbing it was to watch a ten year old sing songs of passion and love. And I don't think I ever knew that almost all of their first album, the one with the mega-hit "I Want You Back" on it was cover songs (Sly Stone, Stevie Wonder, Four Tops, Delphonics, Temptations).
We got to see the Jackson 5's audition tape for Berry Gordy from back in 1968 and I marveled at how his dance moves were already so well developed at that early stage. Before the group signed to Motown, they were on Steeltown records and we heard an early recording of a song called "Big Boy" from that label. Amazing stuff.
The exhibit included some concert posters, including a specific hand-made one for the Washington, D.C. Victory Tour, a show for which I had tickets and didn't go; undoubtedly I was the only person in the world who made that choice, at least in D.C.
It was a shame that the lecture didn't attract a bigger crowd given how un-lecture like the experience was. It was more of an audio/visual immersion experience in the Jackson 5 and I'm willing to bet that even non-music geeks would have been into it. For a music and lecture lover like me, it was an hour and a half of pure pleasure.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Trying Out Republic Before First Friday
Despite living in Jackson Ward, the epicenter of the arts district, I know enough not to try to eat in my neighborhood on First Friday evenings. Instead, Andrew and I decided to test uncharted waters by going to Republic before starting our gallery hopping.
For those who don't know, Republic is one of those places who opted to divide their restaurant with a door to allow for smoking and non-smoking sections. Despite an initial attempt to sit on the breathable side, it was completely full, so we settled for a table on the smokey side (and by smokey, I mean every bar patron was in full puff mode, including the cigar smokers). Our only consolation was that our table was at least in the far back on what was once the stage.
The food was...well, food. I had a really decent cup of soup of the day (a beef stew) followed by Grilled Chorizo and Ricotta canapes with sauteed onions and drizzled with balsamic reduction; essentially they were bruschetta with unnecessary frisee between the meat and cheese. Andrew had the Three Cheese Macaroni topped with Sauteed Shrimp. Enough said about the food.
Arriving back in J-Ward, our walk to Broad Street revealed plenty of parking and a surprisingly small number of attendees. Apparently Richmonders aren't willing to suffer the cold for the sake of art. At Ada Gallery, Bernard Martin's "New Hero" paintings were large-form takes on vintage comics with random elements included. They were striking, and at $8500 each pricey, but visually arresting to say the least. Ghostprint Gallery had carried over Deborah Turbeville's "Unseen Versailles "show, which I had seen last month. There was a film projection on the side of a building on Jefferson Street between Broad and Marshall, the first time I had seen that, but the temperature discouraged lingering to watch for long.
Gallery 5 was where the action was tonight with "Say Love: An Exhibition of Love and Hate." Photographs of ordinary people defining love and hate lined the walls. In the center of the room was James Robertson's sculpture of a seated figure on a bed. It was a striking centerpiece and the artist had not finished it until 5:20 today. I had a fascinating conversation with him about the installation work he is currently doing for the VMFA; unexpected moments like that are the best reason to attend First Fridays.
Obviously the police department had anticipated the light crowds because the usual traffic-directing and large police presence were absent. We did see cops on bike and foot, but they were more a part of the crowd than anything else, friendly and chatty.
I saw lots of interesting people at Gallery 5, including Tom Robinson, the G5 building's owner, who dropped to his knees to kiss my hand in greeting and what girl doesn't love that? I ran into a favorite fan of my blog with whom I enjoyed an empathetic conversation about my so-called life and then musician Julie Karr, she of the magnificent voice and throaty laugh. She and I caught up after months of not seeing each other; she was the third person this week to tell me I must go check out the magnificence of the recently reopened Cary Street Gym.
Performing live tonight at G5 were Nude Photos of Celebrities, who began with some technical difficulties and moved on to a post-punk kind of set which was quite enjoyable, sort of a wanna-be Bloc Party sound. The crowd was large and into it, but then a free show should always be worth a listen.
You'd think that after all the walking around we did, we might have lost the smokey scent we acquired at Republic, but that wasn't the case. Honestly, though, we aren't Republic's target customers so we'll know to leave our seats to those who are. In any case, they did provide sustenance for the remainder of a fine evening of art and music. And that's what the evening was really about anyway.
For those who don't know, Republic is one of those places who opted to divide their restaurant with a door to allow for smoking and non-smoking sections. Despite an initial attempt to sit on the breathable side, it was completely full, so we settled for a table on the smokey side (and by smokey, I mean every bar patron was in full puff mode, including the cigar smokers). Our only consolation was that our table was at least in the far back on what was once the stage.
The food was...well, food. I had a really decent cup of soup of the day (a beef stew) followed by Grilled Chorizo and Ricotta canapes with sauteed onions and drizzled with balsamic reduction; essentially they were bruschetta with unnecessary frisee between the meat and cheese. Andrew had the Three Cheese Macaroni topped with Sauteed Shrimp. Enough said about the food.
Arriving back in J-Ward, our walk to Broad Street revealed plenty of parking and a surprisingly small number of attendees. Apparently Richmonders aren't willing to suffer the cold for the sake of art. At Ada Gallery, Bernard Martin's "New Hero" paintings were large-form takes on vintage comics with random elements included. They were striking, and at $8500 each pricey, but visually arresting to say the least. Ghostprint Gallery had carried over Deborah Turbeville's "Unseen Versailles "show, which I had seen last month. There was a film projection on the side of a building on Jefferson Street between Broad and Marshall, the first time I had seen that, but the temperature discouraged lingering to watch for long.
Gallery 5 was where the action was tonight with "Say Love: An Exhibition of Love and Hate." Photographs of ordinary people defining love and hate lined the walls. In the center of the room was James Robertson's sculpture of a seated figure on a bed. It was a striking centerpiece and the artist had not finished it until 5:20 today. I had a fascinating conversation with him about the installation work he is currently doing for the VMFA; unexpected moments like that are the best reason to attend First Fridays.
Obviously the police department had anticipated the light crowds because the usual traffic-directing and large police presence were absent. We did see cops on bike and foot, but they were more a part of the crowd than anything else, friendly and chatty.
I saw lots of interesting people at Gallery 5, including Tom Robinson, the G5 building's owner, who dropped to his knees to kiss my hand in greeting and what girl doesn't love that? I ran into a favorite fan of my blog with whom I enjoyed an empathetic conversation about my so-called life and then musician Julie Karr, she of the magnificent voice and throaty laugh. She and I caught up after months of not seeing each other; she was the third person this week to tell me I must go check out the magnificence of the recently reopened Cary Street Gym.
Performing live tonight at G5 were Nude Photos of Celebrities, who began with some technical difficulties and moved on to a post-punk kind of set which was quite enjoyable, sort of a wanna-be Bloc Party sound. The crowd was large and into it, but then a free show should always be worth a listen.
You'd think that after all the walking around we did, we might have lost the smokey scent we acquired at Republic, but that wasn't the case. Honestly, though, we aren't Republic's target customers so we'll know to leave our seats to those who are. In any case, they did provide sustenance for the remainder of a fine evening of art and music. And that's what the evening was really about anyway.
