What kind of an idiot plans to go to D.C. for lunch on the day of the Marine Corps Marathon? That would be me, of course. But if I hadn't, I wouldn't have seen thousands of runners and walkers spanning the H.O.V. lanes and that was a sea of humanity to behold. I also wouldn't have heard the beautiful and protracted pealing of the National Cathedral's bells as I drove through Cleveland Park. And I wouldn't have seen my friend for the second time in a month, a rare treat for us.
But mainly I wouldn't have had the pleasure of a three-course lunch at 2 Amys (the Neapolitan pizzeria I've been eager to try for ages now) that delighted me and my pizza-loving friend from start to finish. We began with the Potato and Prosciutto Croquettes, creamy and salty inside and fried crunchy on the outside and I'll admit I ate more than he did.
We each ordered a pizza; his was the Margherita (tomato, mozzarella di bufala, basil) with pepperoni and mine was the No Amys (white pizza) with mozzarella and pepperoni. Great pizza starts with great dough and this was just excellent, thin and crisp with thicker edges and a wonderful flavor. The pepperoni was sliced to varying thicknesses and each piece curled up in the extreme heat of the oven to form a perfect little cup glazed with the meat's oil; that's how pepperoni should be, if you ask me.
Neither of us was able to finish more than half of our pizzas (that's what boxes are for), but that didn't prevent us from ordering one of the doughnuts (and holes) of the day; they're only made on Saturdays and Sundays and today's flavor was cinnamon and brown sugar. Good god, it was delicious...if you like fresh made doughnuts, that is. They keep them on a tray on the hostess table right up front (with a sign saying to keep your mitts off) as you come in just to tempt people like us. Well done.
The marathon made it challenging getting in and out of Washington today, but it was worth every detour and inconvenience for the Neapolitan pleasure of 2 Amys. Plus I've got a box with the other half of my pizza sitting in the frig, ready to be enjoyed at any time to revive the memories of that great lunch with the friend who always makes me laugh.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Marionette at Poe's Pub
Local band Marionette's sound is unlike any other band's in Richmond.
By way of example, I know of no other band for whom I'd attend an 11:30 show at Poe's Pub, which is exactly what I did tonight.
The reasons for this passion are myriad; they include the sheer amount of talent represented in these five musicians, the always-interesting videos projected behind the band for added visual stimulation, the multi-layered sound that defies categorization and the wide array of unusual instruments used by the band to achieve that sound.
It all adds up to something pretty amazing.
Tonight's set featured songs from the last EP as well as new material from the upcoming release.
I got a copy of that CD last month while lunching with guitarist Adam at Black Sheep and it's stellar...organic and a definite indication of how the band has grown.
The CD release show is expected to be next month and I can't suggest strongly enough that those new to the band check them out.
You'll walk away a Marionette convert, I would be willing to bet.
As a bonus, I met up with my friend Andrew (I made a convert out of him years ago) out with a charming friend, so I had terrific company.
The only downside of tonight's show?
It was at Poe's, so I reek of cigarette smoke.
And while I can't even imagine a Poe's Pub without the smoke haze, I'll admit I'm counting the days until December first when that becomes a reality.
In the meantime, I have the Marionette CD to keep me occupied musically.
I probably won't even notice the time flying by.
By way of example, I know of no other band for whom I'd attend an 11:30 show at Poe's Pub, which is exactly what I did tonight.
The reasons for this passion are myriad; they include the sheer amount of talent represented in these five musicians, the always-interesting videos projected behind the band for added visual stimulation, the multi-layered sound that defies categorization and the wide array of unusual instruments used by the band to achieve that sound.
It all adds up to something pretty amazing.
Tonight's set featured songs from the last EP as well as new material from the upcoming release.
I got a copy of that CD last month while lunching with guitarist Adam at Black Sheep and it's stellar...organic and a definite indication of how the band has grown.
The CD release show is expected to be next month and I can't suggest strongly enough that those new to the band check them out.
You'll walk away a Marionette convert, I would be willing to bet.
As a bonus, I met up with my friend Andrew (I made a convert out of him years ago) out with a charming friend, so I had terrific company.
The only downside of tonight's show?
It was at Poe's, so I reek of cigarette smoke.
And while I can't even imagine a Poe's Pub without the smoke haze, I'll admit I'm counting the days until December first when that becomes a reality.
In the meantime, I have the Marionette CD to keep me occupied musically.
I probably won't even notice the time flying by.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Chez Foushee 20th Anniversary Dinner Part Deux
I'd never been to Chez Foushee for anything but lunch; I know they do First Fridays dinners, but I always seem to have other plans.
When they announced their 20th anniversary dinner, a three-course meal for 1989 prices, it seemed like a golden opportunity to pay them a visit.
The dinner was scheduled for October 17th, but both seatings sold out immediately, so they extended it to tonight, hence the "Part Deux" reference.
I invited Beer Geek friend to join me, but he was going to be on the Left Coast, so I made a reservation for one.
Upon arrival, the host asked me my name, I responded and he greeted me like they'd been expecting me all evening.
It was very sweet.
I have to assume it was because I was their only reservation for one all evening.
I was led to a cozy table tucked in an alcove.
If I ever go here with a date, it's the table I would request (it reminded me of a table where I had an intimate meal in London several years ago).
The menu was very basic, but for $20 for three courses, who's going to complain?
They were offering several champagne cocktail specials, but I went with the Graham Beck Brut unadulterated, since it was an anniversary celebration.
The first course was non-negotiable: a mixed green salad with Roma tomatoes, organic carrots, herb-roasted croutons and pear vinaigrette.
Paired with a crusty roll and more butter than I needed, it was a fine start to the meal.
There were two entree choices: sliced seared fillet of beef with red wine reduction or jumbo lump crab cake with parsley Pernod sauce, both accompanied by roasted rosemary potatoes and buttered blanched asparagus.
I'd had red meat last night, so I chose crab tonight.
It was a good-sized crab cake, flavorful and perfectly cooked and the veggies complemented it well.
For dessert, there was lemon butter cake with Melba sauce, a timeless recipe Chez Foushee has been using for its entire 20-year existence and a classic, to be sure.
I've had it before at lunch and it is yummy, sort of like lemon chess pie.
It tastes very Richmond to me.
But tonight I went with the obvious, the chocolate truffle torte with Chantilly cream, which I couldn't even finish.
I did manage to finish the rest of the Brut somehow, though.
I have to give a mention to the music, both the selection and the volume, because it was so well done that it elevated the entire experience for me.
First of all, it was louder than I've encountered at any other Richmond restaurant.
Not you-can't-hear-your-dinner-partner loud, but more like you were dining in a 1940s movie and they had a band with a girl singer playing throughout the evening kind of a volume.
The music itself was of a continental nature; there was lots of Latin music, especially bossa nova and salsa, French love songs, selections from the classic American songbook and it all contributed to a sophisticated kind of a dining vibe that, to my knowledge, isn't available anywhere here.
I absolutely loved it.
Included with the check was a souvenir of the occasion, a Chez Foushee key chain, in tasteful black and gold.
As I went to leave, the host again spoke to me by name, inquiring after my meal satisfaction and thanking me sincerely for joining them.
Sure, he could have just been marvelling at a solo Saturday night diner, but whatever the reason, it was charming and made for a lovely ending to my meal...and a twenty-dollar meal at that.
Bubbles, of course, were extra.
When they announced their 20th anniversary dinner, a three-course meal for 1989 prices, it seemed like a golden opportunity to pay them a visit.
The dinner was scheduled for October 17th, but both seatings sold out immediately, so they extended it to tonight, hence the "Part Deux" reference.
I invited Beer Geek friend to join me, but he was going to be on the Left Coast, so I made a reservation for one.
Upon arrival, the host asked me my name, I responded and he greeted me like they'd been expecting me all evening.
It was very sweet.
I have to assume it was because I was their only reservation for one all evening.
I was led to a cozy table tucked in an alcove.
If I ever go here with a date, it's the table I would request (it reminded me of a table where I had an intimate meal in London several years ago).
