It was a firsts kind of a night all the way through. A friend had suggested that we meet at Moshi Moshi for dinner and, since I'd never been, I was game for a first trip there. I beat him to the restaurant and, as it turned out, was greeted by a hostess/bartender I knew, but didn't know worked there...she and I go way back and would laugh to admit to anyone else how we know each other.
My friend soon arrived, so we jumped right in with the pot stickers, moved on to miso soup and then shared the Spicy Beef Salad, a Tofu Curry dish and Spicy Salmon cut rolls, all extremely well executed. It was when that last course arrived, full of spiciness, that the subject of my sake virginity and the need to address it arose. My introduction was Momokawa Pearl sake, an old-style roughly-filtered sake, served cold and tasting tropical: pineapple, banana and coconut-like. My friend was well acquainted with sake, but even after my first glass, I felt inadequate to describe the experience. Accordingly, I attempted subsequent Pearl tastings to better solidify my sake understanding. Before we knew it, it was time for us to part ways.
And then it was time to go see M. Ward under the guise of the Monsters of Folk show at the Landmark. I'm not saying he was the focus of my evening, but, yes, I would have paid the same price to see him alone. As the usher was leading me to my seat, she turned around and said, "Wow, you have a great seat!" which was true: it was in the first row, as in, nothing but a stage in front of me, which meant plenty of leg room. Another couple of nice firsts- row and leg room. The night was getting better and better.
It was a listening-room environment, except for the occasional obnoxious Jim James fan yelling out stupid things like, "We love you Jimmy James!" and "You need me to kiss your feet, Jimmy?" But those idiots aside, it was a really good experience all around. Like the Neko Case show, no cells phones were allowed in use, not for texting, not for photographing, not for anything at all and they had attendants to keep watch over the audience to ensure that the policy was adhered to. I loved that.
The show was harmony heaven; when you have three vocal talents like M. Ward, Conner Oberst and Jim James, admittedly, you've got a lot to work with. Mike Mogis, the only member of the group not doing vocals, superbly acquitted himself on anything with strings. But the highlights for me were those songs that featured M. Ward singing lyrics like, "Love will get you in the end" and "What do you do with the pieces of broken heart?" Le sigh. Best of all, when he wasn't out front playing guitar, he was on the piano (and sometimes keyboard), banging his heart out a la Kermit the Frog. It was amazing to witness him standing, sitting, crouching and just tearing up those keys. And that voice of his, well, yes. Oh, yes.
More than one person, when I told them about the show, responded by saying that they didn't really like Conner Oberst much. I'm not the biggest fan, either, but he won a lot of points late in the show when he mounted the drum kit, balanced precariously and wailed on his guitar all the while; then during his dismount, kicked a cup of water out of his way. So rock and roll cute.
Although this was a "folk" show, the latter songs in the set allowed the band to jam in a most un-folk like way, noisily working up the audience as they went. That would be, I suppose, why they're called Monsters of Folk.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Tennis Balls Add Up to Bistro 27
Sometimes a person doesn't even need to decide what's next because Fate offers up a little reminder for them.
As an example, I was out walking the dog this afternoon when I was greeted by two guys playing tennis on the courts near my apartment.
Sure enough, it was two of the staff from Bistro 27 going at it on the courts on a beautiful sunny day.
We chatted for it a bit and they went back to their match (for the record, Kevin won).
An hour or so later, as B.S.F. and I were trying to decide on a dinner destination for the evening, it occurred to me that I was overdue at 27.
B.S.F. made it to my place by 7ish, spent some time wooing the beagle and chatting me up and eventually we walked over to the restaurant, enjoying the warmer than usual stroll through the November air.
It was a decent-sized crowd for a Monday night, but then a 21-top always makes a big difference on an off night.
I ran into a couple of girlfriends I hadn't seen for a bit and, as it turned out (because this is Richmond-small-town-VA), B.S.F. had at least a half dozen connections to them as well.
Forget seven degrees of separation; in Richmond, it's more like four or five, which is actually pretty cool.
They shared in our conversations of wine, food get-togethers, UR and the joys of 2 Amys.
We eventually got to the point where they suggested we swap wine (for tasting purposes only, of course) and that's always a good sign.
For the record, B.S.G. had the paella and rated it extremely highly compared to others he's had around town.
I had the bacon-wrapped scallops, mainly because I hadn't had them in months and it was what the staff expected of me and I hate to let them down.
The catch phrase of the evening was, "May I speak freely here?" which led to some unexpected revelations...on both our parts.
Rhetorical questions were left unanswered (why state the obvious, after all?) and viola jokes were abundant.
My girlfriends may even have begun to figure out B.S.G. by the end of it all and that's saying something.
And, yes, we were the last four out, for what it's worth.
And all because two guys were batting a ball around on a sunny day.
Funny, that.
As an example, I was out walking the dog this afternoon when I was greeted by two guys playing tennis on the courts near my apartment.
Sure enough, it was two of the staff from Bistro 27 going at it on the courts on a beautiful sunny day.
We chatted for it a bit and they went back to their match (for the record, Kevin won).
An hour or so later, as B.S.F. and I were trying to decide on a dinner destination for the evening, it occurred to me that I was overdue at 27.
B.S.F. made it to my place by 7ish, spent some time wooing the beagle and chatting me up and eventually we walked over to the restaurant, enjoying the warmer than usual stroll through the November air.
It was a decent-sized crowd for a Monday night, but then a 21-top always makes a big difference on an off night.
I ran into a couple of girlfriends I hadn't seen for a bit and, as it turned out (because this is Richmond-small-town-VA), B.S.F. had at least a half dozen connections to them as well.
Forget seven degrees of separation; in Richmond, it's more like four or five, which is actually pretty cool.
They shared in our conversations of wine, food get-togethers, UR and the joys of 2 Amys.
We eventually got to the point where they suggested we swap wine (for tasting purposes only, of course) and that's always a good sign.
For the record, B.S.G. had the paella and rated it extremely highly compared to others he's had around town.
I had the bacon-wrapped scallops, mainly because I hadn't had them in months and it was what the staff expected of me and I hate to let them down.
The catch phrase of the evening was, "May I speak freely here?" which led to some unexpected revelations...on both our parts.
Rhetorical questions were left unanswered (why state the obvious, after all?) and viola jokes were abundant.
My girlfriends may even have begun to figure out B.S.G. by the end of it all and that's saying something.
And, yes, we were the last four out, for what it's worth.
And all because two guys were batting a ball around on a sunny day.
Funny, that.
My Big Show Biz Break
The call went out for extras for a shoot at Center Stage today.
Who better than those with plenty of time on their hands as well as the culturally curious, two groups that happen to include me, to be those extra bodies?
So I donned my business attire (not often used these days) as directed and reported to the Carpenter Center at 3:00 sharp.
After signing our model release forms, we were herded up to the balcony and told to scatter ourselves throughout the seats.