Carytown's Newest Eats: Bonvenu
Carytown beckoned me and two friends last night to check out the newest addition to the eating scene there, Bonvenu, in the space formerly occupied by The Track.
The interior has been vastly altered with lighter walls, sexy lighting and a new booth/table configuration.
The formerly frumpy fuddy-duddy got a Glamour Shots makeover and it's a huge improvement.
Best of all, the bar has been reworked into a larger, more user-friendly shape than the old cramped reverse L-shape.
Staff-wise, there were familiar faces from Mezzanine and Escobar, all friendly and seemingly psyched to welcome customers.
I staked out an end stool, my favorite bar position, followed shortly by Friend 1 and some time later, Friend 2 (not to be confused with Thing 1 and Thing 2).
Because Friend 2's arrival was delayed, we started with a bottle of Over the Edge Pinot Noir.
Midway through the bottle, and with Friend 2 nowhere in sight, we opted to try El Tesoro Tequila Anejo (F1's idea, although I was a most willing participant).
As one of those practically non-existent people who drink only wine and good tequila, I am always eager to try new varieties.
This one tasted of citrus and herbs and was as smooth as silk; for anyone who claims that they just can't stomach tequila, I respectfully suggest that you haven't tried the right one.
With wine and tequila in my recent past, it was time for some sort of victuals and I went with French Onion Soup, a dish I love but which is too often executed in a mediocre manner.
This was excellent and I was halfway through when Friend 2 arrived and the real ordering began in earnest.
F1 got the rack of lamb and F2 the trout.
I went with the Beggars' Purses stuffed with Tasso ham, lump crab meat and chevre with herbed lemon creme fraiche.
F2 was most pleased with her fish and F1 gave me several delicious bites of his cream sauce laden lamb.
My purses were a good size with their obscenely rich contents a nice contrast to the simple wrapper.
Since I can't discuss a restaurant experience without mentioning the audio component, here it is.
The bartender's iPod provided the music, and like so many twenty-somethings, he's a classic rock fan.
Something about not having lived through it seems to make it wildly appealing to subsequent generations (personally, I'm over most of it).
I will give him credit, though.
Although most of the artists were vintage, his song choices showed some creativity; we heard many more obscure tracks than big hits, always a plus in my book.
And yet again, I was rewarded with an enthusiastic "Good for you!" when he learned that I don't have a cell phone.
It never ceases to amaze me how impressed some people are when they discover I live my life without one.
Despite The Track having been the setting for a memorable first date, it was never high on my list of regular destinations.
If my next meal at Bonvenu is as impressive as tonight's was, that won't be the case with Bonvenu.
The interior has been vastly altered with lighter walls, sexy lighting and a new booth/table configuration.
The formerly frumpy fuddy-duddy got a Glamour Shots makeover and it's a huge improvement.
Best of all, the bar has been reworked into a larger, more user-friendly shape than the old cramped reverse L-shape.
Staff-wise, there were familiar faces from Mezzanine and Escobar, all friendly and seemingly psyched to welcome customers.
I staked out an end stool, my favorite bar position, followed shortly by Friend 1 and some time later, Friend 2 (not to be confused with Thing 1 and Thing 2).
Because Friend 2's arrival was delayed, we started with a bottle of Over the Edge Pinot Noir.
Midway through the bottle, and with Friend 2 nowhere in sight, we opted to try El Tesoro Tequila Anejo (F1's idea, although I was a most willing participant).
As one of those practically non-existent people who drink only wine and good tequila, I am always eager to try new varieties.
This one tasted of citrus and herbs and was as smooth as silk; for anyone who claims that they just can't stomach tequila, I respectfully suggest that you haven't tried the right one.
With wine and tequila in my recent past, it was time for some sort of victuals and I went with French Onion Soup, a dish I love but which is too often executed in a mediocre manner.
This was excellent and I was halfway through when Friend 2 arrived and the real ordering began in earnest.
F1 got the rack of lamb and F2 the trout.
I went with the Beggars' Purses stuffed with Tasso ham, lump crab meat and chevre with herbed lemon creme fraiche.
F2 was most pleased with her fish and F1 gave me several delicious bites of his cream sauce laden lamb.
My purses were a good size with their obscenely rich contents a nice contrast to the simple wrapper.
Since I can't discuss a restaurant experience without mentioning the audio component, here it is.
The bartender's iPod provided the music, and like so many twenty-somethings, he's a classic rock fan.
Something about not having lived through it seems to make it wildly appealing to subsequent generations (personally, I'm over most of it).
I will give him credit, though.
Although most of the artists were vintage, his song choices showed some creativity; we heard many more obscure tracks than big hits, always a plus in my book.
And yet again, I was rewarded with an enthusiastic "Good for you!" when he learned that I don't have a cell phone.
It never ceases to amaze me how impressed some people are when they discover I live my life without one.
Despite The Track having been the setting for a memorable first date, it was never high on my list of regular destinations.
If my next meal at Bonvenu is as impressive as tonight's was, that won't be the case with Bonvenu.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Of Mixes, Ice and Deep Thinking
Today was all about a head-clearing road trip. A friend had recently made me two mix tapes and wanted feedback and there's no better way to do that than by taking to the open road to drive and listen and think. The only problem was he didn't provide song listings and I'm way too curious about unfamiliar music not to know who's doing what; hopefully I can get him to correct that.
I've rhapsodized about mix tapes before. These seemed to be a melange of music he favors, newer stuff he's picked up on and some off-beat things he may have even been trying to impress me with. The first listen to a new mix is so enjoyable for the unexpected pleasures.
As for the visual portion of the drive, like an idiot, I forgot my camera, which was a shame because I've never seen the Rappahannock River iced over. In some places, it even looked like there were small ice floes. Just beautiful. I would have loved to have been able to stop the car on the bridge and just admire it but that's generally frowned upon.
Arriving back in the Ward in late afternoon, I felt better for having taken the break to get out of town. Not that I resolved the many issues swirling around in my head, but the music and the river had provided a wonderful interlude.
I've rhapsodized about mix tapes before. These seemed to be a melange of music he favors, newer stuff he's picked up on and some off-beat things he may have even been trying to impress me with. The first listen to a new mix is so enjoyable for the unexpected pleasures.
As for the visual portion of the drive, like an idiot, I forgot my camera, which was a shame because I've never seen the Rappahannock River iced over. In some places, it even looked like there were small ice floes. Just beautiful. I would have loved to have been able to stop the car on the bridge and just admire it but that's generally frowned upon.
Arriving back in the Ward in late afternoon, I felt better for having taken the break to get out of town. Not that I resolved the many issues swirling around in my head, but the music and the river had provided a wonderful interlude.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Birthday Eve Celebration at Avalon
My main complaint with Avalon has always been the ungodly smoke level. Truth be told, the drink prices are excellent and the food is surprisingly good, but gasping through the smoke fog to enjoy eating and drinking has always been problematic. But it's post-December first, so it's a whole new world (cue Disney soundtrack). So it was that I agreed to meet a long-time friend to celebrate his birthday eve at Avalon, something I would have avoided just a short time ago.
Absent smoke aside, the first thing I noticed was the missing hum of the constantly-droning exhaust fans which used to run non-stop to keep up with the smoke volume. The second thing I noted was fewer patrons; don't judge me, but I'm fine with both changes.