The menu was very basic, but for $20 for three courses, who's going to complain?
They were offering several champagne cocktail specials, but I went with the Graham Beck Brut unadulterated, since it was an anniversary celebration.
The first course was non-negotiable: a mixed green salad with Roma tomatoes, organic carrots, herb-roasted croutons and pear vinaigrette.
Paired with a crusty roll and more butter than I needed, it was a fine start to the meal.
There were two entree choices: sliced seared fillet of beef with red wine reduction or jumbo lump crab cake with parsley Pernod sauce, both accompanied by roasted rosemary potatoes and buttered blanched asparagus.
I'd had red meat last night, so I chose crab tonight.
It was a good-sized crab cake, flavorful and perfectly cooked and the veggies complemented it well.
For dessert, there was lemon butter cake with Melba sauce, a timeless recipe Chez Foushee has been using for its entire 20-year existence and a classic, to be sure.
I've had it before at lunch and it is yummy, sort of like lemon chess pie.
It tastes very Richmond to me.
But tonight I went with the obvious, the chocolate truffle torte with Chantilly cream, which I couldn't even finish.
I did manage to finish the rest of the Brut somehow, though.
I have to give a mention to the music, both the selection and the volume, because it was so well done that it elevated the entire experience for me.
First of all, it was louder than I've encountered at any other Richmond restaurant.
Not you-can't-hear-your-dinner-partner loud, but more like you were dining in a 1940s movie and they had a band with a girl singer playing throughout the evening kind of a volume.
The music itself was of a continental nature; there was lots of Latin music, especially bossa nova and salsa, French love songs, selections from the classic American songbook and it all contributed to a sophisticated kind of a dining vibe that, to my knowledge, isn't available anywhere here.
I absolutely loved it.
Included with the check was a souvenir of the occasion, a Chez Foushee key chain, in tasteful black and gold.
As I went to leave, the host again spoke to me by name, inquiring after my meal satisfaction and thanking me sincerely for joining them.
Sure, he could have just been marvelling at a solo Saturday night diner, but whatever the reason, it was charming and made for a lovely ending to my meal...and a twenty-dollar meal at that.
Bubbles, of course, were extra.
We Hold These Truths to Be Self-Evident
I put on my history geek hat this afternoon.
It was to accompany Holmes to the Virginia Historical Society to see a rare copy of the Declaration of Independence that blew through Richmond from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. today only.
It's one of only 26 known original print copies, created from Thomas Jefferson's original draft on the night of July 4, 1776 by a printer named John Dunlap.
The printed copies were then sent out to the 13 colonies, King George of England, natch, and to General George Washington for reading to the troops.
This particular copy was found in a flea market in Philly back in 1989, purchased for four bucks and subsequently sold for a cool million.
That's when TV producer Norman Lear offered an even cooler $8.1 million and bought the copy we saw today.
Since then it has toured the country for Joe Average types like us to ogle.
It was actually pretty cool, imagining that broadside (large poster) as part of the fuel that ignited the new nation.
This is why I'm a history geek.
My first impression upon seeing it, based on my publishing background, was what a pain in the arse it must have been to set all that tiny type.
Holmes' first reaction, being the financial type that he is, was how badly screwed on taxes must have been the guy who paid a million for it and sold it for eight.
Lunch at Ariana's in the Devil's Triangle followed.
My choice was a big old Italian sub and Holmes got the Philly Steak Deluxe (perhaps in deference to the Declaration's printing locale).
Neither of us could finish these overly large subs on large scale plates, but we did our best.
My Italian was stacked almost too thick to bite with meats and cheeses and Holmes' PSD dripped ooey-goodness with every bite.
Our window table afforded us a great view of the changing weather; we saw scary black skies to the north, horizontal rain during a period of bright sunshine and wind bending trees in half.
We also commented on the incongruity of outside patio diners across the street and walkers in shorts only a week after it was coat weather.
We saw assorted Zombies on their way to Carytown for the Zombie walk.
But mainly we saw a copy of the Declaration of Independence printed on July 4, 1776.
An astute reminder that we're still seeking to reach that goal of "all men are created equal" in 2009.
It was to accompany Holmes to the Virginia Historical Society to see a rare copy of the Declaration of Independence that blew through Richmond from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. today only.
It's one of only 26 known original print copies, created from Thomas Jefferson's original draft on the night of July 4, 1776 by a printer named John Dunlap.
The printed copies were then sent out to the 13 colonies, King George of England, natch, and to General George Washington for reading to the troops.
This particular copy was found in a flea market in Philly back in 1989, purchased for four bucks and subsequently sold for a cool million.
That's when TV producer Norman Lear offered an even cooler $8.1 million and bought the copy we saw today.
Since then it has toured the country for Joe Average types like us to ogle.
It was actually pretty cool, imagining that broadside (large poster) as part of the fuel that ignited the new nation.
This is why I'm a history geek.
My first impression upon seeing it, based on my publishing background, was what a pain in the arse it must have been to set all that tiny type.
Holmes' first reaction, being the financial type that he is, was how badly screwed on taxes must have been the guy who paid a million for it and sold it for eight.
Lunch at Ariana's in the Devil's Triangle followed.
My choice was a big old Italian sub and Holmes got the Philly Steak Deluxe (perhaps in deference to the Declaration's printing locale).
Neither of us could finish these overly large subs on large scale plates, but we did our best.
My Italian was stacked almost too thick to bite with meats and cheeses and Holmes' PSD dripped ooey-goodness with every bite.
Our window table afforded us a great view of the changing weather; we saw scary black skies to the north, horizontal rain during a period of bright sunshine and wind bending trees in half.
We also commented on the incongruity of outside patio diners across the street and walkers in shorts only a week after it was coat weather.
We saw assorted Zombies on their way to Carytown for the Zombie walk.
But mainly we saw a copy of the Declaration of Independence printed on July 4, 1776.
An astute reminder that we're still seeking to reach that goal of "all men are created equal" in 2009.
To Trash or Not to Trash
Note to self: do not stay up until well after 1 when you've signed up to participate in Neighborhood Cleanup Day, which starts at 8 freakin' a.m.
But I made that choice, so I reported for duty, ready and willing, to assist in cleaning and beautifying the Ward.
I am greeted with biscuits and fruit and neighbors, including one who once occupied my apartment before the building was renovated.
They hand me an industrial-sized trash bag and a picker-upper tool.
Scanning the clipboard for available assignments, I am told that the goal is to assign workers clean-up tasks for areas around where they live.
Everything near me is taken so they choose a random street.
And here's the irony: it's the one and only street in Jackson Ward I don't want to go near.
It's the one where I lived for several happy years before being dumped.
It's the one where my ex still resides.
It's the one full of memories, both great and devastating.
It's the last place I want to clean up trash.
But what could I say to these nice people making the assignment?
"Oh, no, I really couldn't. You see, the man who broke my heart lives on that street."
I don't think that's done.
So I take my bag and tool and head up to Broad Street to start the death march down the street as far as Brook Road.
Candid admission: I couldn't do his side of the street on his block.
I cleaned up the other side, but just couldn't make the leap to pick up trash in front of that house.
I hope the J-Ward trash gods will understand.
I used the rest of the morning to clean alleys and behind trash cans on nearby blocks.
Several people commented that there was far less debris this clean-up than in the past, so maybe we're making progress in raising people's awareness of not trashing the neighborhood.
And while I may have slacked a bit on my assignment, I did fill my industrial-sized bag nearly to capacity, so I like to think I did my part to the best of my ability.
J-Ward looks especially glorious today. And I helped.
But I made that choice, so I reported for duty, ready and willing, to assist in cleaning and beautifying the Ward.
I am greeted with biscuits and fruit and neighbors, including one who once occupied my apartment before the building was renovated.
They hand me an industrial-sized trash bag and a picker-upper tool.
Scanning the clipboard for available assignments, I am told that the goal is to assign workers clean-up tasks for areas around where they live.
Everything near me is taken so they choose a random street.
And here's the irony: it's the one and only street in Jackson Ward I don't want to go near.