It occurred to me that sitting that way was going to make it look like none of us had dates at the supposed performance we were attending, which while it's true for me, would hardly represent a typical event audience.
We were told that the shoot was for the Metropolitan Richmond Visitors' Bureau's annual guide, which usually features a new attraction or major upcoming event, hence the focus on Center Stage.
And then the real work of extras began; we waited.
And waited some more.
The actual models arrived late and had to be shot first (natch, they're paid pros, we were just warm bodies).
We were then rearranged into various rows behind the models to simulate the audience, although most of us were guessing that we'd be nothing more than blurred spots behind the actual models.
But then we didn't come to the shoot for a featured role; we knew we were just there to take up space.
And we did a fine job of filling those seats, if I do say so myself.
Besides, I'm much more the audience type than the performer type, in case there was any question.
Who better than those with plenty of time on their hands as well as the culturally curious, two groups that happen to include me, to be those extra bodies?
So I donned my business attire (not often used these days) as directed and reported to the Carpenter Center at 3:00 sharp.
After signing our model release forms, we were herded up to the balcony and told to scatter ourselves throughout the seats.
It occurred to me that sitting that way was going to make it look like none of us had dates at the supposed performance we were attending, which while it's true for me, would hardly represent a typical event audience.
We were told that the shoot was for the Metropolitan Richmond Visitors' Bureau's annual guide, which usually features a new attraction or major upcoming event, hence the focus on Center Stage.
And then the real work of extras began; we waited.
And waited some more.
The actual models arrived late and had to be shot first (natch, they're paid pros, we were just warm bodies).
We were then rearranged into various rows behind the models to simulate the audience, although most of us were guessing that we'd be nothing more than blurred spots behind the actual models.
But then we didn't come to the shoot for a featured role; we knew we were just there to take up space.
And we did a fine job of filling those seats, if I do say so myself.
Besides, I'm much more the audience type than the performer type, in case there was any question.
Live at Ipanema
I hadn't been out to hear live music in over a week. Appalling, I know.
By choice, that's just not the way my world works.
So after a whirlwind weekend away, the Live at Ipanema show last night presented the ideal way to get my music fix and catch up with people.
True, I didn't intend to close the place down, but F.R.O. and I got started and just kept talking (except for during the show, of course).
Assorted people joined us for a while and then moved on, so we had plenty of fresh input throughout, always a good thing.
Nick Coward and the Last Battle were playing (and being recorded) and I love the fullness of their sound: strings, horns, guitar, drums, multiple voices.
The surprise was that they all were even able to fit into that tiny little space.
Last time I saw them, they took up most of Gallery 5's stage, a considerably larger area to put so many musicians.
Their set had been short then, so I didn't want to miss an opportunity to hear them again.
The place was quite full and not everybody shut up, but the music was really well-done and the performance will be posted on RVA News in a couple of weeks if you missed it or need to revisit it.
Luckily, I planned this week to be much heavier on live music than last.
And I purposely plan every week to be heavy on conversation, preferably with those who enjoy verbal discourse as much as I do.
By choice, that's just not the way my world works.
So after a whirlwind weekend away, the Live at Ipanema show last night presented the ideal way to get my music fix and catch up with people.
True, I didn't intend to close the place down, but F.R.O. and I got started and just kept talking (except for during the show, of course).
Assorted people joined us for a while and then moved on, so we had plenty of fresh input throughout, always a good thing.
Nick Coward and the Last Battle were playing (and being recorded) and I love the fullness of their sound: strings, horns, guitar, drums, multiple voices.
The surprise was that they all were even able to fit into that tiny little space.
Last time I saw them, they took up most of Gallery 5's stage, a considerably larger area to put so many musicians.
Their set had been short then, so I didn't want to miss an opportunity to hear them again.
The place was quite full and not everybody shut up, but the music was really well-done and the performance will be posted on RVA News in a couple of weeks if you missed it or need to revisit it.
Luckily, I planned this week to be much heavier on live music than last.
And I purposely plan every week to be heavy on conversation, preferably with those who enjoy verbal discourse as much as I do.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Guys Say the Darnedest Things, Part 2: Strangers
When I last posted on this subject, it was about guys I knew and their unbelievable utterances, here.
But here's the thing: sometimes it's strangers who provide the amusement.
To start my walk every day, I have a to cross Belvidere, no small feat since it's six lanes plus two service roads.
As I was starting to cross, I heard some guy in his car hooting and hollering like crazy.
I had no reason to think it was addressed at me, so I just kept going.
Then he yelled, "Great ass!" just as I reached the center median.
No one else was around, so I glanced back, wondering if it was perhaps directed at me.
"Not YOU!" he yelled, "YOU ain't got NO ass!"
At that second, I spied a woman on the far side of Belivdere with a most ample backside getting into her car.
Clearly, she was his intended.
Before I even had time to be insulted, though, another guy a few cars back leaned out his window and said, "Don't listen to him. You have a very fine ass, miss," and then drove on.
In the space of ten seconds, I had been put down and redeemed.
It's true, men really do say the most extraordinary things.
But here's the thing: sometimes it's strangers who provide the amusement.
To start my walk every day, I have a to cross Belvidere, no small feat since it's six lanes plus two service roads.
As I was starting to cross, I heard some guy in his car hooting and hollering like crazy.
I had no reason to think it was addressed at me, so I just kept going.
Then he yelled, "Great ass!" just as I reached the center median.
No one else was around, so I glanced back, wondering if it was perhaps directed at me.
"Not YOU!" he yelled, "YOU ain't got NO ass!"
At that second, I spied a woman on the far side of Belivdere with a most ample backside getting into her car.
Clearly, she was his intended.
Before I even had time to be insulted, though, another guy a few cars back leaned out his window and said, "Don't listen to him. You have a very fine ass, miss," and then drove on.
In the space of ten seconds, I had been put down and redeemed.
It's true, men really do say the most extraordinary things.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Think Small...No, Smaller
This is America, so bigger is always better, right?
Not so, of course, as was beautifully demonstrated at tonight's Think Small Exhibition preview party at Art 6 and Artspace.
It was the 5th biennial international miniature invitational and while there were plenty of artists represented from RVA, there were also artists shown from Tuscon, Chicago, Budapest and places in between.
The works accepted could be no more than 3 inches in any direction, but that could mean 3 inches of sculpture, photography, painting and just about any other interpretation of form.
Tonight's preview party included a buffet prepared by some local favorites, including Mekong, Bistro 27 and Kuba, Kuba, among others.
Your ticket purchase also got you drinks at both galleries and there was a cushy motor coach (okay, bus) to transport participants from Broad Street to Manchester.
The event was a fundraiser for both galleries and undoubtedly desperately needed at a time when arts funding is almost non-existent.
But the primary benefit to attendees was the opportunity to purchase the art before the First Friday masses arrive tomorrow and purchase they did.
Many pieces earned a red sticker tonight, signifying that they'd been sold.