To my complete delight, Avalon offered a Pinotage by the glass, which is almost unheard of. The Fantail Pinotage from South Africa was an unexpected pleasure this evening; perhaps that explains the repeated glasses I enjoyed. Of course, the suggested pairing is oxtail and that wasn't available, but I'll take this earthy wine any day I can find it.
My friend of 15 years is smart and funny and almost as big a geek as I am. As a result, we have obscure conversations on subjects that no one else would care about. Card catalogs? Discussed. The Atlanta Pop Festival and mescaline? In depth. Me reaching a year of celibacy as of tomorrow? Woefully acknowledged. The volume of a Kings of Leon show? Both been there (he in New Orleans in 2006, me in Chicago 2007). The urge to edit the writing of others? Overwhelming for both of us.
Our hunger finally got the best of us and we got a double order of the seared foie gras. I don't know how well it complemented his Cote du Rhone, but it married my Pinotage beautifully. After all, it's not like I'm going to find Springbok on a Richmond menu.
I don't quite know what to make of the new and improved Avalon. I certainly don't miss the smoky environs, but the colorful crowd it attracted is conspicuous in its absence. On the other hand, they had a more than decent crowd on a Wednesday night, so perhaps non-smokers have just replaced smokers for the prime bar stool real estate.
Personally, I'll be back for the Pinotage. It's just that I may have to wade through a clutch of outdoor smokers to get to it. And I will.
Absent smoke aside, the first thing I noticed was the missing hum of the constantly-droning exhaust fans which used to run non-stop to keep up with the smoke volume. The second thing I noted was fewer patrons; don't judge me, but I'm fine with both changes.
To my complete delight, Avalon offered a Pinotage by the glass, which is almost unheard of. The Fantail Pinotage from South Africa was an unexpected pleasure this evening; perhaps that explains the repeated glasses I enjoyed. Of course, the suggested pairing is oxtail and that wasn't available, but I'll take this earthy wine any day I can find it.
My friend of 15 years is smart and funny and almost as big a geek as I am. As a result, we have obscure conversations on subjects that no one else would care about. Card catalogs? Discussed. The Atlanta Pop Festival and mescaline? In depth. Me reaching a year of celibacy as of tomorrow? Woefully acknowledged. The volume of a Kings of Leon show? Both been there (he in New Orleans in 2006, me in Chicago 2007). The urge to edit the writing of others? Overwhelming for both of us.
Our hunger finally got the best of us and we got a double order of the seared foie gras. I don't know how well it complemented his Cote du Rhone, but it married my Pinotage beautifully. After all, it's not like I'm going to find Springbok on a Richmond menu.
I don't quite know what to make of the new and improved Avalon. I certainly don't miss the smoky environs, but the colorful crowd it attracted is conspicuous in its absence. On the other hand, they had a more than decent crowd on a Wednesday night, so perhaps non-smokers have just replaced smokers for the prime bar stool real estate.
Personally, I'll be back for the Pinotage. It's just that I may have to wade through a clutch of outdoor smokers to get to it. And I will.
Lunch at European Market and Cafe
It's the week for me to lunch with each of my photographer friends and today we convened at the European Market and Cafe on Main Street to see what they could do for us. I've been to several of their First Friday wine dinners (the best wine dinner value in rva, imho), so I knew their food was good.
With multiple deli cases of meats, wursts of all kinds, cheeses, prepared salads and an extensive sandwich menu, we must have spent the first fifteen minutes just lost in the choices. I had almost decided on the Arc de Triomphe (turkey, bacon, brie with aioli on ciabatta) when I spotted a special that spoke to me: a thin-sliced Angus beef with brie, caramelized onions, roasted red pepper and Dijon mustard panini. Photographer friend got the Calabrese Salad, essentially a large Caprese over mixed greens.
While our taste delights were being assembled, we perused the market stock, admiring marzipan pigs, exotic bottled drinks, salamis, pates and searching in vain for a favorite Pinotage, which was out of stock temporarily. Cafe owner Jason graciously went behind me to look again to ensure I hadn't missed it, but alas. I have no doubt I'll get a call when it arrives.
It was wine rep visiting day, with the entire staff tasting Super Tuscans when I arrived and Morris arriving as we were leaving. You have a to love a job where you're drinking wine at 11:30 in the morning.
My friend and I ambitiously attempted a walk after eating, but the wind convinced us otherwise. Even on the sunny side of the street, two blocks up and back was about all we could manage. Of course I had done my morning walk today, dressed far more suitably, so I wasn't too upset about our abbreviated stroll.
And, being a photographer, my friend shared his thoughts on my latest blog profile picture. He didn't offer to take a replacement shot so maybe he was hoping I'd ask him, but I'd never be so presumptuous. They're just legs, after all, so how important is it to have the definitive picture of them?
With multiple deli cases of meats, wursts of all kinds, cheeses, prepared salads and an extensive sandwich menu, we must have spent the first fifteen minutes just lost in the choices. I had almost decided on the Arc de Triomphe (turkey, bacon, brie with aioli on ciabatta) when I spotted a special that spoke to me: a thin-sliced Angus beef with brie, caramelized onions, roasted red pepper and Dijon mustard panini. Photographer friend got the Calabrese Salad, essentially a large Caprese over mixed greens.
While our taste delights were being assembled, we perused the market stock, admiring marzipan pigs, exotic bottled drinks, salamis, pates and searching in vain for a favorite Pinotage, which was out of stock temporarily. Cafe owner Jason graciously went behind me to look again to ensure I hadn't missed it, but alas. I have no doubt I'll get a call when it arrives.
It was wine rep visiting day, with the entire staff tasting Super Tuscans when I arrived and Morris arriving as we were leaving. You have a to love a job where you're drinking wine at 11:30 in the morning.
My friend and I ambitiously attempted a walk after eating, but the wind convinced us otherwise. Even on the sunny side of the street, two blocks up and back was about all we could manage. Of course I had done my morning walk today, dressed far more suitably, so I wasn't too upset about our abbreviated stroll.
And, being a photographer, my friend shared his thoughts on my latest blog profile picture. He didn't offer to take a replacement shot so maybe he was hoping I'd ask him, but I'd never be so presumptuous. They're just legs, after all, so how important is it to have the definitive picture of them?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
You Talking to Me?
It was an especially great day for random comments, good and odd, directed my way. Maybe it's time to change the sign on my forehead...or something.
"I should have known you'd be here. Are you in the Mekong Beer Club?"
-A local boutique owner on finding me at the bar with a laid off girlfriend wining and dining at Six Burner tonight. And the connection is...?
"You know you love it when that happens. Just like I love it when I open my mouth and surprise people."
- A friend who waited out a long-winded conversation to regain my attention. Yes and thanks for harshing my mellow.
"Every minute of every hour I spent on this project my heart ached for you. Every minute. Of every hour."
-An ex (from the 90s!) on transferring VHS tapes to DVD. Oh, come on.
"You're sure to be a twitter hit if you dare to go there."
-A friend and fellow music geek. Aw, shucks.
"It was your witty repartee that made it worth coming in."