It's the one where I lived for several happy years before being dumped.
It's the one where my ex still resides.
It's the one full of memories, both great and devastating.
It's the last place I want to clean up trash.
But what could I say to these nice people making the assignment?
"Oh, no, I really couldn't. You see, the man who broke my heart lives on that street."
I don't think that's done.
So I take my bag and tool and head up to Broad Street to start the death march down the street as far as Brook Road.
Candid admission: I couldn't do his side of the street on his block.
I cleaned up the other side, but just couldn't make the leap to pick up trash in front of that house.
I hope the J-Ward trash gods will understand.
I used the rest of the morning to clean alleys and behind trash cans on nearby blocks.
Several people commented that there was far less debris this clean-up than in the past, so maybe we're making progress in raising people's awareness of not trashing the neighborhood.
And while I may have slacked a bit on my assignment, I did fill my industrial-sized bag nearly to capacity, so I like to think I did my part to the best of my ability.
J-Ward looks especially glorious today. And I helped.
Bouchon Delivers. 27 Finishes.
The weekend before Restaurant Hell Week is such a great time to go out; everyone is staying home in anticipation of next week's budget offerings. Not me and Holmes, though; we refuse to be part of the crowd that is laying low before amateur week begins. So when we made plans to rendezvous tonight, it was for the express purpose of introducing Holmes to a place new to him, namely Bouchon.
We began at my place with a bottle of the Cardinal Point Cabernet Franc Reserve 2006, the gold medal winner at this year's Virginia Governor's Cup and a worthy start to our evening. The music was chosen to please Holmes and his distinctive old-school taste, namely Graham Parker's "The Mona Lisa's Sister" and Shawn Colvin's "Cover Girl, " and they succeeded beautifully.
We proceeded to Bouchon to introduce Holmes to the new French spot in the Slip. We were greeted warmly by the owner upon arrival and settled into the best banquette in the place, with a view of everyone in the restaurant and, especially, the parade of street theater.When Holmes deferred to me, I chose the Cahors Clos de la Coutale 2007, a a malbec/merlot blend that continued the robust wine theme for the evening.
The meal began with the arugula, goat cheese rostido and extra virgin olive oil vinaigrette and was followed by the speck, creme fraiche and onion tart. It wasn't exactly a tart, more pizza-like, but damn close and the Parisian ham was to die for. Next up was a special of the evening, a beef daub with braised carrots and onions in a wine stock reduction with mac and cheese with truffle oil on top. Oh my god, what a wonderful combination of tastes this was! The meat and veggies were braised to perfection and the mac and cheese and truffle oil were the richest possible topping for this simple peasant dish. We ate and sopped and scraped and loved each bite and the wine accompanied us every step of the way.
Seeing as how there was still wine left, we felt obligated to order the chocolate marquise with meringue and candied orange peel to satisfy our sweet tooths. Fortuitously, the dessert concluded about the same time as the wine did, signaling that it was time to move on. We departed under a light mist of rain and headed back towards the Ward, where Holmes was parked and I live.
As it happened, Bistro 27 was still open as we cruised home, so we stopped in for a final brown drink and glass of wine whilst we chatted up the always-interesting staff. In other words, I got music recommendations from Dave, concert talk from Ken, Restaurant Hell menu week discussion with Carlos and banter and a hunk of dark, dark chocolate from Pedro. I'm not sure I could have asked for a more satisfying end to the evening, although once again, I seemed to find myself the last customer (albeit with Holmes) in the place. What's up with that?
We began at my place with a bottle of the Cardinal Point Cabernet Franc Reserve 2006, the gold medal winner at this year's Virginia Governor's Cup and a worthy start to our evening. The music was chosen to please Holmes and his distinctive old-school taste, namely Graham Parker's "The Mona Lisa's Sister" and Shawn Colvin's "Cover Girl, " and they succeeded beautifully.
We proceeded to Bouchon to introduce Holmes to the new French spot in the Slip. We were greeted warmly by the owner upon arrival and settled into the best banquette in the place, with a view of everyone in the restaurant and, especially, the parade of street theater.When Holmes deferred to me, I chose the Cahors Clos de la Coutale 2007, a a malbec/merlot blend that continued the robust wine theme for the evening.
The meal began with the arugula, goat cheese rostido and extra virgin olive oil vinaigrette and was followed by the speck, creme fraiche and onion tart. It wasn't exactly a tart, more pizza-like, but damn close and the Parisian ham was to die for. Next up was a special of the evening, a beef daub with braised carrots and onions in a wine stock reduction with mac and cheese with truffle oil on top. Oh my god, what a wonderful combination of tastes this was! The meat and veggies were braised to perfection and the mac and cheese and truffle oil were the richest possible topping for this simple peasant dish. We ate and sopped and scraped and loved each bite and the wine accompanied us every step of the way.
Seeing as how there was still wine left, we felt obligated to order the chocolate marquise with meringue and candied orange peel to satisfy our sweet tooths. Fortuitously, the dessert concluded about the same time as the wine did, signaling that it was time to move on. We departed under a light mist of rain and headed back towards the Ward, where Holmes was parked and I live.
As it happened, Bistro 27 was still open as we cruised home, so we stopped in for a final brown drink and glass of wine whilst we chatted up the always-interesting staff. In other words, I got music recommendations from Dave, concert talk from Ken, Restaurant Hell menu week discussion with Carlos and banter and a hunk of dark, dark chocolate from Pedro. I'm not sure I could have asked for a more satisfying end to the evening, although once again, I seemed to find myself the last customer (albeit with Holmes) in the place. What's up with that?
Friday, October 23, 2009
What is it About Shorts?
I've come to a conclusion: shorts embolden people, especially those of the male persuasion.
I haven't done a scientific study or anything like that, but I think I have enough anecdotal evidence to support my hypothesis.
When the weather turned abruptly cold last week, out of necessity I switched to yoga pants for my daily walk.
But the last couple of days, the pants seemed a bit much, so I decide to go with shorts today instead.
I was a tad cool at first, but once I got going, I knew they were the right choice.
I decided to walk east rather than west, so I brought along my DPU bill to pay on the way.
As I walked by Abner Clay Park, a musician friend whom I see all the time came riding by on his bike, so I said good morning to him.
He didn't even look up immediately; instead his eyes went from my feet, right up the thighs to my hips and then he looked at my face and greeted me by name.
It was classic male stuff.
As I approached City Hall, a man came toward me smiling, so I said good morning.
"You have beautiful legs. Just beautiful! Good morning," he said.
I thanked him, wondering if he makes a habit of complimenting strangers.
Inside the payment office, the clerk called out,"Next," and I approached his station.
Noticing my attire, he asked if I was out for a run or walk and I said I was on my daily walk.
"Well you don't get legs like that without doing something right every day."
He gave me a big smile and handed me my receipt.
So here's my conclusion: shorts rule.
It hasn't been all that long since the weather made shorts-wearing difficult, but if today's responses to a person like me in shorts are any indication, they're already sorely missed.
No further scientific investigation necessary.
I haven't done a scientific study or anything like that, but I think I have enough anecdotal evidence to support my hypothesis.
When the weather turned abruptly cold last week, out of necessity I switched to yoga pants for my daily walk.
But the last couple of days, the pants seemed a bit much, so I decide to go with shorts today instead.
I was a tad cool at first, but once I got going, I knew they were the right choice.
I decided to walk east rather than west, so I brought along my DPU bill to pay on the way.
As I walked by Abner Clay Park, a musician friend whom I see all the time came riding by on his bike, so I said good morning to him.
He didn't even look up immediately; instead his eyes went from my feet, right up the thighs to my hips and then he looked at my face and greeted me by name.
It was classic male stuff.
As I approached City Hall, a man came toward me smiling, so I said good morning.
"You have beautiful legs. Just beautiful! Good morning," he said.
I thanked him, wondering if he makes a habit of complimenting strangers.
Inside the payment office, the clerk called out,"Next," and I approached his station.
Noticing my attire, he asked if I was out for a run or walk and I said I was on my daily walk.