And while the art was small, the prices ranged from $35 to $400 to "Inquire," which usually means if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
But there was a great deal of interesting and affordable art to choose from out of the nearly 400 pieces on display.
The exhibit is a perfect opportunity for art lovers to acquire a piece (or two) worth enjoying every day.
And, beware, if you don't go for it now, it'll be two more years before you have the opportunity to Think Small again.
Unless, of course, you'er thinking about something other than art.
Not so, of course, as was beautifully demonstrated at tonight's Think Small Exhibition preview party at Art 6 and Artspace.
It was the 5th biennial international miniature invitational and while there were plenty of artists represented from RVA, there were also artists shown from Tuscon, Chicago, Budapest and places in between.
The works accepted could be no more than 3 inches in any direction, but that could mean 3 inches of sculpture, photography, painting and just about any other interpretation of form.
Tonight's preview party included a buffet prepared by some local favorites, including Mekong, Bistro 27 and Kuba, Kuba, among others.
Your ticket purchase also got you drinks at both galleries and there was a cushy motor coach (okay, bus) to transport participants from Broad Street to Manchester.
The event was a fundraiser for both galleries and undoubtedly desperately needed at a time when arts funding is almost non-existent.
But the primary benefit to attendees was the opportunity to purchase the art before the First Friday masses arrive tomorrow and purchase they did.
Many pieces earned a red sticker tonight, signifying that they'd been sold.
And while the art was small, the prices ranged from $35 to $400 to "Inquire," which usually means if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
But there was a great deal of interesting and affordable art to choose from out of the nearly 400 pieces on display.
The exhibit is a perfect opportunity for art lovers to acquire a piece (or two) worth enjoying every day.
And, beware, if you don't go for it now, it'll be two more years before you have the opportunity to Think Small again.
Unless, of course, you'er thinking about something other than art.
The General Specific
All of a sudden, it's November and the time has changed and it's getting colder at night.
And of course the business of life continues, random, sometimes surprising and always worthy of comment in my world.
I made a point to get out and vote, knowing most people weren't going to bother and most people didn't.
At my polling place there were six poll workers and two voters.
I will never understand people choosing not to exercise such a crucial right, no matter how lackluster the candidates.
Crossing the street during my walk yesterday, a guy drove by and gave me a full-on wolf whistle, just like in the old cartoons.
Really? In yoga pants and a hoodie?
Thanks, but I hardly think I earned it, fella.
The Dashboard Confessional show next month at the National, for which I already had a ticket, got cancelled, er, excuse me, "rescheduled due to family issues."
Seriously? Come on, guys, classic emo knows no freakin' family issues.
Walking through the Kroger produce department, a guy said an unexpected hi to me and I gave him a mega-watt smile and said hi back as I made my way to the cheeses.
From behind, I heard him say, "That smile!" to his friend.
You were right, Mom, people appreciate a smile.
My friend Scott and I celebrated his new marketing job with lunch at Garnett's today (I had the Louisville Hot Brown, the Derby classic, and it was scrumptious) and we finished with the chocolate/coconut cake, undoubtedly my top two favorite dessert ingredients.
Chocolate icing on the sides, dark chocolate ganache dusted with coconut on top and white icing with coconut in the center.
We both moaned a little enjoying it...then took a long walk in the November sunshine to make ourselves feel better about having eaten so much.
Nothing major to report, just the usual observations and oddities.
And of course the business of life continues, random, sometimes surprising and always worthy of comment in my world.
I made a point to get out and vote, knowing most people weren't going to bother and most people didn't.
At my polling place there were six poll workers and two voters.
I will never understand people choosing not to exercise such a crucial right, no matter how lackluster the candidates.
Crossing the street during my walk yesterday, a guy drove by and gave me a full-on wolf whistle, just like in the old cartoons.
Really? In yoga pants and a hoodie?
Thanks, but I hardly think I earned it, fella.
The Dashboard Confessional show next month at the National, for which I already had a ticket, got cancelled, er, excuse me, "rescheduled due to family issues."
Seriously? Come on, guys, classic emo knows no freakin' family issues.
Walking through the Kroger produce department, a guy said an unexpected hi to me and I gave him a mega-watt smile and said hi back as I made my way to the cheeses.
From behind, I heard him say, "That smile!" to his friend.
You were right, Mom, people appreciate a smile.
My friend Scott and I celebrated his new marketing job with lunch at Garnett's today (I had the Louisville Hot Brown, the Derby classic, and it was scrumptious) and we finished with the chocolate/coconut cake, undoubtedly my top two favorite dessert ingredients.
Chocolate icing on the sides, dark chocolate ganache dusted with coconut on top and white icing with coconut in the center.
We both moaned a little enjoying it...then took a long walk in the November sunshine to make ourselves feel better about having eaten so much.
Nothing major to report, just the usual observations and oddities.
Something Fishy at Acacia
Last night, chef Dale Reitzer brought together food lovers, wine lovers and marine science geeks to focus on the sustainable seafood movement for an evening.
Marine Educator Vicki Clark and Fisheries Biologist Dave Rudders went table to table sharing their passion for sustainable fishing practices in Virginia and answering questions from the less scientific-inclined among us.
If you're going to get a science lesson, though, how better than accompanied by a three-course wine dinner at Acacia?
First off was a scallop flan with mixed field lettuces and a shallot and caper vinaigrette; it was served with a 2008 Montinore "Almost Dry" Riesling.
The flan was much like a seafood terrine, smooth, creamy on the tongue and tasting of local scallops, in other words, lovely.
Next up was layered scallop and black truffles, baked in house made puff pastry with port wine cream sauce, a rich and decadent dish, served with the 2006 Montinore Gewurztraminer.
The wine's sweetness only added to the lushness of this course.
Finally we had potato-wrapped rock fish on local greens fondue with local crab sauce.
When my friend inquired about the significance of "local crab" sauce, we learned from our science geek visitors that blue crabs are not just a Chesapeake Bay find, but are caught as far north as Cape Cod and as far south as South America.
The point of labeling the sauce as local was to highlight the fact that the crabs used in this sauce were not from those more distant locations, but MD/VA crabs.
The dish was served with a 2008 Montinore Pinot Noir, a beautiful match with the local favorite, rock fish.
Montinore Estate Wines, from a family-owned winery in the Willamette Valley, Oregon, were chosen as part of the focus of the evening for their organic and sustainable practices.
They make wine only from grapes that they grow and all 230 acres of grapes are farmed using the strict methods of Bio-dynamic farming, which utilize ethical-spiritual considerations.
It's as groovy as it sounds, with all the attendant implications that term brings up (Horsetail tea? Check. Valerian flower juice? Yep.).
It was hard to tell from the lively dinner crowd how many people were there for the science lesson and how many just wanted to enjoy another of Acacia's excellent three-course wine dinners for $35.
To be honest, I wanted it all and was amply rewarded with both a learning experience and delicious food responsibly fished.
I believe business types call that a win/win situation.