-Customer leaving a coffee shop about our conversation. My kind of compliment.
"The thing about living in DC was, sometimes I couldn't remember where my house was. Did that ever happen to you ? "
-Local street legend Richard on the subject of living in Washington, my former hometown. Can't say that it did, Richard.
And so it goes...
"I should have known you'd be here. Are you in the Mekong Beer Club?"
-A local boutique owner on finding me at the bar with a laid off girlfriend wining and dining at Six Burner tonight. And the connection is...?
"You know you love it when that happens. Just like I love it when I open my mouth and surprise people."
- A friend who waited out a long-winded conversation to regain my attention. Yes and thanks for harshing my mellow.
"Every minute of every hour I spent on this project my heart ached for you. Every minute. Of every hour."
-An ex (from the 90s!) on transferring VHS tapes to DVD. Oh, come on.
"You're sure to be a twitter hit if you dare to go there."
-A friend and fellow music geek. Aw, shucks.
"It was your witty repartee that made it worth coming in."
-Customer leaving a coffee shop about our conversation. My kind of compliment.
"The thing about living in DC was, sometimes I couldn't remember where my house was. Did that ever happen to you ? "
-Local street legend Richard on the subject of living in Washington, my former hometown. Can't say that it did, Richard.
And so it goes...
Pie for Pizza and Music Talk
Since I was meeting a pizza-loving friend for lunch today, I suggested we check out rva's latest pizza destination, Pie, across from Balliceaux. My friend has always said he could eat pizza every day of the week, so it wasn't a hard sell.
Pie replaces Si on Lombardy and the interior looks exactly the same, not that that's a problem since Si was an attractive little place. The menu was simple and included various heats of wings, salads and red and white pizza. We went with the Blanca (extra garlic, Fontina and mozzarella) with pepperoni to ensure a little grease with our white sauce. Our server told us that it's the owner making all the pizzas because, despite having owned restaurants for years, a pizza place has always been his greatest desire.
The thin-crusted pizza pleased us both, with loads of garlic, plenty of cheese and enough pepperoni to satisfy our need for meat. There were only two other diners in the place when we arrived and as they left, they both stuck their noses over our pizza and swooned over the smell. It was alluring.
After making short work of our pie, we chatted up our server about the house-made dough, the new pizza oven, their soft opening, and plans for delivery; when I asked if they'd be delivering to J-Ward, he said the owner hates to say no, so it was likely they would.
My final question was about the dreadful music being played (bleh! Liberty radio) and he explained that he'd forgotten his iPod, so had reverted to the radio station already set. I wanted to know what would have been on his iPod, so I'd know how much better than Liberty it would have been.
He named a few bands on his playlist (Kings of Convenience being one!) and we quickly digressed into a discussion of our similar taste in music. He said, "I am so impressed that you know all these bands," which led to a big old music conversation about post-rock, indie rock and local music. We'd even been to several of the same local shows, so we got to compare notes. Before long, he told me that if I ever need someone to go to shows with (and I do sometimes), he would love to get out to hear more live music. And then he thanked me again for such an excellent music conversation, an occurrence he says almost never happens. How tragic is that?
So I left with a full belly and a potential band buddy, a great outcome for lunch. Next up was the driving portion of the afternoon, as we cruised east to chart unfamiliar roads. Williamsburg Road led us right by Country Style Donuts (a favorite of friends of mine who need a late night sweet after the bars close) where I got a chocolate-glazed cake donut. True, the woman behind the counter looked at me like I was from another planet, but who cares when I've got a crusty frosted donut in hand?
We drove out past the airport, up through the battlefields and looped back around through the projects. Crossing into Hanover County, it was amazing how quickly we began seeing barns and silos, spurring a discussion of why anyone would choose to live in those areas. Yes, we're city folk and we just don't get it.
I greatly enjoyed my pizza and music talk, my friend took more pictures of my legs for my profile and I saw parts of Richmond I'd never laid eyes on. Now that's what I call a good afternoon.
Pie replaces Si on Lombardy and the interior looks exactly the same, not that that's a problem since Si was an attractive little place. The menu was simple and included various heats of wings, salads and red and white pizza. We went with the Blanca (extra garlic, Fontina and mozzarella) with pepperoni to ensure a little grease with our white sauce. Our server told us that it's the owner making all the pizzas because, despite having owned restaurants for years, a pizza place has always been his greatest desire.
The thin-crusted pizza pleased us both, with loads of garlic, plenty of cheese and enough pepperoni to satisfy our need for meat. There were only two other diners in the place when we arrived and as they left, they both stuck their noses over our pizza and swooned over the smell. It was alluring.
After making short work of our pie, we chatted up our server about the house-made dough, the new pizza oven, their soft opening, and plans for delivery; when I asked if they'd be delivering to J-Ward, he said the owner hates to say no, so it was likely they would.
My final question was about the dreadful music being played (bleh! Liberty radio) and he explained that he'd forgotten his iPod, so had reverted to the radio station already set. I wanted to know what would have been on his iPod, so I'd know how much better than Liberty it would have been.
He named a few bands on his playlist (Kings of Convenience being one!) and we quickly digressed into a discussion of our similar taste in music. He said, "I am so impressed that you know all these bands," which led to a big old music conversation about post-rock, indie rock and local music. We'd even been to several of the same local shows, so we got to compare notes. Before long, he told me that if I ever need someone to go to shows with (and I do sometimes), he would love to get out to hear more live music. And then he thanked me again for such an excellent music conversation, an occurrence he says almost never happens. How tragic is that?
So I left with a full belly and a potential band buddy, a great outcome for lunch. Next up was the driving portion of the afternoon, as we cruised east to chart unfamiliar roads. Williamsburg Road led us right by Country Style Donuts (a favorite of friends of mine who need a late night sweet after the bars close) where I got a chocolate-glazed cake donut. True, the woman behind the counter looked at me like I was from another planet, but who cares when I've got a crusty frosted donut in hand?
We drove out past the airport, up through the battlefields and looped back around through the projects. Crossing into Hanover County, it was amazing how quickly we began seeing barns and silos, spurring a discussion of why anyone would choose to live in those areas. Yes, we're city folk and we just don't get it.
I greatly enjoyed my pizza and music talk, my friend took more pictures of my legs for my profile and I saw parts of Richmond I'd never laid eyes on. Now that's what I call a good afternoon.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Black Sheep Did Me In
Some dishes are just not worth cooking for one person, not because they're necessarily difficult to make, but because the leftovers don't keep well.
So it was that I took my craving for chicken and dumplings along with my book to the Black Sheep tonight for a big plate of creamy goodness.
I'd heard raves about this dish from people who can't resist ordering it every time they go in and I had yet to try it.
But before I even got to that, I was seduced by the Soup D.J.
When I asked my server (the lovely Melissa, always a great conversational partner) what tonight's was she said, "Jalapeno Corn Chowder...but it's got bacon in it."
Sold! I might not have been as tempted without the pig part, but I was a goner when I heard that.
Good call on my part because it was divine, thick and chunky with corn and bacon and a nice heat on the back end.
Later I heard a nearby diner ask her if the chowder was good.