"Well you don't get legs like that without doing something right every day."
He gave me a big smile and handed me my receipt.
So here's my conclusion: shorts rule.
It hasn't been all that long since the weather made shorts-wearing difficult, but if today's responses to a person like me in shorts are any indication, they're already sorely missed.
No further scientific investigation necessary.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Music, Music Everywhere
"You won't hear a thing; you'll hear everything." I wish those were my words, but they belong to the Musicircus event creator, composer John Cage; the annual rva incarnation was held tonight at the Visual Arts Center. Last year's event was at the old Chop Suey Books and featured far fewer musicians; tonight's Musicircus had over 60 musicians, playing solo, in groups and in every combination in between and spread out over two floors, the entryway and the garden out back. A visitor couldn't walk more than a few steps without encountering more music. And that's exactly the point.
The beauty of the Musicircus is that you have to almost be on top of the performers to distinguish what they're playing. If you attempt to listen from a distance, you're bound to hear music from other sources; it can be disconcerting to be watching a banjo player and hearing Christmas carolers. Or watching a jazz trio and hearing the beats of a dj's mixes. Several musicians incorporated multi-media into their performances, providing additional visual stimulation. As the audience walks endlessly through the spaces, each was creating their own individual Musicircus experience, just as Cage intended.
Cage dictated that because the musicians are not paid, the event must be free to the public. How fortunate for Richmond that our own drum king Brian Jones has made this event an annual feast for the ears. I spoke with a half a dozen local musicians, both performers and attendees, tonight and every single one mentioned how lucky we are to have an annual Musicircus here. Don't I know it.
The beauty of the Musicircus is that you have to almost be on top of the performers to distinguish what they're playing. If you attempt to listen from a distance, you're bound to hear music from other sources; it can be disconcerting to be watching a banjo player and hearing Christmas carolers. Or watching a jazz trio and hearing the beats of a dj's mixes. Several musicians incorporated multi-media into their performances, providing additional visual stimulation. As the audience walks endlessly through the spaces, each was creating their own individual Musicircus experience, just as Cage intended.
Cage dictated that because the musicians are not paid, the event must be free to the public. How fortunate for Richmond that our own drum king Brian Jones has made this event an annual feast for the ears. I spoke with a half a dozen local musicians, both performers and attendees, tonight and every single one mentioned how lucky we are to have an annual Musicircus here. Don't I know it.
Shut the Wild Things Up
I decided to go see "Where the Wild Things Are," not because I was expecting anything great, but because so many people have seen it and wanted to talk about it, so I was curious enough to give it a shot.
I was wary from the start because of what Hollywood had done to "Shrek," a wonderfully dark book by William Steig, the prolific cartoonist for the New Yorker who turned to writing children's books late in life. I only needed to see a three-minute trailer for "Shrek" to know that the Hollywood treatment had stripped the true character of the book, so I opted out of seeing it.
For me, WTWTA, wasn't much better. To be fair, the wild things looked just like they did in the book, which was great. But they came across like characters in a bad sitcom, each vying to be the funniest or quirkiest or most endearing. And what run-on blabbers they were! In the book, they roared and gnashed their teeth, rolled their eyes and showed their claws; they did not whine or crack wise. I can't be the only one who tired of the wild things' personalities not shutting up.
But this movie was not made for me; it's obvious from the soundtrack who the target demographic is (and, make no mistake, I am a huge Karen O and Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs fan). But it was most definitely not made for fans of great children's books. Too bad Hollywood can't just let them be in print form where they shine brightest, as the authors intended.
I was wary from the start because of what Hollywood had done to "Shrek," a wonderfully dark book by William Steig, the prolific cartoonist for the New Yorker who turned to writing children's books late in life. I only needed to see a three-minute trailer for "Shrek" to know that the Hollywood treatment had stripped the true character of the book, so I opted out of seeing it.
For me, WTWTA, wasn't much better. To be fair, the wild things looked just like they did in the book, which was great. But they came across like characters in a bad sitcom, each vying to be the funniest or quirkiest or most endearing. And what run-on blabbers they were! In the book, they roared and gnashed their teeth, rolled their eyes and showed their claws; they did not whine or crack wise. I can't be the only one who tired of the wild things' personalities not shutting up.
But this movie was not made for me; it's obvious from the soundtrack who the target demographic is (and, make no mistake, I am a huge Karen O and Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs fan). But it was most definitely not made for fans of great children's books. Too bad Hollywood can't just let them be in print form where they shine brightest, as the authors intended.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Acacia and Whiskey Wednesday
I over-scheduled myself tonight, but it was completely inadvertent. I had a ticket for the Mellon lecture at VMFA (From Reason to Revolution), I was invited to a cocktail party, I had plans to meet a friend for the Acacia mini-wine dinner and while out walking the dog before all these events, the guys at the nearby group house had invited me to join them on their porch for Whiskey Wednesday (even the beagle was invited). How to decide what to do with so many options?
The first casualty was the Mellon lecture, despite the fact that it happens only once a year. I made it to the cocktail party at which I did my best to dazzle the guests, but had to leave after an hour and a quarter. As I was saying my goodbyes, one of the guys, Eric, asked if I was leaving to go to a hotter party. "Please. Do I look like the hotter party type? " I asked. "Actually, you do," the guy named Joe answered. Not certain, but I think he meant that as a compliment.
Nest up was Acacia Mid-town and I am so glad I made it there to meet up with my friend because Dale never disappoints. Our charming wine host, Carol Colby, guided us through an evening of sheer delights, imparting wine knowledge and shared stories; she mentioned some lovely personal goodies she'd heard about me from my past. We started with a pear, frisee, pecan and confit salmon with lingonberry vinaigrette paired with 2008 M. Chapoutier Cote-du-Rhone Belleruche Rose, a lovely combination. Perhaps most intriguingly, the label was also in Braille. Carol shared the story behind that unusual detail.
We followed that with braised beef ravioli and roasted pumpkin with blackberry port jus and the 2007 b Delas Freres Cotes-du-Ventoux; the combo was amazing. For the third course, my friend and I split the difference and each ordered a different offering. I got the Lamb Bourgongne, chestnuts, figs, roasted pearl onions and buttered house-made noodles paired with the 2006 Jean-Luc Colombo "Les Fees Brunes" Crozes Hermitage AOC. I could have died happy after this course, which tasted like fall on a plate with wine-to-die for as a pairing. She had the lite hickory smoked tuna, garlic, parsley risotto, Madeira sauce with the 2005 Jean-Luc Colombo Les Forots Cotes-du-Rhone. We switched plates and swooned accordingly.
Stuffed beyond belief, we nonetheless ordered dessert because my friend says that no one does desserts like Dale. Needing no convincing, I agreed to Chocolate Chicory Coffee cake with extra virgin olive oil ice cream. cocoa nibs and grated orange zest. She opted for french-press coffee, but I went with another glass of the Crozes Hermitage. Neither of us was disappointed with our choice.
By this time, we were again the final customers, so it was time to move on. As I walked the dog after arriving home, I checked the guys' porch for signs of Whiskey Wednesday, but I had apparently missed the fun. Fortunately, I had had plenty of my own in various other locations.
The first casualty was the Mellon lecture, despite the fact that it happens only once a year. I made it to the cocktail party at which I did my best to dazzle the guests, but had to leave after an hour and a quarter. As I was saying my goodbyes, one of the guys, Eric, asked if I was leaving to go to a hotter party. "Please. Do I look like the hotter party type? " I asked. "Actually, you do," the guy named Joe answered. Not certain, but I think he meant that as a compliment.
Nest up was Acacia Mid-town and I am so glad I made it there to meet up with my friend because Dale never disappoints. Our charming wine host, Carol Colby, guided us through an evening of sheer delights, imparting wine knowledge and shared stories; she mentioned some lovely personal goodies she'd heard about me from my past. We started with a pear, frisee, pecan and confit salmon with lingonberry vinaigrette paired with 2008 M. Chapoutier Cote-du-Rhone Belleruche Rose, a lovely combination. Perhaps most intriguingly, the label was also in Braille. Carol shared the story behind that unusual detail.