Marine Educator Vicki Clark and Fisheries Biologist Dave Rudders went table to table sharing their passion for sustainable fishing practices in Virginia and answering questions from the less scientific-inclined among us.
If you're going to get a science lesson, though, how better than accompanied by a three-course wine dinner at Acacia?
First off was a scallop flan with mixed field lettuces and a shallot and caper vinaigrette; it was served with a 2008 Montinore "Almost Dry" Riesling.
The flan was much like a seafood terrine, smooth, creamy on the tongue and tasting of local scallops, in other words, lovely.
Next up was layered scallop and black truffles, baked in house made puff pastry with port wine cream sauce, a rich and decadent dish, served with the 2006 Montinore Gewurztraminer.
The wine's sweetness only added to the lushness of this course.
Finally we had potato-wrapped rock fish on local greens fondue with local crab sauce.
When my friend inquired about the significance of "local crab" sauce, we learned from our science geek visitors that blue crabs are not just a Chesapeake Bay find, but are caught as far north as Cape Cod and as far south as South America.
The point of labeling the sauce as local was to highlight the fact that the crabs used in this sauce were not from those more distant locations, but MD/VA crabs.
The dish was served with a 2008 Montinore Pinot Noir, a beautiful match with the local favorite, rock fish.
Montinore Estate Wines, from a family-owned winery in the Willamette Valley, Oregon, were chosen as part of the focus of the evening for their organic and sustainable practices.
They make wine only from grapes that they grow and all 230 acres of grapes are farmed using the strict methods of Bio-dynamic farming, which utilize ethical-spiritual considerations.
It's as groovy as it sounds, with all the attendant implications that term brings up (Horsetail tea? Check. Valerian flower juice? Yep.).
It was hard to tell from the lively dinner crowd how many people were there for the science lesson and how many just wanted to enjoy another of Acacia's excellent three-course wine dinners for $35.
To be honest, I wanted it all and was amply rewarded with both a learning experience and delicious food responsibly fished.
I believe business types call that a win/win situation.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Sette Pizza and Girl Talk
Pizza can cure so many of life's ills...maybe not all of them, but enough to make it worth trying when you need a pick-me-up.
The other essential ingredient in that scenario is a really close girlfriend, the kind with whom you can discuss absolutely everything...and admit anything.
So it happened that tonight's destination was Sette Pizza in the Bottom, to scratch all of the above itches.
We arrived early enough to have the entire staff's attention and by the time we departed three plus hours later, there wasn't an empty seat in the house.
Mental note: the bar was especially fertile territory, being crowded with guys as it was.
Tuesdays from 5-9, bottles of wine are half off, so we began with a bottle of 2006 Alma Negra, an Argentinian Malbec/Bonarda blend and, at tonight's price of $17.50, a mighty tasty steal.
Our bartender assured us that even the regular price of $35 was worth noting, since Bookbinder's charged $70 for the same bottle.
Duly noted and, after a few minutes to open up, just beautiful.
We dove right into solving all our personal problems, over-sharing our intimate lives (or, in my case, lack thereof) and analyzing the current state of our hearts, but eventually even women with wine need more.
So it was that we ordered the Chesapeake pizza, a combination of white sauce, tiger shrimp, lump crab, and herbs.
My friend says white pizza, especially the kind with seafood, reminds her of an ex and something you used to be only able to find in Maryland.
Whatever the history, it's my preference and this was really nicely done.
The crust, as always, was good enough to eat on its own, the cheeses were thick and gooey and the toppings generous.
The consensus was that it was just what we needed and we made short work of it.
Or maybe we just gabbed less, having accepted life's unfairness.
We held on to just enough wine for the chocolate fudge brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce, very much a comfort food dessert when you're feeling sorry for yourself (or perhaps that's just me).
I have another friend who has always said he could eat pizza every single day and while I wouldn't make that claim, it's not far off for me, either.
The combination of bread and cheese, no matter what else does or doesn't come on it, is a very satisfying one, much the way a good, long conversation with a girlfriend you haven's seen in a month can help you get your equilibrium back.
But it's the combination of the two that is absolutely killer.
I feel so much better now, even without the magic wand to make my life just the way I want it.
The other essential ingredient in that scenario is a really close girlfriend, the kind with whom you can discuss absolutely everything...and admit anything.
So it happened that tonight's destination was Sette Pizza in the Bottom, to scratch all of the above itches.
We arrived early enough to have the entire staff's attention and by the time we departed three plus hours later, there wasn't an empty seat in the house.
Mental note: the bar was especially fertile territory, being crowded with guys as it was.
Tuesdays from 5-9, bottles of wine are half off, so we began with a bottle of 2006 Alma Negra, an Argentinian Malbec/Bonarda blend and, at tonight's price of $17.50, a mighty tasty steal.
Our bartender assured us that even the regular price of $35 was worth noting, since Bookbinder's charged $70 for the same bottle.
Duly noted and, after a few minutes to open up, just beautiful.
We dove right into solving all our personal problems, over-sharing our intimate lives (or, in my case, lack thereof) and analyzing the current state of our hearts, but eventually even women with wine need more.
So it was that we ordered the Chesapeake pizza, a combination of white sauce, tiger shrimp, lump crab, and herbs.
My friend says white pizza, especially the kind with seafood, reminds her of an ex and something you used to be only able to find in Maryland.
Whatever the history, it's my preference and this was really nicely done.
The crust, as always, was good enough to eat on its own, the cheeses were thick and gooey and the toppings generous.
The consensus was that it was just what we needed and we made short work of it.
Or maybe we just gabbed less, having accepted life's unfairness.
We held on to just enough wine for the chocolate fudge brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce, very much a comfort food dessert when you're feeling sorry for yourself (or perhaps that's just me).
I have another friend who has always said he could eat pizza every single day and while I wouldn't make that claim, it's not far off for me, either.
The combination of bread and cheese, no matter what else does or doesn't come on it, is a very satisfying one, much the way a good, long conversation with a girlfriend you haven's seen in a month can help you get your equilibrium back.
But it's the combination of the two that is absolutely killer.
I feel so much better now, even without the magic wand to make my life just the way I want it.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Tights Before Dinner
What kind of friend brings you funky tights from every interesting country he visits? A very thoughtful friend, that's who. Tonight I met up with that old friend, whom I've only seen twice in the past two years. He's the considerate one who supplied me with the unusual Berlin tights that everyone's been raving about lately. Tonight, it was gifts of Salzburg and Barcelona tights, very different and both befitting the cities of their origin.
We began at Davis and Main for a glass of wine and to decide the course of the evening. We had lots of catching up to do and we did, right up until he offered to make dinner, and what idiot would turn down an invitation to have dinner cooked for her? Surely not me, so we headed to his house for fun and feasting.