That was my cue to jump right in and tell him how much I liked it and why, resulting in him ordering it.
He thanked me for the heads up afterwards.
Like most orders at the Black Sheep, the portion was huge with six dumplings and an overly generous amount of white and dark chicken swimming in a deep pool of gravy.
The only thing I would have changed about it was more and larger chunks of carrot, but perhaps not everyone likes carrots as much as I do.
After finishing all but two of my dumplings, I took a break to read my book, hoping to allow time enough to have room for one of my favorite Richmond restaurant desserts, the La Brea Tarpit (a chocolate creme brulee).
Alas, forty minutes later, I was still stuffed beyond belief and had to tell an incredulous Melissa that I wasn't going to be able to manage dessert.
Even she looked sad about it.
When she brought my check though, she also brought a small brown bag to me and said, "It's not a tarpit, it's one of those brownies my Mom makes. I know how you love your chocolate, so you can eat it later."
And, just to be clear, this is no ordinary brownie; this is what we used to call a meltaway.
It's a large cake brownie, topped with a mint butter cream frosting and holding that in place is a layer of hardened dark chocolate.
I wasn't the only one eating the chicken and dumplings tonight, but the star of the evening and the item the kitchen sold out of was the Pork and Beans.
Before you question that, let me explain that it's a grilled maple-brined pork chop with house-made baked beans and roasted apples with figs.
As sorely tempted as I am to go back for for p & b real soon, I already promised Melissa that on my next visit, I would not disappoint again.
I'll be there for red wine and chocolate only.
So it was that I took my craving for chicken and dumplings along with my book to the Black Sheep tonight for a big plate of creamy goodness.
I'd heard raves about this dish from people who can't resist ordering it every time they go in and I had yet to try it.
But before I even got to that, I was seduced by the Soup D.J.
When I asked my server (the lovely Melissa, always a great conversational partner) what tonight's was she said, "Jalapeno Corn Chowder...but it's got bacon in it."
Sold! I might not have been as tempted without the pig part, but I was a goner when I heard that.
Good call on my part because it was divine, thick and chunky with corn and bacon and a nice heat on the back end.
Later I heard a nearby diner ask her if the chowder was good.
That was my cue to jump right in and tell him how much I liked it and why, resulting in him ordering it.
He thanked me for the heads up afterwards.
Like most orders at the Black Sheep, the portion was huge with six dumplings and an overly generous amount of white and dark chicken swimming in a deep pool of gravy.
The only thing I would have changed about it was more and larger chunks of carrot, but perhaps not everyone likes carrots as much as I do.
After finishing all but two of my dumplings, I took a break to read my book, hoping to allow time enough to have room for one of my favorite Richmond restaurant desserts, the La Brea Tarpit (a chocolate creme brulee).
Alas, forty minutes later, I was still stuffed beyond belief and had to tell an incredulous Melissa that I wasn't going to be able to manage dessert.
Even she looked sad about it.
When she brought my check though, she also brought a small brown bag to me and said, "It's not a tarpit, it's one of those brownies my Mom makes. I know how you love your chocolate, so you can eat it later."
And, just to be clear, this is no ordinary brownie; this is what we used to call a meltaway.
It's a large cake brownie, topped with a mint butter cream frosting and holding that in place is a layer of hardened dark chocolate.
I wasn't the only one eating the chicken and dumplings tonight, but the star of the evening and the item the kitchen sold out of was the Pork and Beans.
Before you question that, let me explain that it's a grilled maple-brined pork chop with house-made baked beans and roasted apples with figs.
As sorely tempted as I am to go back for for p & b real soon, I already promised Melissa that on my next visit, I would not disappoint again.
I'll be there for red wine and chocolate only.
Aurora Scratched My Bakery Itch
When I was in college, I told my boyfriend Curt that I wanted to open a bakery when I finished school.
He thought it would be a bad idea and his reasoning was that I would end up the size of a house if I baked for a living.
Being young and gullible, I believed him and gave up on that idea pretty quickly, but my love of baked goods grew exponentially anyway.
Needless to say, I don't need much of an excuse to visit a bakery, so when a friend mentioned that she hadn't eaten much of anything today, I suggested an impromptu trip to Aurora and their bakery over at Fourth and Grace Streets.
How better to improve a Monday afternoon?
When we got there, the place was empty except for an employee at the bar and Aurora's baker Scott Davison who, when asked if we could get some baked goods, insisted we start with a sample.
He told us the story of the Sarah Bernhardt pastry, created by culinary legend Escoffier to win the favor of the actress.
It was an almond macaroon topped with a bulb of dark Meyers Rum-spiked chocolate whipped cream which was frozen and then dipped in chocolate pate glace.
Oh. My.
We each scarfed one down in an embarrassingly short amount of time and that was only the beginning.
When Scott found out I was from D.C., he regaled us with stories of places there he had worked, including the Hay-Adams Hotel, the Ritz Carlton and one of my favorite off-the-beaten track restaurants, the 50-year old L'Auberge Chez Francois.
All the while we were eyeing the case for what we were going to buy and take home.
So many choices in individual servings!
Mini Boston Creme Pies, Chocolate Truffle Tortes, Apple Strudel, Harlequin Italian Shortbread cookies, Lemon Tarts, Lithuanian Tarts.
After much deliberation, I got the Linzer Torte and the Tuscan Filberts; my friend got a half dozen goodies to share with her main squeeze.
By the way, for you caffeine junkies, coffee is complimentary when you buy a bakery item.
As we left half an hour later with our little white boxes and bags, it occurred to me that Curt may have been right about me and baked goods.
Besides, with a bakery the likes of Aurora a half mile away, I think I'll let Scott get up at 2 a.m. and do the baking while I sleep.
These days, that's more like when I'm going to bed.
He thought it would be a bad idea and his reasoning was that I would end up the size of a house if I baked for a living.
Being young and gullible, I believed him and gave up on that idea pretty quickly, but my love of baked goods grew exponentially anyway.
Needless to say, I don't need much of an excuse to visit a bakery, so when a friend mentioned that she hadn't eaten much of anything today, I suggested an impromptu trip to Aurora and their bakery over at Fourth and Grace Streets.
How better to improve a Monday afternoon?
When we got there, the place was empty except for an employee at the bar and Aurora's baker Scott Davison who, when asked if we could get some baked goods, insisted we start with a sample.
He told us the story of the Sarah Bernhardt pastry, created by culinary legend Escoffier to win the favor of the actress.
It was an almond macaroon topped with a bulb of dark Meyers Rum-spiked chocolate whipped cream which was frozen and then dipped in chocolate pate glace.
Oh. My.
We each scarfed one down in an embarrassingly short amount of time and that was only the beginning.
When Scott found out I was from D.C., he regaled us with stories of places there he had worked, including the Hay-Adams Hotel, the Ritz Carlton and one of my favorite off-the-beaten track restaurants, the 50-year old L'Auberge Chez Francois.
All the while we were eyeing the case for what we were going to buy and take home.
So many choices in individual servings!
Mini Boston Creme Pies, Chocolate Truffle Tortes, Apple Strudel, Harlequin Italian Shortbread cookies, Lemon Tarts, Lithuanian Tarts.