We followed that with braised beef ravioli and roasted pumpkin with blackberry port jus and the 2007 b Delas Freres Cotes-du-Ventoux; the combo was amazing. For the third course, my friend and I split the difference and each ordered a different offering. I got the Lamb Bourgongne, chestnuts, figs, roasted pearl onions and buttered house-made noodles paired with the 2006 Jean-Luc Colombo "Les Fees Brunes" Crozes Hermitage AOC. I could have died happy after this course, which tasted like fall on a plate with wine-to-die for as a pairing. She had the lite hickory smoked tuna, garlic, parsley risotto, Madeira sauce with the 2005 Jean-Luc Colombo Les Forots Cotes-du-Rhone. We switched plates and swooned accordingly.
Stuffed beyond belief, we nonetheless ordered dessert because my friend says that no one does desserts like Dale. Needing no convincing, I agreed to Chocolate Chicory Coffee cake with extra virgin olive oil ice cream. cocoa nibs and grated orange zest. She opted for french-press coffee, but I went with another glass of the Crozes Hermitage. Neither of us was disappointed with our choice.
By this time, we were again the final customers, so it was time to move on. As I walked the dog after arriving home, I checked the guys' porch for signs of Whiskey Wednesday, but I had apparently missed the fun. Fortunately, I had had plenty of my own in various other locations.
Welcome Back Lunch at Akida
Back in early January, I went to a going-away party for my friend Jameson, who was leaving with his girlfriend and a friend, planning on spending nine months traveling and wwoofing South America. Since I'd been laid off two weeks earlier, Jameson suggested I join the trip. I declined, citing a significant other and the expectation that I'd be employed again soon. Fast forward six weeks and the S.O. tells me he's "starting to dislike me" after six years; understandably, he was moving on. Fast forward nine months and I'm still looking for work. Clearly I should have gone.
Happily, Jameson was a superb e-correspondent so he wrote me all about their escapades working organic farms (including a Hare Krishna farm), opening a restaurant for locals who wanted "American" eats and all the fun they had discovering new cultures, customs and countries. I updated him on what was going on in rva and all the art, films and music shows he was missing; he wanted to know about everything in great detail, so I delivered.
Jameson finally got back last week and suggested lunch today at Akida, a favorite destination for him because he's a vegetarian. I'd never been, but I'd heard good things about the place from several sushi-loving friends. We both got lunch specials which come with miso soup, salad and rice for $9.95; his was tofu terriyaki and mine was the sashimi/sushi combo, six pieces of each. I had chosen to sit at the sushi bar so as to enjoy seeing my food being prepared while we started catching up. Everything was extremely fresh tasting and beautifully rolled. I can see why devotees of this place rave about it.
Afterwards, we strolled over to Scuffletown Park to bask in the afternoon sun and continue our conversation. Jameson is the creator of the Silent Music Revival, one of my absolute favorite free events in this town; he's also the drummer for Pedals on our Pirate Ships, so he wanted to talk about changes in the music, art and cultural scenes in his absence. There wasn't enough time to talk about everything we wanted to, but fortunately he's back for three months so we'll have more chances to talk up a storm in person again soon (instead of writing it out). Maybe this time he'll convince me to join the big adventure.
Happily, Jameson was a superb e-correspondent so he wrote me all about their escapades working organic farms (including a Hare Krishna farm), opening a restaurant for locals who wanted "American" eats and all the fun they had discovering new cultures, customs and countries. I updated him on what was going on in rva and all the art, films and music shows he was missing; he wanted to know about everything in great detail, so I delivered.
Jameson finally got back last week and suggested lunch today at Akida, a favorite destination for him because he's a vegetarian. I'd never been, but I'd heard good things about the place from several sushi-loving friends. We both got lunch specials which come with miso soup, salad and rice for $9.95; his was tofu terriyaki and mine was the sashimi/sushi combo, six pieces of each. I had chosen to sit at the sushi bar so as to enjoy seeing my food being prepared while we started catching up. Everything was extremely fresh tasting and beautifully rolled. I can see why devotees of this place rave about it.
Afterwards, we strolled over to Scuffletown Park to bask in the afternoon sun and continue our conversation. Jameson is the creator of the Silent Music Revival, one of my absolute favorite free events in this town; he's also the drummer for Pedals on our Pirate Ships, so he wanted to talk about changes in the music, art and cultural scenes in his absence. There wasn't enough time to talk about everything we wanted to, but fortunately he's back for three months so we'll have more chances to talk up a storm in person again soon (instead of writing it out). Maybe this time he'll convince me to join the big adventure.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
At the Camel with Brian Jones
Tonight's performance at the Camel began around 9:45 and ended almost exactly two hours later. Drummer supreme Brian Jones and tenor saxophonist J.C. Kuhl led off their set with a fierce energy that didn't let up, except for Jones to occasionally wipe the sweat off his face. With only one other musician on stage, Jones had as much space to fill as he chose to and, of course he chose to fill it all. The man was practically a blur, using sticks, mallets, brushes, his hands and, on occasion, a moistened finger to elicit the varied sounds he sought. Highlights included "A Tiger, Some Grass and the Rain" and the delirious "Arnold Palmer," from the duo's last CD.
Jones and Kuhl were obviously overheated after that set and the door to the Camel was propped open and remained that way for the rest of the show, probably to prevent them from melting into puddles, given the energy they were putting forth.
After the break, the two were joined by trumpet player John D'Earth and bass player Russell Pharr for a mind-blowing set that showcased each in turn. The crowd favorite seemed to be "Sick Fuck" and it was an amazing piece of music, to be sure. Toward the end, Jones reminded the audience that tomorrow is Dizzy Gillespie's birthday and they played "Fine and Dandy," to much crowd appreciation and applause.
Leaving the place, a guy standing outside on the sidewalk wearing the most audacious hot pink sneakers, looked at me, gave me a thumbs up and said, "Now THAT was a goood show!"
"Yea it was," I had to agree wholeheartedly.
Jones and Kuhl were obviously overheated after that set and the door to the Camel was propped open and remained that way for the rest of the show, probably to prevent them from melting into puddles, given the energy they were putting forth.
After the break, the two were joined by trumpet player John D'Earth and bass player Russell Pharr for a mind-blowing set that showcased each in turn. The crowd favorite seemed to be "Sick Fuck" and it was an amazing piece of music, to be sure. Toward the end, Jones reminded the audience that tomorrow is Dizzy Gillespie's birthday and they played "Fine and Dandy," to much crowd appreciation and applause.
Leaving the place, a guy standing outside on the sidewalk wearing the most audacious hot pink sneakers, looked at me, gave me a thumbs up and said, "Now THAT was a goood show!"
"Yea it was," I had to agree wholeheartedly.
And I Don't Even Drink Coffee
When I started college, everyone predicted I'd never make it through without drinking coffee. I did. When I started working retail, I was assured I'd take up the coffee habit. I didn't. When I got a job in radio, the station manager was certain the pressure would require coffee. It didn't. I love the smell of the beans, the grounds and coffee brewing, but to this day, can't stomach the taste.
Growing up, my parents drank black coffee daily. In fact, they judged the boys my sisters and I brought home by what they put in their coffee. They'd never admit it, but you could see them raising an eyebrow at a guy who put cream or sugar in his coffee; better to eschew coffee completely than to desecrate it. So I've spent a lifetime not drinking coffee, ergo I'm not often in coffee shops.
Yet today, I was midway through my morning walk when I decided to drop into Garnett's to visit the charming Curt during the coffee shift and admire the morning baked goods. Curt was sipping strongly caffeinated Ethiopian coffee; I drank water. I intended to stay for 15 minutes and left over an hour later, making it officially the longest I've ever spent in a coffee shop, but the conversation was especially good.
Late morning and I get a call from a musician friend working on an event press release; he needs help with wording and editing and suggests I join him at Globehopper for some coffee and to assist him. I've been in Globehopper before (it's my friend Nicholas' favorite coffee shop) so I head down there to smell the coffee goodness and play writer/editor. When he discovers my distaste for coffee, he suggests hot tea, but I don't go that route, either.