After a stinky cheese and Italian salami start to the evening, he began meal preparation in earnest. There was a wedge salad with blue cheese, bacon and ranch dressing, followed by a wonderful meal of rare lamb chops, roasted asparagus and crusty rolls, accompanied by a Lirac wine from the Rhone Valley; it was all incredibly well done and I didn't leave a bite. Conversation ranged from the civil rights movement to book series to Richard Thompson. We even discussed my lack of interest and effort in dating, although he couldn't offer much advice to help my situation, in spite of our fifteen years of friendship. Ah, well, even old friends can't solve all my problems.
It was enough that we enjoyed a terrific meal together. I am grateful for his stellar cooking skills and the pleasure of unusually smart conversation. The smoking hot tights are just icing on the cake.
We began at Davis and Main for a glass of wine and to decide the course of the evening. We had lots of catching up to do and we did, right up until he offered to make dinner, and what idiot would turn down an invitation to have dinner cooked for her? Surely not me, so we headed to his house for fun and feasting.
After a stinky cheese and Italian salami start to the evening, he began meal preparation in earnest. There was a wedge salad with blue cheese, bacon and ranch dressing, followed by a wonderful meal of rare lamb chops, roasted asparagus and crusty rolls, accompanied by a Lirac wine from the Rhone Valley; it was all incredibly well done and I didn't leave a bite. Conversation ranged from the civil rights movement to book series to Richard Thompson. We even discussed my lack of interest and effort in dating, although he couldn't offer much advice to help my situation, in spite of our fifteen years of friendship. Ah, well, even old friends can't solve all my problems.
It was enough that we enjoyed a terrific meal together. I am grateful for his stellar cooking skills and the pleasure of unusually smart conversation. The smoking hot tights are just icing on the cake.
A Sublime Fall Moment
Leaving Garnett's this morning, I headed north on Meadow to finish my walk.
The air was really crisp and leaves of all colors were ankle-deep in some places on the sidewalk.
Pumpkins, some carved and withering, some uncut and decorative sat on porches.
Others were splattered open in the street, orange guts and seeds spilling out everywhere.
But it was that moment when I got to Grace Street that everything coalesced.
The deliciously overwhelming scent of cinnamon was wafting from the C.F. Sauer warehouse at Meadow and Broad.
It was as if all my senses were saying "autumn" in unison.
I'm not even a big fan of the season and I was stopped in my tracks by the perfection of the moment.
Fall.
The air was really crisp and leaves of all colors were ankle-deep in some places on the sidewalk.
Pumpkins, some carved and withering, some uncut and decorative sat on porches.
Others were splattered open in the street, orange guts and seeds spilling out everywhere.
But it was that moment when I got to Grace Street that everything coalesced.
The deliciously overwhelming scent of cinnamon was wafting from the C.F. Sauer warehouse at Meadow and Broad.
It was as if all my senses were saying "autumn" in unison.
I'm not even a big fan of the season and I was stopped in my tracks by the perfection of the moment.
Fall.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Positive Vibe Cafe: Barboursville Wine Dinner
In terms of philanthropy, RVA ranks #8 in giving; impressive, isn't it? Wanting to be part of that giving spirit, my Beer Geek Friend and I helped support Max's Positive Vibe Cafe's food service training program tonight with a meal prepared by J Frank, supported by Barboursville wine maker Luca Paschina sharing his wines. And, oh, what lovely wines they were!
We began with Artichoke and Saffron Soup with Sparkling Brut, a lovely combination I thought. The main course was Mesquite Grilled Pork Chop, Polenta, Goat Cheese & Rosemary, served with two wines: the Cabernet Franc Reserve and the Octagon VIII. Wonderful as the Cab Franc was, the Octagon was the one to savor, both with its divine aroma and its lush taste. We finished with Pumpkin Gelato, Ginger Brandy Snaps and Candied Pumpkin, served with Phileo, a dessert wine. Phileo, as Luca told us, means "love" in Greek or "lahve" as he pronounced it. It worked especially well with the Ginger Brandy snaps, my favorite part of the dessert course.
The crowd had several familiar faces, including the singer Susan Greenbaum, a local magazine editor and several friends from two of my favorite restaurants. While we lingered over the last of the wine and BGF's coffee, we also had the pleasure of being chatted up by a wine dinner attendee I'd met before at other dinners; I am always flattered when people remember me. It was funny because BGF and I met and became friends over a series of shared wine dinners and this woman was at all the same ones. Since BGF and I always sat at the bar, though, I'm surprised she recognized us from the front.
Finally it was down to us and one other table and the staff was starting to gather, so we took the hint and moved it outside for the rest of our conversation. BGF is smart and droll and always a good one to discuss things with; tonight was no different.
Not that we were there for chatting purposes. This was strictly a philanthropic endeavor we were on. Yea, right.
We began with Artichoke and Saffron Soup with Sparkling Brut, a lovely combination I thought. The main course was Mesquite Grilled Pork Chop, Polenta, Goat Cheese & Rosemary, served with two wines: the Cabernet Franc Reserve and the Octagon VIII. Wonderful as the Cab Franc was, the Octagon was the one to savor, both with its divine aroma and its lush taste. We finished with Pumpkin Gelato, Ginger Brandy Snaps and Candied Pumpkin, served with Phileo, a dessert wine. Phileo, as Luca told us, means "love" in Greek or "lahve" as he pronounced it. It worked especially well with the Ginger Brandy snaps, my favorite part of the dessert course.
The crowd had several familiar faces, including the singer Susan Greenbaum, a local magazine editor and several friends from two of my favorite restaurants. While we lingered over the last of the wine and BGF's coffee, we also had the pleasure of being chatted up by a wine dinner attendee I'd met before at other dinners; I am always flattered when people remember me. It was funny because BGF and I met and became friends over a series of shared wine dinners and this woman was at all the same ones. Since BGF and I always sat at the bar, though, I'm surprised she recognized us from the front.
Finally it was down to us and one other table and the staff was starting to gather, so we took the hint and moved it outside for the rest of our conversation. BGF is smart and droll and always a good one to discuss things with; tonight was no different.
Not that we were there for chatting purposes. This was strictly a philanthropic endeavor we were on. Yea, right.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Halloween Parade Veteran Fans Own Flames
The weather for Richmond's Halloween parade tonight was as warm and humid as that of a New Orleans' Mardi Gras parade.
At least according to several of the participants near me.
We were all in our black "burning building" costumes, complete with cardboard flames for our arms.
Our position in the parade was right behind the stovepipe hats but in front of the red, white and blue cars.
Lily, the master puppet-maker and parade organizer, told us to keep the fires burning, (which I made a point to do despite my arms feeling like lead after the first 45 minutes), although I did notice several other of the burning buildings being a bit lazy about their fires. Just saying.
We left Monroe Park just after 7 and headed into Oregon Hill where the anticipatory crowds awaited us.
This was my third parade in a year and still I'm not used to having photographers jump in front of me to take pictures every few steps.
I must not be a good candidate for being famous and stalked by the paparazzi.
