How many winemakers can I meet in eleven days?
Two, apparently, and tonight it was the delightful Jean Francois Coquard from Tenuta Mazzolino at Enoteca Sogno's wine dinner. Youngest of six siblings, by the time he was old enough to make wine, all the older ones had claimed the family vineyards, so Jean moved to Italy to stake his claim.
Tonight we enjoyed the fruits of his labor and they were excellent.
We started with a Chardonnay "Camara" with absolutely no oak, so it was fresh and fruity tasting and paired with smoked trout with apples and arugula. More than one person said it didn't even taste like chardonnay, it was that good.
Next was Bonard "Mazzolino" Oltrepo Pavese, their native grape and highly tannic...until you sipped it with the Gorgonzola, salami and Tallegio with fig jam that accompanied it. Then it was pure heaven.
Then came the Pinot Nero "Terrazze," the perfect match for the best minestrone with pancetta and Parmasean/Reggiano that anyone in the room had ever tasted. It was such a great dish for a fall night and the young wine matched it beautifully.
We finished with a 2004 Pinot Nero "Noir" Oltrepo Pavese that smelled so amazing that everyone spent the first ten minutes just inhaling all that beautiful aroma. Eventually, we started drinking it with a risotto with butternut squash and everyone wanted more of this wine. Even those not much a fan of Pinot Noir were blown away by it, and no one was surprised to learn that it was recently rated the top Italian Pinot Noir. It was the one to buy.
Jean was charming, sharing stories about his vineyard, his siblings (one brother makes wine in Wisconsin. Yes, Wisconsin), his hectic travel schedule (an upcoming trip to Singapore and Japan) and the details on how early his harvest came in this year (September 5th!).
He was downright hysterical describing his first Red Bull (my condolences) and first tofu sausage (the visual alone was priceless). More importantly, his French accent and phrasing made listening to him a real pleasure, second only to his extraordinary wines.
A girl could get used to that combination.
Monday, October 5, 2009
On the Road Again
That road would be 95 and my destination was D.C. to have lunch with my biggest fan/long-time friend.
I despise driving 95, although, unlike most Richmonders, I enjoy navigating the city once I arrive (it is, after all, my home town).
The traffic gods must have been smiling on me because, for the first time I can remember, I was able to drive the HOV lanes both ways, which makes a huge difference in dealing with the madness, not to mention making better time.
But I will never get used to driving a center road with traffic going in opposite directions on either side of me.
I try not to pay attention to that because it feels a bit surreal, a sensation I don't care for when I'm going that fast.
My destination was that vague area north of Georgetown and south of Tenleytown, an area I know well because I used to grocery shop there when I lived in Dupont Circle.
That tired old Giant store still sits on Wisconsin Avenue and walking by it today was like a blast from the past.
I couldn't believe it had never been renovated; it looked exactly the same as it did when I shopped there in the 80s.
Actually, nearby at the long-closed G.C. Murphy, the store windows were filled with architectural renderings of all the proposed changes for that area, including a fancy new Giant, as befits a neighborhood that has changed hugely since I left.
But every time I'm back up there, I count more cranes and building skeletons going up.
It's a good thing I understand the layout of the city, because entire blocks are now unrecognizable to me as smaller buildings have been replaced with unfamiliar mega-structures.
On the other hand, I'm always up there to have fun and I always succeed, so let them build.
There's something very pleasurable about being able to go home again...even if it is only for a day or a weekend.
I despise driving 95, although, unlike most Richmonders, I enjoy navigating the city once I arrive (it is, after all, my home town).
The traffic gods must have been smiling on me because, for the first time I can remember, I was able to drive the HOV lanes both ways, which makes a huge difference in dealing with the madness, not to mention making better time.
But I will never get used to driving a center road with traffic going in opposite directions on either side of me.
I try not to pay attention to that because it feels a bit surreal, a sensation I don't care for when I'm going that fast.
My destination was that vague area north of Georgetown and south of Tenleytown, an area I know well because I used to grocery shop there when I lived in Dupont Circle.
That tired old Giant store still sits on Wisconsin Avenue and walking by it today was like a blast from the past.
I couldn't believe it had never been renovated; it looked exactly the same as it did when I shopped there in the 80s.
Actually, nearby at the long-closed G.C. Murphy, the store windows were filled with architectural renderings of all the proposed changes for that area, including a fancy new Giant, as befits a neighborhood that has changed hugely since I left.
But every time I'm back up there, I count more cranes and building skeletons going up.
It's a good thing I understand the layout of the city, because entire blocks are now unrecognizable to me as smaller buildings have been replaced with unfamiliar mega-structures.
On the other hand, I'm always up there to have fun and I always succeed, so let them build.
There's something very pleasurable about being able to go home again...even if it is only for a day or a weekend.
No e-mail? Just Slit My Wrists
I can live without many so-called necessities: air conditioning, a cell phone, TV, pajamas...but I start to get the shakes when deprived of my e-mail.
Such was the case most of the weekend and I was like a junkie jonesing for relief.
And it wasn't even that I didn't have any Internet across the board.
I could still blog (although I couldn't moderate comments), access my secondary e-mail account (but most anyone that matters uses my primary one) and log on to Facebook to see whose panties were in a wad about what.
But no primary e-mail.
Luckily, a few brave souls picked up the phone.
My best friend from out west called and we talked for an hour.