Mid-afternoon and I'm walking the dog down Broad Street and the unexpected warmth of the day has filled the outside tables at Lift. I see friends there, stop to chat and spot someone else I know inside, so I duly walk into my third coffee shop of the day, this time with the beagle. It's got a good crowd and it's not even coffee happy hour until 3:00.
I know I'm an amateur, but are there always so many people in coffee shops all day long? Apparently so, just not usually non-coffee types like me.
Growing up, my parents drank black coffee daily. In fact, they judged the boys my sisters and I brought home by what they put in their coffee. They'd never admit it, but you could see them raising an eyebrow at a guy who put cream or sugar in his coffee; better to eschew coffee completely than to desecrate it. So I've spent a lifetime not drinking coffee, ergo I'm not often in coffee shops.
Yet today, I was midway through my morning walk when I decided to drop into Garnett's to visit the charming Curt during the coffee shift and admire the morning baked goods. Curt was sipping strongly caffeinated Ethiopian coffee; I drank water. I intended to stay for 15 minutes and left over an hour later, making it officially the longest I've ever spent in a coffee shop, but the conversation was especially good.
Late morning and I get a call from a musician friend working on an event press release; he needs help with wording and editing and suggests I join him at Globehopper for some coffee and to assist him. I've been in Globehopper before (it's my friend Nicholas' favorite coffee shop) so I head down there to smell the coffee goodness and play writer/editor. When he discovers my distaste for coffee, he suggests hot tea, but I don't go that route, either.
Mid-afternoon and I'm walking the dog down Broad Street and the unexpected warmth of the day has filled the outside tables at Lift. I see friends there, stop to chat and spot someone else I know inside, so I duly walk into my third coffee shop of the day, this time with the beagle. It's got a good crowd and it's not even coffee happy hour until 3:00.
I know I'm an amateur, but are there always so many people in coffee shops all day long? Apparently so, just not usually non-coffee types like me.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Amici: Happy 18th!
A restaurant that's been around for almost two decades is doing a lot of things right, so a good friend and I decided to celebrate Amici's unusually long-lived success tonight. The restaurant is celebrating 18 years with a special 3-course menu and 25% off all bottles of wine, so they're definitely making it worth the customers' while to come in before the 26th when Restaurant Hell Week begins.
We chose to celebrate such a momentous anniversary with a bottle of Franciacorta Bellavista Cuvee Brut and, oh, what lovely bubbles these were. We began with Calimari e Zucchini Fritte, the perfect accompaniment, and moved on to salads: mine was spinach with mushrooms and pancetta and hers was arugula, pear and asiago. The bubbles kept pace. I chose ravioli with spinach and ricotta filling and she chose the special, penne with Gorgonzola and walnuts (and, yes, several of the pastas offered had protein: salmon, shrimp, meat sauce). Did we come anywhere close to finishing these pastas? No, but someone will have a lovely leftover lunch tomorrow. I finished with chocolate mousse, more because I wanted it in theory than because I had any room for it.
It was the first time for both of us at Amici since the extensive renovation and the new space is a huge improvement, handsome and sleek. We had a prime patio table in the corner facing Cary Street, despite a full room when I arrived. The advantage of a later dining schedule is the ability to get a choice table once the first round of diners turns over. Service was excellent and unhurried; good thing, too, because we had lots to discuss: 40 oz. drinkers, the books we're reading and. of course, blogs, specifically the kind absent in rva.
Amici provided an exceptional dining experience for us tonight; my only complaint would be that closing time came too soon. We ended up being the last customers of the night (seems to be happening to me a lot lately) and finally felt obligated to move on so the staff could leave. As it was, they had packed up the outdoor pumpkins and gourds, rolled in the sign and gathered at the bar to await our departure.
But at 18, they're old enough to understand the reasons for our lingering.
We chose to celebrate such a momentous anniversary with a bottle of Franciacorta Bellavista Cuvee Brut and, oh, what lovely bubbles these were. We began with Calimari e Zucchini Fritte, the perfect accompaniment, and moved on to salads: mine was spinach with mushrooms and pancetta and hers was arugula, pear and asiago. The bubbles kept pace. I chose ravioli with spinach and ricotta filling and she chose the special, penne with Gorgonzola and walnuts (and, yes, several of the pastas offered had protein: salmon, shrimp, meat sauce). Did we come anywhere close to finishing these pastas? No, but someone will have a lovely leftover lunch tomorrow. I finished with chocolate mousse, more because I wanted it in theory than because I had any room for it.
It was the first time for both of us at Amici since the extensive renovation and the new space is a huge improvement, handsome and sleek. We had a prime patio table in the corner facing Cary Street, despite a full room when I arrived. The advantage of a later dining schedule is the ability to get a choice table once the first round of diners turns over. Service was excellent and unhurried; good thing, too, because we had lots to discuss: 40 oz. drinkers, the books we're reading and. of course, blogs, specifically the kind absent in rva.
Amici provided an exceptional dining experience for us tonight; my only complaint would be that closing time came too soon. We ended up being the last customers of the night (seems to be happening to me a lot lately) and finally felt obligated to move on so the staff could leave. As it was, they had packed up the outdoor pumpkins and gourds, rolled in the sign and gathered at the bar to await our departure.
But at 18, they're old enough to understand the reasons for our lingering.
Comfort. Compliment. Cop.
The great thing about having friends in the restaurant business is that they're free during the day, much as I am. One such friend, also a Jackson Ward resident, had suggested having lunch together today and left the destination up to me, so I chose Comfort. I don't frequent Comfort much, mainly because the menu never changes and I like a little more variety than that. But this was lunch, I hadn't tried it and I was curious.
So friend met me here and we enjoyed a short but sunny five block walk; I was really enjoying the warmth of the day, but friend was suffering a bit due to the brightness...or perhaps the lateness of the prior evening. The restaurant wasn't too crowded, maybe 5 or 6 tables occupied, and after first being seated in the direct sun, were moved to a less painful table near the front.
I ordered the roasted turkey with Muenster cheese, apple slices and roasted apple mustard on a kaiser roll, with mashed potatoes for a side. If I'm getting real turkey, I want mashed potatoes nearby. Friend got the spicy ham sandwich with olive relish and macaroni and cheese for a side. Thus began the wait for our food. Tables arrived after us and got their meals and still we waited. I finally asked the waitress where our food was, much to the dismay of restaurant friend who said she'd only lie to me about its whereabouts.
After a while (okay, it had been close to 40 minutes since we'd ordered) our sandwiches arrived and friend dove right into his mac and cheese, even complimenting how good it was. My sandwich was thick with turkey and perfectly delicious (as were the mashed potatoes I demolished). Friend thought the olive relish was competing with the spicy ham on his, but since it was exactly as stated on the menu, he couldn't complain too much.
Leaving the restaurant, he headed east (to nap) and I went west. I got two blocks down when a man came up beside me and smiled.
Him: Can I say thank you? It's so nice to see a woman in a dress and stockings for a change. Doesn't happen much anymore.
Me: (not pointing out that it's actually a jean skirt and leggings) I know what you mean and I've heard it before. I'm just a dress person.
Him: Good for you for looking so nice. Have a great day.
Even the cop sitting in his van at the curb gave me a big smile when he heard that.
So friend met me here and we enjoyed a short but sunny five block walk; I was really enjoying the warmth of the day, but friend was suffering a bit due to the brightness...or perhaps the lateness of the prior evening. The restaurant wasn't too crowded, maybe 5 or 6 tables occupied, and after first being seated in the direct sun, were moved to a less painful table near the front.
I ordered the roasted turkey with Muenster cheese, apple slices and roasted apple mustard on a kaiser roll, with mashed potatoes for a side. If I'm getting real turkey, I want mashed potatoes nearby. Friend got the spicy ham sandwich with olive relish and macaroni and cheese for a side. Thus began the wait for our food. Tables arrived after us and got their meals and still we waited. I finally asked the waitress where our food was, much to the dismay of restaurant friend who said she'd only lie to me about its whereabouts.