Photographer Ashe Daniel was there, shooting for Brick, and we caught up; I also saw two other photogs I'd met at the recent James River Filmmakers' Forum, one of whom snapped my picture the second I pulled that hot costume off at parade's end.
The caption should read, "Ah, sweet relief!!"
After an hour and a quarter of parading, I needed a treat, so next up was Garnett's for chocolate pecan pie.
The corner spot afforded a little police drama during my dessert respite, with three cop cars screeching to the intersection to arrest someone.
The woman next to me at the counter sipping her to-go cup of water glanced over and nonchalantly commented, "Well, she won't be home 'til Monday."
And somehow, she looked like the type person who would know that.
And now I'm off to Gallery 5 for the Carnival of 5 Fires to have my fortune read, watch the fire performers and listen to the bands.
After all, we get an extra hour tonight to enjoy that big, beautiful moon and whatever it brings.
I'm ready.
At least according to several of the participants near me.
We were all in our black "burning building" costumes, complete with cardboard flames for our arms.
Our position in the parade was right behind the stovepipe hats but in front of the red, white and blue cars.
Lily, the master puppet-maker and parade organizer, told us to keep the fires burning, (which I made a point to do despite my arms feeling like lead after the first 45 minutes), although I did notice several other of the burning buildings being a bit lazy about their fires. Just saying.
We left Monroe Park just after 7 and headed into Oregon Hill where the anticipatory crowds awaited us.
This was my third parade in a year and still I'm not used to having photographers jump in front of me to take pictures every few steps.
I must not be a good candidate for being famous and stalked by the paparazzi.
Photographer Ashe Daniel was there, shooting for Brick, and we caught up; I also saw two other photogs I'd met at the recent James River Filmmakers' Forum, one of whom snapped my picture the second I pulled that hot costume off at parade's end.
The caption should read, "Ah, sweet relief!!"
After an hour and a quarter of parading, I needed a treat, so next up was Garnett's for chocolate pecan pie.
The corner spot afforded a little police drama during my dessert respite, with three cop cars screeching to the intersection to arrest someone.
The woman next to me at the counter sipping her to-go cup of water glanced over and nonchalantly commented, "Well, she won't be home 'til Monday."
And somehow, she looked like the type person who would know that.
And now I'm off to Gallery 5 for the Carnival of 5 Fires to have my fortune read, watch the fire performers and listen to the bands.
After all, we get an extra hour tonight to enjoy that big, beautiful moon and whatever it brings.
I'm ready.
Friday, October 30, 2009
This Is It?
My friend and I were looking for an appropriately scary way to kick off the Halloween weekend, when it hit us like a ton of bricks; we should see the new Michael Jackson documentary, "This Is It."
What could be more disturbing than a film about a dead pop star, showcasing his 50-year old emaciated body being put through its paces in rehearsal for the Big Comeback?
Sure, "The Exorcist" was playing at the Byrd, but that's so cliched.
To prepare for this night of horror, we started at my place with a bottle of the 2006 Domaine de Berane Cotes de Ventoux "Les Blaques," a big, peppery wine perfect for fortifying us for what lay ahead.
Since I never go to the movies on a Friday night, I had no idea how many people did.
But that's okay, we were armed with buttered popcorn and fear in our hearts; we were ready.
And then unexpectedly, it turned out to be far less horrifying than anticipated.
Oh, yes, MJ is very scary looking up close (that nose! those lips! that pallor!), but then he was 50 years old and had had as many cosmetic surgeries as Cher.
And given that the camera adds 20 pounds, he must have disappeared when he turned sideways in real life.
Someone should have given the guy a sandwich.
But the documentary showcased more of his talent than his scariness and turned out to be quite entertaining to watch.
I have to give the man credit; he knew his music backwards and forwards and how he expected it to sound.
And his voice was still surprisingly supple.
Since every song was intended to be a major production, there were a lot of shiny, moving things to amuse us for the duration.
Apparently I'll have to get my fright on elsewhere this Halloween weekend.
What could be more disturbing than a film about a dead pop star, showcasing his 50-year old emaciated body being put through its paces in rehearsal for the Big Comeback?
Sure, "The Exorcist" was playing at the Byrd, but that's so cliched.
To prepare for this night of horror, we started at my place with a bottle of the 2006 Domaine de Berane Cotes de Ventoux "Les Blaques," a big, peppery wine perfect for fortifying us for what lay ahead.
Since I never go to the movies on a Friday night, I had no idea how many people did.
But that's okay, we were armed with buttered popcorn and fear in our hearts; we were ready.
And then unexpectedly, it turned out to be far less horrifying than anticipated.
Oh, yes, MJ is very scary looking up close (that nose! those lips! that pallor!), but then he was 50 years old and had had as many cosmetic surgeries as Cher.
And given that the camera adds 20 pounds, he must have disappeared when he turned sideways in real life.
Someone should have given the guy a sandwich.
But the documentary showcased more of his talent than his scariness and turned out to be quite entertaining to watch.
I have to give the man credit; he knew his music backwards and forwards and how he expected it to sound.
And his voice was still surprisingly supple.
Since every song was intended to be a major production, there were a lot of shiny, moving things to amuse us for the duration.
Apparently I'll have to get my fright on elsewhere this Halloween weekend.
Scenes From An Evening
5:30. Phone rings.
"Why aren't you at your neighborhood bar?" the caller asks. Because I'm at home? It's the charming Nicholas, in town for rehearsal and a performance and assuring me I want to come meet him and his friend. Off I go to the B @ B to enjoy conversation with worthy conversational partners, including the astutely politically savvy friend. Highlight: Nicholas telling me, "You should put video on your blog. You ought to be on TV."
7:15. Chop Suey Books.
Authors Joanna Smith Rakoff ("A Fortunate Age") and Dylan Landis ("Normal People Don't Live Like This") read from their new works of fiction, one a novel and the other a short story collection and both quite compelling. I always appreciate hearing a writer's words in their own voice and these two were no exception. Both books grabbed the listener and put them right into the story. Highlight: An audience member breastfed during the reading, prompting Rakoff to share a time when she brought her infant to a reading in Soho and ended up having to breastfeed during the taped interview afterwards to quiet the baby. Her breast ended up on Japanese TV.
10:00. Six Burner.
Prabir Mehta (minus the Substitutes) and two musicians, Treesa (on violin) and Matt (on upright double bass), both from the Richmond Symphony, playing new material written for the occasion. The music was well crafted with a classical bent and full of hooks, as Prabir does so well. They finished with a superb rendition of "Eleanor Rigby." Highlight: Being told, "Don't stop wearing fishnets. You are working those fishnets," by a random attendee.
12:15. Catherine Street
Finally meeting the new neighbor whom I'd been told was as enthusiastic about J-Ward as I am. He was. His wife was already asleep, but I hope to meet her soon. Highlight: An unexpected and most enjoyable twenty-minute conversation at midnight with a person I didn't know when I began my day...and yet we had plenty to talk about.