After much deliberation, I got the Linzer Torte and the Tuscan Filberts; my friend got a half dozen goodies to share with her main squeeze.
By the way, for you caffeine junkies, coffee is complimentary when you buy a bakery item.
As we left half an hour later with our little white boxes and bags, it occurred to me that Curt may have been right about me and baked goods.
Besides, with a bakery the likes of Aurora a half mile away, I think I'll let Scott get up at 2 a.m. and do the baking while I sleep.
These days, that's more like when I'm going to bed.
I Blog for the Compliments
There are myriad reasons why people blog.
Personally, I started because it was something I'd been required to do at my last job and I discovered I missed it once I got laid off.
I've always been an enthusiastic writer (I've written tomes to past loves via e-mail) and, as my profile indicates, I have an opinion on just about everything.
Given how effortless writing is for me, blogging was a no-brainer.
The longer I do it though, the more often I am reminded of its far-reaching effects.
One of those is that when I'm out with people who know I blog, they'll say something off-color or not for public knowledge and then quickly tell me, "Don't put that in the blog!"
99% of the time, what they've said wasn't blog-worthy anyway.
Not long ago, I was at a live music show and someone I knew only by sight came up and asked me if I was the ICGOAO blogger.
Yes, I told her, but how the hell did you know that?
Apparently she was already a regular reader and had recently been at a restaurant the same night as I had and noticed me.
When she saw my post the next day, she put two and two together.
She'd even tried new restaurants based solely on some of my posts and loved them.
Best of all, she'd recommended my blog to many of her friends as a must-read.
A former neighbor with whom I hadn't spoken in years and recently saw told me that I was one of two blogs he reads regularly and had somehow figured out that it was mine.
He complimented my enthusiasm for and knowledge about all the great stuff that goes on in RVA.
Walking into Gallery 5 one evening, a photographer I know said hi and asked why he wasn't following me on Twitter.
Well, because I don't tweet I told him, I only blog.
But the fact was he thought I'd be interesting enough to want to follow and I don't even know what I'd said or done to give him that impression.
I've heard from out-of-town bands I've written up and authors whose readings I've attended.
No less than three winemakers I've met at wine dinners have contacted me after reading my blog.
And now Richmond.com has gone and put me on their "Favorite Stuff of 2009" along with only two other blogs.
It seems my "very active lifestyle" and "witty commentary of the people and places in our fair city" caught their collective eye.
Of course, the humor there is that they are my former employer, so essentially I was laid off and lauded, which I see as way better than laid off and ignored.
I've always been one of those people to whom surprising things are said and interesting things happen.
In the past, I had a significant other to share these great stories with.
Since that's no longer the case, I now share them with the online world but who knew how interested they'd be in my odd little life? I certainly can't say I did.
On the other hand, I'll take the compliments wherever I can get them.
Personally, I started because it was something I'd been required to do at my last job and I discovered I missed it once I got laid off.
I've always been an enthusiastic writer (I've written tomes to past loves via e-mail) and, as my profile indicates, I have an opinion on just about everything.
Given how effortless writing is for me, blogging was a no-brainer.
The longer I do it though, the more often I am reminded of its far-reaching effects.
One of those is that when I'm out with people who know I blog, they'll say something off-color or not for public knowledge and then quickly tell me, "Don't put that in the blog!"
99% of the time, what they've said wasn't blog-worthy anyway.
Not long ago, I was at a live music show and someone I knew only by sight came up and asked me if I was the ICGOAO blogger.
Yes, I told her, but how the hell did you know that?
Apparently she was already a regular reader and had recently been at a restaurant the same night as I had and noticed me.
When she saw my post the next day, she put two and two together.
She'd even tried new restaurants based solely on some of my posts and loved them.
Best of all, she'd recommended my blog to many of her friends as a must-read.
A former neighbor with whom I hadn't spoken in years and recently saw told me that I was one of two blogs he reads regularly and had somehow figured out that it was mine.
He complimented my enthusiasm for and knowledge about all the great stuff that goes on in RVA.
Walking into Gallery 5 one evening, a photographer I know said hi and asked why he wasn't following me on Twitter.
Well, because I don't tweet I told him, I only blog.
But the fact was he thought I'd be interesting enough to want to follow and I don't even know what I'd said or done to give him that impression.
I've heard from out-of-town bands I've written up and authors whose readings I've attended.
No less than three winemakers I've met at wine dinners have contacted me after reading my blog.
And now Richmond.com has gone and put me on their "Favorite Stuff of 2009" along with only two other blogs.
It seems my "very active lifestyle" and "witty commentary of the people and places in our fair city" caught their collective eye.
Of course, the humor there is that they are my former employer, so essentially I was laid off and lauded, which I see as way better than laid off and ignored.
I've always been one of those people to whom surprising things are said and interesting things happen.
In the past, I had a significant other to share these great stories with.
Since that's no longer the case, I now share them with the online world but who knew how interested they'd be in my odd little life? I certainly can't say I did.
On the other hand, I'll take the compliments wherever I can get them.
Josh Small Warmed Up Live at Ipanema
What's the best way to spend another ungodly cold evening?
The obvious aside (still not there yet), listening to live music, of course.
It was the monthly Live at Ipanema show tonight with Josh Small performing and as a bonus, his Dad playing with him for the first half of the set.
Pop Small played banjo and harmonica and had a good-sized repertoire, everything from Vietnam-era songs to bawdy Christmas tunes.
He even did a song to apologize to his wife for what he did at Wendy's today that put him in the doghouse.
It became clear with each passing number the source from which his son gets his talent.
I've seen Josh perform before and he excels at the earnest singer-songwriter role.
For a change, the crowd respectfully shut up, so it was a wonderful atmosphere for focusing on the music; often that's not the case at these shows.
Then too, enjoying the performance sans cigarette smoke only made it more pleasurable. Josh is a favorite in the local music scene, as evidenced by the large number of musicians present in the crowd tonight.
It's like choosing an ethnic restaurant where lots of people from that ethnicity eat; you know it's going to be good if they're there.
I met one of the tattoo artists who works above Ipanema and he shared some great stories about life over top of the restaurant.
Everything from water leaking down from their Christmas tree stand into the restaurant (not that I realized tattoo places put up Christmas trees) to the VCU cops lecturing them about setting off firecrackers which might scare old ladies into thinking they were gunshots (don't these cops have bigger things with which to concern themselves?).
What we had in common was our daily view of Grace Street, always a ripe setting for colorful characters and goings-on.
And now an excellent evening of live music is over and it's still an ungodly cold night.
I guess I'm still hoping for a late night way to make the best of this obscenely cold weather.
I'm thinking that warm thoughts alone won't do it.
The obvious aside (still not there yet), listening to live music, of course.
It was the monthly Live at Ipanema show tonight with Josh Small performing and as a bonus, his Dad playing with him for the first half of the set.
Pop Small played banjo and harmonica and had a good-sized repertoire, everything from Vietnam-era songs to bawdy Christmas tunes.
He even did a song to apologize to his wife for what he did at Wendy's today that put him in the doghouse.
It became clear with each passing number the source from which his son gets his talent.
I've seen Josh perform before and he excels at the earnest singer-songwriter role.