After a while (okay, it had been close to 40 minutes since we'd ordered) our sandwiches arrived and friend dove right into his mac and cheese, even complimenting how good it was. My sandwich was thick with turkey and perfectly delicious (as were the mashed potatoes I demolished). Friend thought the olive relish was competing with the spicy ham on his, but since it was exactly as stated on the menu, he couldn't complain too much.
Leaving the restaurant, he headed east (to nap) and I went west. I got two blocks down when a man came up beside me and smiled.
Him: Can I say thank you? It's so nice to see a woman in a dress and stockings for a change. Doesn't happen much anymore.
Me: (not pointing out that it's actually a jean skirt and leggings) I know what you mean and I've heard it before. I'm just a dress person.
Him: Good for you for looking so nice. Have a great day.
Even the cop sitting in his van at the curb gave me a big smile when he heard that.
"Wish You Were Here"
That's all the postcard says on the back, besides my name and address, of course.
The front of the postcard is a Picasso drawing of a nude woman lying belly-down on a bed, face turned toward the viewer; a man sits on the edge of the bed, one hand on her curvy bottom. Three flowers in a vase fill the lower right corner.
Only the woman's skin and the flowers contain any color, the rest is pure line, as Picasso did so well. The postmark is Barcelona, naturally.
Whilst unemployed, my love for travel has had to be curtailed considerably (but not completely).
Fortunately, good friends remember me on their travels with postcards, so, at present, there are five recently received postcards from hither and yon adorning my kitchen, all with that lovely sentiment, "Wish you were here" scrawled on them in various hands.
Wish I was there, too.
The front of the postcard is a Picasso drawing of a nude woman lying belly-down on a bed, face turned toward the viewer; a man sits on the edge of the bed, one hand on her curvy bottom. Three flowers in a vase fill the lower right corner.
Only the woman's skin and the flowers contain any color, the rest is pure line, as Picasso did so well. The postmark is Barcelona, naturally.
Whilst unemployed, my love for travel has had to be curtailed considerably (but not completely).
Fortunately, good friends remember me on their travels with postcards, so, at present, there are five recently received postcards from hither and yon adorning my kitchen, all with that lovely sentiment, "Wish you were here" scrawled on them in various hands.
Wish I was there, too.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Tarrant's Does It Again
May I just state for the record that I am not enjoying this weather? I'm fine with gray and overcast, but cold and windy two weeks before Halloween just won't cut it. I spent the day reading the Post and baking cupcakes from scratch, just for the pleasure of having the oven on, I think...not that I expect it'll be tough to find willing recipients to hand them off to.
My friend Holly and I had plans to meet up tonight after her wine tasting event, so we decided on Tarrant's. She's fond of saying that she's loved everything she's ever had there and I'd promised my bartender friend just last weekend that I'd be in to visit soon. We went the sandwich route: I had the BLT with avocado wrap and she had the Tarragon chicken salad; we were both smart enough to get the home-made chips for our side. Man, there's nothing like potato chips fresh out of the fryer, still warm and covered in salt. I ate my as-is, but Holly went all out with a side of ranch dressing for dip. Oh, and my sandwich and hers were very good, continuing our streak of Tarrant's as a place we return to for the quality of the food.
The bartender has personal knowledge of my fondness for dessert and made a suggestion of one of tonight's specials: chocolate cannoli. I'm not usually a big cannoli person, but I don't often get offered a chocolate version, either. Holly agreed to share it with me, which is really saying something, since in all the times we've eaten together, she's never once had dessert. The filling of mascarpone and ricotta surrounded by that dark chocolate pastry was so rich I can honestly say I could never have done justice to this dessert all by myself. Luckily, Holly did her part and we even gave a bite to the bartender for his enthusiastic contributions to our conversation.
Gradually, the staff began to leave and we realized it was just us keeping the place open, and the door had been locked some time ago, so we said our good nights and walked out into the swirling dust of the Broad Street repaving project, replete and having had another excellent evening at Tarrant's. They know we'll be back.
My friend Holly and I had plans to meet up tonight after her wine tasting event, so we decided on Tarrant's. She's fond of saying that she's loved everything she's ever had there and I'd promised my bartender friend just last weekend that I'd be in to visit soon. We went the sandwich route: I had the BLT with avocado wrap and she had the Tarragon chicken salad; we were both smart enough to get the home-made chips for our side. Man, there's nothing like potato chips fresh out of the fryer, still warm and covered in salt. I ate my as-is, but Holly went all out with a side of ranch dressing for dip. Oh, and my sandwich and hers were very good, continuing our streak of Tarrant's as a place we return to for the quality of the food.
The bartender has personal knowledge of my fondness for dessert and made a suggestion of one of tonight's specials: chocolate cannoli. I'm not usually a big cannoli person, but I don't often get offered a chocolate version, either. Holly agreed to share it with me, which is really saying something, since in all the times we've eaten together, she's never once had dessert. The filling of mascarpone and ricotta surrounded by that dark chocolate pastry was so rich I can honestly say I could never have done justice to this dessert all by myself. Luckily, Holly did her part and we even gave a bite to the bartender for his enthusiastic contributions to our conversation.
Gradually, the staff began to leave and we realized it was just us keeping the place open, and the door had been locked some time ago, so we said our good nights and walked out into the swirling dust of the Broad Street repaving project, replete and having had another excellent evening at Tarrant's. They know we'll be back.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Soup and Sound for the Soul
After last night's excellent adventure, I wanted to keep it close to home tonight, so I opted for neighborhood dining and music for my evening's entertainment. After all, a person's got to do something interesting on a Saturday night.
I went to the Belvidere, knowing it would likely be crowded still so soon after being reviewed and it was. The lovely surprise of it was how many familiar faces were there, including my next door neighbor ( yes, him, but we're politely friendly now: http://icouldgoonandon.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-it-was-awkward.html ) and his date right up front. Luckily, my stool was free and only one away from Dodie, DJ extraordinaire and my favorite Ipanema bartender. His friend Aaron eventually joined him and we talked "Where the Wild Things Are" and Tom DeLonge, among other interesting tid-bits. The Gallery 5 crew, Bizhan, Amanda and baby Azadeh (fresh off having their picture in the New York Times travel section) spotted me and I joined them for some conversation and baby holding/feeding (new parents really appreciate such). And at the end of the bar was man-about-town Mr. Mader, he of the Richmond Ballet. All in all, an excellent cross-section of interesting rva types and plenty of great conversation for me.
The cold, damp weather made it a perfect night for soup and since I'd yet to try any of theirs, I decided to go for it after hearing that the day's feature was Roasted Red Pepper with Crab. Wise choice because what I got was a most generous serving of crab meat with enough roasted red pepper liquid around it to call it soup. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every single bite was chock-full of crab meat. This taste delight is not always on the menu, so if you see it, I'd strongly suggest ordering it...and then savoring it for as long as you can. I recommended it to a nearby bar sitter , but he and his date had just eaten at a wedding reception, so they weren't hungry. I must have been convincing, though, because they got some to go.
The CD release show for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird was at the Camel, so I snagged a seat in the front row of the rapidly filling room and settled in to enjoy their superb folk Americana song-making. I've probably seen them at least six or seven times by now and they always deliver an outstanding multi-instrument show. There were opening sets from Josh and then Chris (of Speckled Bird), previewing some of their songs to be included on the upcoming full-length CD. That was followed by a couple of songs from the last EP and then a performance of the new EP, "The Fire Next Time," in its entirety. They tried to end it there, but the enthusiastic crowd insisted on an encore. And while Jonathan said they were relieved it was over, I'm not so sure the audience was.
The New York Times travel article on Richmond included both Gallery 5 and the Camel as must-dos. And with good reason; they are quintessential examples of why this town is such a great place to live and play.