Just another day in the life.
"Why aren't you at your neighborhood bar?" the caller asks. Because I'm at home? It's the charming Nicholas, in town for rehearsal and a performance and assuring me I want to come meet him and his friend. Off I go to the B @ B to enjoy conversation with worthy conversational partners, including the astutely politically savvy friend. Highlight: Nicholas telling me, "You should put video on your blog. You ought to be on TV."
7:15. Chop Suey Books.
Authors Joanna Smith Rakoff ("A Fortunate Age") and Dylan Landis ("Normal People Don't Live Like This") read from their new works of fiction, one a novel and the other a short story collection and both quite compelling. I always appreciate hearing a writer's words in their own voice and these two were no exception. Both books grabbed the listener and put them right into the story. Highlight: An audience member breastfed during the reading, prompting Rakoff to share a time when she brought her infant to a reading in Soho and ended up having to breastfeed during the taped interview afterwards to quiet the baby. Her breast ended up on Japanese TV.
10:00. Six Burner.
Prabir Mehta (minus the Substitutes) and two musicians, Treesa (on violin) and Matt (on upright double bass), both from the Richmond Symphony, playing new material written for the occasion. The music was well crafted with a classical bent and full of hooks, as Prabir does so well. They finished with a superb rendition of "Eleanor Rigby." Highlight: Being told, "Don't stop wearing fishnets. You are working those fishnets," by a random attendee.
12:15. Catherine Street
Finally meeting the new neighbor whom I'd been told was as enthusiastic about J-Ward as I am. He was. His wife was already asleep, but I hope to meet her soon. Highlight: An unexpected and most enjoyable twenty-minute conversation at midnight with a person I didn't know when I began my day...and yet we had plenty to talk about.
Just another day in the life.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Gogol Bordello at The National
The moon was clear in the night sky, I had on funky tights, purchased in Berlin by a thoughtful friend, and the evening started early with good tequila.
All indications were for a fine night of gypsy punk.
J. and I were meeting at Gibson's for a pre-show cocktail, but she had a beer dinner to attend first. In the meantime, I chatted with a nearby bar sitter, who commented that not everyone would have the nerve to wear the tights I had on (although he did acknowledge that they looked like Berlin tights).
Phsaw, I said, nerve is one thing I do not have in short supply.
Friend finally arrived and ordered a Maker's Mark Manhattan to enjoy whilst I finished up my Tres Generations pour.
Then it was showtime.
We arrived at the National in time to enjoy part of Apostles of Hustle's interesting opening set.
I was especially pleased to find one of my favorite drummers/vocalists, Kevin (of Tulsa Drone and Marionette), tending bar; this is always a good thing because of the superb music talk and excellent pours it yields.
It was at this point that I made a convert out of my friend and she made the leap from whiskey to good tequila.
Smart woman.
What is there to say about Gogol Bordello?
Part gypsy music, part punk and pure energy is too simplistic and yet it says it all.
Or, to put it another way, two musicians had broken strings by the second song.
How about this: both the violin and accordion are played in minor keys?
And there were conga drums.
Need I go on?
The show was a non-stop dance-fest, except for the five people who remained rooted in place; we surmised that they were brain-dead and unable to respond to the allure of music created to entice the audience to respond.
The audience was a cross-section of RVA, with people representing every age, social group and musical preference; both the cool people and the complete geeks (including one in a holiday sweater...seriously) were in attendance.
Because when Gogol Bordello performs, they will come.
That much was clear.
All indications were for a fine night of gypsy punk.
J. and I were meeting at Gibson's for a pre-show cocktail, but she had a beer dinner to attend first. In the meantime, I chatted with a nearby bar sitter, who commented that not everyone would have the nerve to wear the tights I had on (although he did acknowledge that they looked like Berlin tights).
Phsaw, I said, nerve is one thing I do not have in short supply.
Friend finally arrived and ordered a Maker's Mark Manhattan to enjoy whilst I finished up my Tres Generations pour.
Then it was showtime.
We arrived at the National in time to enjoy part of Apostles of Hustle's interesting opening set.
I was especially pleased to find one of my favorite drummers/vocalists, Kevin (of Tulsa Drone and Marionette), tending bar; this is always a good thing because of the superb music talk and excellent pours it yields.
It was at this point that I made a convert out of my friend and she made the leap from whiskey to good tequila.
Smart woman.
What is there to say about Gogol Bordello?
Part gypsy music, part punk and pure energy is too simplistic and yet it says it all.
Or, to put it another way, two musicians had broken strings by the second song.
How about this: both the violin and accordion are played in minor keys?
And there were conga drums.
Need I go on?
The show was a non-stop dance-fest, except for the five people who remained rooted in place; we surmised that they were brain-dead and unable to respond to the allure of music created to entice the audience to respond.
The audience was a cross-section of RVA, with people representing every age, social group and musical preference; both the cool people and the complete geeks (including one in a holiday sweater...seriously) were in attendance.
Because when Gogol Bordello performs, they will come.
That much was clear.
Winning Winemaker Words
I'm always pleasantly surprised when I meet someone once and they remember me on our second meeting.
But I'm dumbfounded when I meet someone once and they don't just remember me, they write me a lovely e-mail a few weeks later, referencing the evening we met, sharing information and anticipating our next meeting.
Such was the case when I just received an e-mail from Jean Francois Coquard of Tenuta Mazzolino, the winemaker I'd met at Enoteca Sogno's wine dinner back at the beginning of the month.
I'd enjoyed his company at dinner (being the only single diner) and his wines were a delightful discovery for me, so naturally I'd blogged the occasion.
He was full of appreciation for the attention, notably, he wrote, because I'd done it in such a "personal and friendly" way.
Actually, I think personal and friendly just happens to be my style, but still, it was a gracious compliment, among others.
He was most excited about today's degorgement of their new Mazzolino Brut Rose, a sparkling rose made with Pinot Noir, after 18 months in bottles.
I was most excited to be promised details of his Asian trip and his sincere hope that we would dine again when he returns to Richmond.
I can only hope to make such a good first impression with any interesting man I meet.
But I'm dumbfounded when I meet someone once and they don't just remember me, they write me a lovely e-mail a few weeks later, referencing the evening we met, sharing information and anticipating our next meeting.
Such was the case when I just received an e-mail from Jean Francois Coquard of Tenuta Mazzolino, the winemaker I'd met at Enoteca Sogno's wine dinner back at the beginning of the month.
I'd enjoyed his company at dinner (being the only single diner) and his wines were a delightful discovery for me, so naturally I'd blogged the occasion.
He was full of appreciation for the attention, notably, he wrote, because I'd done it in such a "personal and friendly" way.
Actually, I think personal and friendly just happens to be my style, but still, it was a gracious compliment, among others.
He was most excited about today's degorgement of their new Mazzolino Brut Rose, a sparkling rose made with Pinot Noir, after 18 months in bottles.