For a change, the crowd respectfully shut up, so it was a wonderful atmosphere for focusing on the music; often that's not the case at these shows.
Then too, enjoying the performance sans cigarette smoke only made it more pleasurable. Josh is a favorite in the local music scene, as evidenced by the large number of musicians present in the crowd tonight.
It's like choosing an ethnic restaurant where lots of people from that ethnicity eat; you know it's going to be good if they're there.
I met one of the tattoo artists who works above Ipanema and he shared some great stories about life over top of the restaurant.
Everything from water leaking down from their Christmas tree stand into the restaurant (not that I realized tattoo places put up Christmas trees) to the VCU cops lecturing them about setting off firecrackers which might scare old ladies into thinking they were gunshots (don't these cops have bigger things with which to concern themselves?).
What we had in common was our daily view of Grace Street, always a ripe setting for colorful characters and goings-on.
And now an excellent evening of live music is over and it's still an ungodly cold night.
I guess I'm still hoping for a late night way to make the best of this obscenely cold weather.
I'm thinking that warm thoughts alone won't do it.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
27 on Arriving at Bistro 27
No, the temperature did not determine my destination tonight, but damn it's cold out there. And they can call it 27, but with that fierce wind, it feels like 18. It's all relative, though, because my friend in North Dakota told me it was 30 below there, so maybe I should just quit my whining.
Bistro 27 had practically a full bar when I arrived, meaning my regular seat was taken, but I snagged a stool and settled in to wait for my friend to arrive. The couple occupying my place of honor were only there because their regular seats on the other side of the bar were occupied when they arrived. We decided that we may have to label these stools to prevent interlopers.
The restaurant had a a lot of groups of happy couples meeting for dinner tonight, so maybe it was a delayed New Year's celebration night for some. And as usual, I was greeted by a name other than my own upon arrival (this time, it was Kathy), continuing the 27 tradition of deliberately calling me anything but my real name.
I had the veal scallopini with asparagus, prosciutto and Swiss cheese in a demi-glace which came with mashed potatoes and sauteed greens; my friend did the Chicken Cordon Bleu. My dish were rich and filling and accompanied by a bottle and glass of a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
Surprisingly, the regulars next to us asked for a dessert recommendation so I suggested the chocolate mousse for a light finish. They'd had the hazelnut chocolate torte before, but were pretty full after the one-two punch of rock fish and veal. After my enthusiastic pitch for it, my friend felt the need for us to share one too. Okay, twist my arm and I'll get dessert with you.
Our after-dinner conversation centered around male friends who attempt to inappropriately cross the friendship line. It's happened to us both so we solicited the manager to defend his sex for such behavior. He stuttered and stumbled and ultimately couldn't.
Dreading the cold outside, we eventually bundled up and left the warmth for the 25 degree streets. How do girls in dresses and tights manage in North Dakota anyway?
Bistro 27 had practically a full bar when I arrived, meaning my regular seat was taken, but I snagged a stool and settled in to wait for my friend to arrive. The couple occupying my place of honor were only there because their regular seats on the other side of the bar were occupied when they arrived. We decided that we may have to label these stools to prevent interlopers.
The restaurant had a a lot of groups of happy couples meeting for dinner tonight, so maybe it was a delayed New Year's celebration night for some. And as usual, I was greeted by a name other than my own upon arrival (this time, it was Kathy), continuing the 27 tradition of deliberately calling me anything but my real name.
I had the veal scallopini with asparagus, prosciutto and Swiss cheese in a demi-glace which came with mashed potatoes and sauteed greens; my friend did the Chicken Cordon Bleu. My dish were rich and filling and accompanied by a bottle and glass of a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
Surprisingly, the regulars next to us asked for a dessert recommendation so I suggested the chocolate mousse for a light finish. They'd had the hazelnut chocolate torte before, but were pretty full after the one-two punch of rock fish and veal. After my enthusiastic pitch for it, my friend felt the need for us to share one too. Okay, twist my arm and I'll get dessert with you.
Our after-dinner conversation centered around male friends who attempt to inappropriately cross the friendship line. It's happened to us both so we solicited the manager to defend his sex for such behavior. He stuttered and stumbled and ultimately couldn't.
Dreading the cold outside, we eventually bundled up and left the warmth for the 25 degree streets. How do girls in dresses and tights manage in North Dakota anyway?
Resolved to Stay Skewed
I've never been the type to make New Year's resolutions; if something in my life needed addressing, why wait for a holiday to change it?
I attributed my attitude to general complacency but perhaps I'd just reached the age where I pretty much was what I was and trying to change would have been futile.
That is, until this year. Back last January, I got pneumonia and by that, I don't mean walking pneumonia or bacterial pneumonia, I mean weeks of of being sick before being put on a week of complete bed rest, followed by five days in the Intensive Care Unit.
I lost over a month of my life.
Not long before that, I had done a thorough cleaning on an old, unfinished closet in a mid-19th century house and inhaled something to which I'd had an asthmatic reaction which degenerated into pneumonia (the pulmonary specialist thought it most likely to have been bird or rodent droppings that caused it).
In any case, the result was me being sicker than I've ever been in my entire life.
What was interesting about the whole experience was that I came out of it Changed with a capital C.
I don't know if it was a physiological reaction or just the reminder of my mortality, but I wasn't the same person once I recovered.
Habits of a lifetime went away.
Things that I used to avoid became part of my regular routine.
Judgments about choices changed.
My openness to people was altered.
Even my physical self has morphed into something different than what it was before.
And people have noticed.
Comments have been made to me about the changes in everything from my punctuality to my drinking to my breasts.
Oh, yes, and the differences in my eating habits, my optimism and my lifestyle. And the list goes on.
So given all the alterations in who I am now, I think I will make a blanket resolution, not just for 2009, but for life.
Resolved: I've accepted who I've become even if it seldom resembles who I was for most of my life.
For better or for worse, it looks like Version 2.0 is what I'll be going with from here on out.
You got a problem with that?
I attributed my attitude to general complacency but perhaps I'd just reached the age where I pretty much was what I was and trying to change would have been futile.
That is, until this year. Back last January, I got pneumonia and by that, I don't mean walking pneumonia or bacterial pneumonia, I mean weeks of of being sick before being put on a week of complete bed rest, followed by five days in the Intensive Care Unit.
I lost over a month of my life.
Not long before that, I had done a thorough cleaning on an old, unfinished closet in a mid-19th century house and inhaled something to which I'd had an asthmatic reaction which degenerated into pneumonia (the pulmonary specialist thought it most likely to have been bird or rodent droppings that caused it).
In any case, the result was me being sicker than I've ever been in my entire life.
What was interesting about the whole experience was that I came out of it Changed with a capital C.
I don't know if it was a physiological reaction or just the reminder of my mortality, but I wasn't the same person once I recovered.
Habits of a lifetime went away.
Things that I used to avoid became part of my regular routine.
Judgments about choices changed.
My openness to people was altered.
Even my physical self has morphed into something different than what it was before.
And people have noticed.
Comments have been made to me about the changes in everything from my punctuality to my drinking to my breasts.