I went to the Belvidere, knowing it would likely be crowded still so soon after being reviewed and it was. The lovely surprise of it was how many familiar faces were there, including my next door neighbor ( yes, him, but we're politely friendly now: http://icouldgoonandon.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-it-was-awkward.html ) and his date right up front. Luckily, my stool was free and only one away from Dodie, DJ extraordinaire and my favorite Ipanema bartender. His friend Aaron eventually joined him and we talked "Where the Wild Things Are" and Tom DeLonge, among other interesting tid-bits. The Gallery 5 crew, Bizhan, Amanda and baby Azadeh (fresh off having their picture in the New York Times travel section) spotted me and I joined them for some conversation and baby holding/feeding (new parents really appreciate such). And at the end of the bar was man-about-town Mr. Mader, he of the Richmond Ballet. All in all, an excellent cross-section of interesting rva types and plenty of great conversation for me.
The cold, damp weather made it a perfect night for soup and since I'd yet to try any of theirs, I decided to go for it after hearing that the day's feature was Roasted Red Pepper with Crab. Wise choice because what I got was a most generous serving of crab meat with enough roasted red pepper liquid around it to call it soup. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every single bite was chock-full of crab meat. This taste delight is not always on the menu, so if you see it, I'd strongly suggest ordering it...and then savoring it for as long as you can. I recommended it to a nearby bar sitter , but he and his date had just eaten at a wedding reception, so they weren't hungry. I must have been convincing, though, because they got some to go.
The CD release show for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird was at the Camel, so I snagged a seat in the front row of the rapidly filling room and settled in to enjoy their superb folk Americana song-making. I've probably seen them at least six or seven times by now and they always deliver an outstanding multi-instrument show. There were opening sets from Josh and then Chris (of Speckled Bird), previewing some of their songs to be included on the upcoming full-length CD. That was followed by a couple of songs from the last EP and then a performance of the new EP, "The Fire Next Time," in its entirety. They tried to end it there, but the enthusiastic crowd insisted on an encore. And while Jonathan said they were relieved it was over, I'm not so sure the audience was.
The New York Times travel article on Richmond included both Gallery 5 and the Camel as must-dos. And with good reason; they are quintessential examples of why this town is such a great place to live and play.
Snap Out of It!
When I became suddenly single eight months ago, a female friend and local legend kindly took it upon herself to tell me exactly what I was now up against. "Dating sucks," she warned me. "It's awful out there. I've given up." I didn't doubt she was right because she'd been back on the market for a while at that point and knew the score and I didn't, having been absent from it for 6+ years.
Of course, while she was not trying, a great guy found her and she's now happily, if a tad warily, dating him, appreciating how much he appreciates her and enjoying it all. I am thrilled for her because she deserves it and because it gives me hope that I'll have a similar experience eventually. I'm the serial monogamist type, so not much for whole the dating scene.
I started thinking about all this because I went to see "Moonstruck" at the Bowtie today, a movie I hadn't seen since it opened in theaters in 1987. The plot about a woman close to settling for a man she didn't love instead of waiting for the right one was full of romantic hopefulness, for which I'm a sucker these days. But it was a speech by the Nicolas Cage character that really (moon) struck me:
"Love don't make things nice. It ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess...We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and to love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and get in my bed."
I'm not sure whether playwright John Patrick Shanley intended those words to encourage or discourage those still seeking true love. I can see taking them either way, but, for now, I'm going to allow myself to feel like anything is possible and I'm most likely to get lucky when I give up completely. My friend is proof of that.
Of course, while she was not trying, a great guy found her and she's now happily, if a tad warily, dating him, appreciating how much he appreciates her and enjoying it all. I am thrilled for her because she deserves it and because it gives me hope that I'll have a similar experience eventually. I'm the serial monogamist type, so not much for whole the dating scene.
I started thinking about all this because I went to see "Moonstruck" at the Bowtie today, a movie I hadn't seen since it opened in theaters in 1987. The plot about a woman close to settling for a man she didn't love instead of waiting for the right one was full of romantic hopefulness, for which I'm a sucker these days. But it was a speech by the Nicolas Cage character that really (moon) struck me:
"Love don't make things nice. It ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess...We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and to love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and get in my bed."
I'm not sure whether playwright John Patrick Shanley intended those words to encourage or discourage those still seeking true love. I can see taking them either way, but, for now, I'm going to allow myself to feel like anything is possible and I'm most likely to get lucky when I give up completely. My friend is proof of that.
Lust! for the Raveonettes & Ben's Chili Bowl
Anyone who knows my musical taste knows I'm especially fond of a certain sound, "music from a cave," as we affectionately refer to it. And a perfect example of that sound is the Raveonettes, so tonight Andrew and I headed to D.C. through the pea soup and drizzle to catch their show at the 9:30 Club.
Our first stop was Ben's Chili Bowl for eats (R.I.P. founder Ben Ali; two enormous funeral wreaths still stand outside the restaurant). I got the chili half-smoke (being a native and aware of its origins) and Andrew got the chili cheeseburger; we shared a giant order of perfectly cooked fries. Chili and onions dripped off my half-smoke with every bite, but that's what the plastic fork is for, after all. Overheard at the table nearest us, "I've never actually been here sober before." Given that Ben's is open until 4 a.m. Fridays and Saturdays, that statement wasn't too terribly surprising.
I had only discovered openers The Black Angels last week on a CD sampler Andrew had lent me, but I immediately appreciated their cave-like sound, so I was pleased to learn we'd be hearing them tonight. Their sound was full of echo, and right up my alley, except for the hole that developed in the drummer's snare, but he did a quick patch job with duct tape and soldiered on...until that gave way and he solicited the audience, "Anyone got a snare drum we can borrow?"
The main event, The Raveonettes, a Danish duo with the most amazing two-part harmonies, was impressive, to say the least. I love the sheer amount of noise they make, but it's the guitar leads that take it to another level. Then there's the sunny melodies coupled with invariably dark lyrics; on the new "Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed)," the upbeat simplicity of the melody belies the dark words. They used multiple drummers in some songs and switched instruments, two of my favorite band tricks, not to mention strobe lights galore, tons of reverb, and effects of all kinds. At one point, Sune told the audience, "There's been a lot of dancing here tonight. We like dancing. We dance when we go to shows." We witnessed dancing of all sorts, strange, frenetic and otherwise, but it was hard not to move, given the music.
A wall of sound and a chili half-smoke from Ben's; tell the truth, was your night half as excellent as all that? I don't see how.
Our first stop was Ben's Chili Bowl for eats (R.I.P. founder Ben Ali; two enormous funeral wreaths still stand outside the restaurant). I got the chili half-smoke (being a native and aware of its origins) and Andrew got the chili cheeseburger; we shared a giant order of perfectly cooked fries. Chili and onions dripped off my half-smoke with every bite, but that's what the plastic fork is for, after all. Overheard at the table nearest us, "I've never actually been here sober before." Given that Ben's is open until 4 a.m. Fridays and Saturdays, that statement wasn't too terribly surprising.
I had only discovered openers The Black Angels last week on a CD sampler Andrew had lent me, but I immediately appreciated their cave-like sound, so I was pleased to learn we'd be hearing them tonight. Their sound was full of echo, and right up my alley, except for the hole that developed in the drummer's snare, but he did a quick patch job with duct tape and soldiered on...until that gave way and he solicited the audience, "Anyone got a snare drum we can borrow?"
The main event, The Raveonettes, a Danish duo with the most amazing two-part harmonies, was impressive, to say the least. I love the sheer amount of noise they make, but it's the guitar leads that take it to another level. Then there's the sunny melodies coupled with invariably dark lyrics; on the new "Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed)," the upbeat simplicity of the melody belies the dark words. They used multiple drummers in some songs and switched instruments, two of my favorite band tricks, not to mention strobe lights galore, tons of reverb, and effects of all kinds. At one point, Sune told the audience, "There's been a lot of dancing here tonight. We like dancing. We dance when we go to shows." We witnessed dancing of all sorts, strange, frenetic and otherwise, but it was hard not to move, given the music.
A wall of sound and a chili half-smoke from Ben's; tell the truth, was your night half as excellent as all that? I don't see how.
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