I was most excited to be promised details of his Asian trip and his sincere hope that we would dine again when he returns to Richmond.
I can only hope to make such a good first impression with any interesting man I meet.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Keep On Truckin'
Seeing R. Crumb at Center Stage tonight was an exercise in pure enjoyment, a fact confirmed by every person I spoke to afterwards.
The audience, a mix of those of us who remember Crumb from his humble beginnings to those who have discovered and worshipped him along the way, was reverently quiet in order to hear the man's every word during the hour and half he and Francoise Mouly (The New Yorker Art Editor) sat on stage conversing.
Using a large screen to display the history of Crumb's works, including the newest, a comix version of "The Book of Genesis," the old friends maintained a fascinating and casual discussion of comic art, work habits, altered perceptions and so much more.
Among the highlights:
On attitude: "Life's not all beer and Skittles."
On music: "I only listen to CDs if I can't get the 78."
On maturation: "Oh, I was a sick puppy when I was young, but I got it out of my system. Now I'm nice."
On Fritz the Cat: "I tried to kill that character. I did."
On past drug experimentation: "Stay sober is my recommendation."
The man chuckled at his own humor, took a pratfall coming and going onstage and showed a self-deprecating wit that completely endeared him to the fawning audience.
The after-party at the Belvidere at Broad - which has an excellent display of some vintage Zap! comix cover art - filled quickly with Crumb attendees eager to continue the conversation about the man who denied being a genius.
According to him, anyone could accomplish what he had, "assuming they could do the cross-hatching." He claimed he just did what he did with the talent that he had.
"And I got well-paid," R. Crumb concluded in his understated way.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Delightful Dinner at T.J.'s
I was a Restaurant Week virgin and damn proud of it. I lost that virginity tonight at the request of a friend who made a convincing argument to give it a try. So we ended up at TJ's to see what $25.09 would get us at the recently reopened restaurant...besides. of course, a $2.09 donation to the Central Virginia Food Bank.
There was no shortage of choices: three first course options, three second course and two dessert. I started with the loaded potato soup (bacon, blue cheese, scallions over creamy potato soup) and my friend had the P.E.I. mussels in tomato, garlic and coconut broth. I liked mine better, but hers was very good, too.
To our surprise, the server then arrived with a gift from the kitchen: a radicchio and frisee salad with duck confit, dressed in a lovely, nutty olive oil as the base of the vinaigrette. It would have been quite nice had we paid for it; as a bonus course, it was downright delicious.
For my entree, I chose the grass-fed beef meatloaf wrapped with bacon, over mashed sweet potatoes, with Brussels sprouts, bacon and port wine. Are you noticing how I managed to incorporate bacon into absolutely everything I ordered tonight? I'm no fool. The bacon infused the ground beef with a delicious flavor, and the portion was enormous. My friend had the herb-roasted pork rib eye with country grits, cider-braised cabbage and natural jus with golden raisins. The two pieces of pig were huge, thick cut and cooked perfectly.
To finish, I got the Nutella creme brulee and she got the roasted pumpkin bread pudding with ice cream. Neither of us had enough room left to make a dent in either one, but not because they weren't appealing. For the record, we did try; we'd just had so much food by then. And wine: my choice was the 2008 Crios de Susan Balbo Malbec from Argentina.
Perhaps because TJ's has only lately reopened, the place was barely half full when we arrived around 8:30. Our server said they are very much anticipating the rest of Restaurant Week as an opportunity to introduce their new menu to the public.
And, with the exception of the Loud Talker and her friends at the back table, my Restaurant Week experience wasn't nearly as dreadful as I had expected. As they say, bacon makes everything better.
There was no shortage of choices: three first course options, three second course and two dessert. I started with the loaded potato soup (bacon, blue cheese, scallions over creamy potato soup) and my friend had the P.E.I. mussels in tomato, garlic and coconut broth. I liked mine better, but hers was very good, too.
To our surprise, the server then arrived with a gift from the kitchen: a radicchio and frisee salad with duck confit, dressed in a lovely, nutty olive oil as the base of the vinaigrette. It would have been quite nice had we paid for it; as a bonus course, it was downright delicious.
For my entree, I chose the grass-fed beef meatloaf wrapped with bacon, over mashed sweet potatoes, with Brussels sprouts, bacon and port wine. Are you noticing how I managed to incorporate bacon into absolutely everything I ordered tonight? I'm no fool. The bacon infused the ground beef with a delicious flavor, and the portion was enormous. My friend had the herb-roasted pork rib eye with country grits, cider-braised cabbage and natural jus with golden raisins. The two pieces of pig were huge, thick cut and cooked perfectly.
To finish, I got the Nutella creme brulee and she got the roasted pumpkin bread pudding with ice cream. Neither of us had enough room left to make a dent in either one, but not because they weren't appealing. For the record, we did try; we'd just had so much food by then. And wine: my choice was the 2008 Crios de Susan Balbo Malbec from Argentina.
Perhaps because TJ's has only lately reopened, the place was barely half full when we arrived around 8:30. Our server said they are very much anticipating the rest of Restaurant Week as an opportunity to introduce their new menu to the public.
And, with the exception of the Loud Talker and her friends at the back table, my Restaurant Week experience wasn't nearly as dreadful as I had expected. As they say, bacon makes everything better.
Let There Be Light in the Hood
Too often, when I tell people I live in Jackson Ward, their first reaction is surprise. "Do you feel safe there, a woman living alone?" is a question I've been asked more times than I cared to answer. And the fact is, I do feel safe here. For one thing, there are always people around, on the sidewalk, on their porches, biking by. But the main reason I feel safe is how well lit this neighborhood is; in many cases, we have more street lighting than some places in the Fan. So, yes, I feel safe, I assure concerned people who ask.
Which made it really strange and more than a bit eerie just now when I left to walk the dog before departing for the evening; there wasn't a street light on as far as the eye could see. Many of my neighbors had their front porch lights on, but they helped only minimally. Without all those street lights, it was black out there. The sky is covered in clouds, which didn't help, either. The beagle and I made slow progress during our walk because of how dark it was and spoke with several neighbors who were as curious as I about the lights' absence.
It was only about 15 minutes later, as we approached my block that the dim glow of the street lights began to show itself. It was very faint at first, but by the time we got to my corner, all the lights were on and the neighborhood had its usual nighttime glow. Safe indeed.
Which made it really strange and more than a bit eerie just now when I left to walk the dog before departing for the evening; there wasn't a street light on as far as the eye could see. Many of my neighbors had their front porch lights on, but they helped only minimally. Without all those street lights, it was black out there. The sky is covered in clouds, which didn't help, either. The beagle and I made slow progress during our walk because of how dark it was and spoke with several neighbors who were as curious as I about the lights' absence.
It was only about 15 minutes later, as we approached my block that the dim glow of the street lights began to show itself. It was very faint at first, but by the time we got to my corner, all the lights were on and the neighborhood had its usual nighttime glow. Safe indeed.
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