Oh, yes, and the differences in my eating habits, my optimism and my lifestyle. And the list goes on.
So given all the alterations in who I am now, I think I will make a blanket resolution, not just for 2009, but for life.
Resolved: I've accepted who I've become even if it seldom resembles who I was for most of my life.
For better or for worse, it looks like Version 2.0 is what I'll be going with from here on out.
You got a problem with that?
Friday, January 1, 2010
Open and Inviting at Tarrant's
All is quiet on New Year's Day, at least in the restaurant biz it seems. But it's Friday night and girls just want to have fun, so it was up to me to find someplace smart enough to be open. When I realized that my friend had not yet been to Tarrant's, it seemed like a golden opportunity to break her in and chat up my favorite friendly neighborhood bartender.
Of note for those of us who like to sit at the bar at Tarrant's is the change in the door orientation so it no longer opens onto the poor bar stool-sitting patrons. Even so, I chose stools near the end of the bar, the better to distance ourselves from what cold air did make it in and position ourselves to get maximum chat value from the barkeep.
We drank local with a bottle of the White Hall Viognier. a grape new to my friend but a favorite of mine. When the bartender asked her if she liked it, she responded, "I like wine." He laughed, saying he appreciated her directness.. I went with the grilled Mahi-Mahi sandwich with tartar sauce and house-made chips and she went the comfort food route with a bacon grilled cheese sandwich, mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. My sandwich was way large and hers was way thick so we both had a lot to eat.
Afterwards, we admired some of the old photographs of Tarrant's, a quaint reminder of its long-time presence in the neighborhood. We got a big kick out of a couple of old prescriptions written when it was still a drugstore back during the days of Prohibition; each was for a gallon of beer, to be taken a s directed. One Rx stated that the beer was for the treatment of diabetes. Riiiight. They're framed and hung, so history nerds like me can admire them.
Our gracious bartender presented us with the enormous brownie a la mode and shortly afterwards one of the waitresses insisted we taste the bread pudding a la mode. Delicious, both of them. We did what we could, but by this point we'd been there for three hours and were close to rolling off our stools, so we had to say when.
Our big topic of the evening was karma and the wait for what comes around to go around; it was the ideal conversation to have over a New Year's Day meal. One of the pleasures of Tarrant's has always been their daily schedule and tonight we appreciated how good of them it was to be open so we could begin 2010 within their cozy confines.
Of note for those of us who like to sit at the bar at Tarrant's is the change in the door orientation so it no longer opens onto the poor bar stool-sitting patrons. Even so, I chose stools near the end of the bar, the better to distance ourselves from what cold air did make it in and position ourselves to get maximum chat value from the barkeep.
We drank local with a bottle of the White Hall Viognier. a grape new to my friend but a favorite of mine. When the bartender asked her if she liked it, she responded, "I like wine." He laughed, saying he appreciated her directness.. I went with the grilled Mahi-Mahi sandwich with tartar sauce and house-made chips and she went the comfort food route with a bacon grilled cheese sandwich, mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. My sandwich was way large and hers was way thick so we both had a lot to eat.
Afterwards, we admired some of the old photographs of Tarrant's, a quaint reminder of its long-time presence in the neighborhood. We got a big kick out of a couple of old prescriptions written when it was still a drugstore back during the days of Prohibition; each was for a gallon of beer, to be taken a s directed. One Rx stated that the beer was for the treatment of diabetes. Riiiight. They're framed and hung, so history nerds like me can admire them.
Our gracious bartender presented us with the enormous brownie a la mode and shortly afterwards one of the waitresses insisted we taste the bread pudding a la mode. Delicious, both of them. We did what we could, but by this point we'd been there for three hours and were close to rolling off our stools, so we had to say when.
Our big topic of the evening was karma and the wait for what comes around to go around; it was the ideal conversation to have over a New Year's Day meal. One of the pleasures of Tarrant's has always been their daily schedule and tonight we appreciated how good of them it was to be open so we could begin 2010 within their cozy confines.
Ringing in the New Year at Ipanema
I was hoping that last night's blue moon would signal an auspicious start to 2010 after my disastrous 2009, but first I had to find something to do for the changeover.
Since I haven't been in town for NYE since 2004, I was at a loss.
Fortunately for me, Kendra at Ipanema decided to close the restaurant and throw a Shanghai Surprise themed evening and I was invited to join the hijinks.
I spent the late afternoon helping to transform the restaurant into an Asian den of inequity, draping gauzy fabric around the booths to create intimate alcoves, hanging Chinese lanterns from the already precariously low ceiling and covering the walls in intricate paper cut-outs.
The front area was cleared for the dancing masses and everything was set.
When I arrived back around 9ish, guests were already gathering.
Cam from Denali was DJing and dim sum covered the back tables. It was to be a great party with plenty of good people to talk to.
Hugel was there with his Christmas camera and we talked extensively about the year in music;
Andrew of Makeout Creek and the former occupant of my apartment compared notes with me on the J-Ward life and I had some great music and blogging talk with Nicole, the Food Punk blogger from NYC.
One of the best parts of the party was seeing such a dressed up crowd at Ipanema, definitely not the usual RVA attire.
I was totally impressed by how wonderful some of the guys looked in their tuxes and cutaways.
It's not often you see the local men looking so fine. Well done, gentlemen.
When the clock struck midnight, DJ Cambot launched into "Thriller" and the dancing began as soon as the champagne was swallowed; 2010 got an enthusiastic welcome from us all.
By the time I left, you could still hear the occasional celebratory gunshot in the distance but the moon was pretty much obscured by the clouds.
But once in a blue moon, you get what you really want, so I started 2010 with high hopes for happiness.
Let the year unfold.
Since I haven't been in town for NYE since 2004, I was at a loss.
Fortunately for me, Kendra at Ipanema decided to close the restaurant and throw a Shanghai Surprise themed evening and I was invited to join the hijinks.
I spent the late afternoon helping to transform the restaurant into an Asian den of inequity, draping gauzy fabric around the booths to create intimate alcoves, hanging Chinese lanterns from the already precariously low ceiling and covering the walls in intricate paper cut-outs.
The front area was cleared for the dancing masses and everything was set.
When I arrived back around 9ish, guests were already gathering.
Cam from Denali was DJing and dim sum covered the back tables. It was to be a great party with plenty of good people to talk to.
Hugel was there with his Christmas camera and we talked extensively about the year in music;
Andrew of Makeout Creek and the former occupant of my apartment compared notes with me on the J-Ward life and I had some great music and blogging talk with Nicole, the Food Punk blogger from NYC.
One of the best parts of the party was seeing such a dressed up crowd at Ipanema, definitely not the usual RVA attire.
I was totally impressed by how wonderful some of the guys looked in their tuxes and cutaways.
It's not often you see the local men looking so fine. Well done, gentlemen.
When the clock struck midnight, DJ Cambot launched into "Thriller" and the dancing began as soon as the champagne was swallowed; 2010 got an enthusiastic welcome from us all.
By the time I left, you could still hear the occasional celebratory gunshot in the distance but the moon was pretty much obscured by the clouds.
But once in a blue moon, you get what you really want, so I started 2010 with high hopes for happiness.
Let the year unfold.
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