A good friend called to invite me to spend a beautiful afternoon in Byrd Park and a music geek friend called to salivate over the upcoming Bela Flek show at UR last night (not a single empty seat, nor should there have been for such musical magnificence).
But for someone who craves communication like I do, I still felt cut off.
The bright side was that when I finally was able to get back into my e-mail this morning, it was like Christmas.
All kinds of good things were waiting for me: e-mails from friends wanting to get together this week, comments on my blog posts, an invitation to a wine dinner and, of course, a couple of smart-assed friends just giving me a hard time.
Now that's what I'm talking about.
Such was the case most of the weekend and I was like a junkie jonesing for relief.
And it wasn't even that I didn't have any Internet across the board.
I could still blog (although I couldn't moderate comments), access my secondary e-mail account (but most anyone that matters uses my primary one) and log on to Facebook to see whose panties were in a wad about what.
But no primary e-mail.
Luckily, a few brave souls picked up the phone.
My best friend from out west called and we talked for an hour.
A good friend called to invite me to spend a beautiful afternoon in Byrd Park and a music geek friend called to salivate over the upcoming Bela Flek show at UR last night (not a single empty seat, nor should there have been for such musical magnificence).
But for someone who craves communication like I do, I still felt cut off.
The bright side was that when I finally was able to get back into my e-mail this morning, it was like Christmas.
All kinds of good things were waiting for me: e-mails from friends wanting to get together this week, comments on my blog posts, an invitation to a wine dinner and, of course, a couple of smart-assed friends just giving me a hard time.
Now that's what I'm talking about.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Strolling Second Street
The 2 Street Festival had been going on all weekend, filling my neighborhood with people, cars and the smell of fried seafood, but it wasn't until late this afternoon that I finally took the time to head down there. As it happened, early-waking neighbor was sitting on his porch again as I headed toward 2 Street. He hadn't been yet, but wasn't intending to, either. Something about not having shaved or showered, so I reassured him that I hadn't done either myself today. That was enough to get him up off his bench and strolling down Clay with me.
Despite the lateness of the festival, the streets were packed. We paused at the Joe Kennedy, Jr. stage for Debo Dabney and the Happy Band. The treat wasn't so much the music, but the array of men in suits to die for...with matching shoes. One guy had a brown suit pinstriped with pink, a matching pink hat and pocket square and the most amazing brown and pink shoes I can ever hope to see. He was rivaled only by the guy in the lavender suit with the 70s-era wide white tie and the lavender hat. Awesome, simply awesome.
We made our way past the mile-long line at the Croaker's Spot tent, inhaling the delicious smells all the while, cut through the alley and ended up at the Community Stage for the First African Baptist Church Orchestra for some mighty testifying and hand clapping. We were too white to attempt joining in, but most of the crowd was way into it.
We saw several other neighbors walking the strip and talked trash about some of the more colorful people we passed, not that we had any right to comment given our casual attire. And considering we'd both already been up for ten hours, I'd say it turned out to be quite the satisfying trip down 2 Street.
Despite the lateness of the festival, the streets were packed. We paused at the Joe Kennedy, Jr. stage for Debo Dabney and the Happy Band. The treat wasn't so much the music, but the array of men in suits to die for...with matching shoes. One guy had a brown suit pinstriped with pink, a matching pink hat and pocket square and the most amazing brown and pink shoes I can ever hope to see. He was rivaled only by the guy in the lavender suit with the 70s-era wide white tie and the lavender hat. Awesome, simply awesome.
We made our way past the mile-long line at the Croaker's Spot tent, inhaling the delicious smells all the while, cut through the alley and ended up at the Community Stage for the First African Baptist Church Orchestra for some mighty testifying and hand clapping. We were too white to attempt joining in, but most of the crowd was way into it.
We saw several other neighbors walking the strip and talked trash about some of the more colorful people we passed, not that we had any right to comment given our casual attire. And considering we'd both already been up for ten hours, I'd say it turned out to be quite the satisfying trip down 2 Street.
An Odd Night; An Early Morning
There is no good excuse to wake up at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning. In my case, it was a dream about someone I haven't seen in 15 years that woke me up in a cold sweat. Whatever. So I got up and took the dog out for a walk, where I was surprised to see a neighbor already sitting on his front porch. I teased him about being up so early and he said he wasn't happy about it, either. Once we got to talking, we realized we've got no idea what to do with a day that starts unnecessarily this ungodly early. It was nice to have someone to commiserate with for the first 15 minutes of my day, I have to admit. I didn't ask him what had awakened him so early, but not because I wasn't curious.
Wine Geek friend came over last night so we could attend the Tricycle Gardens Harvest Dinner together. Poor thing, she came straight from work, so we began here with a Tenuta di Pietra Porzia 2008 Frascati Superiore to ease her transition to Saturday night. It was light and delicious, kind of a pears and almond thing going on. We caught up on the blogging world and what's been going on in our lives since we last got together, then it was time to head to the Robinson Theater in Church Hill.
We had no idea what to expect from the Harvest Dinner, since it was the first one, and that was probably a good thing. The place was packed (the event sold out) with a lot of recognizable local faces as well as plenty of unknowns just looking for a giant feast made by local restaurants (The Fat Goat, Balliceaux, Rowland's, Helen's and more) and supporting a good cause (community gardens). It was impossible not to run into people we knew, but the din was so loud, conversation was challenging. Which worked for me, given a few of the people from my past I ran into it (Fly Guy, for instance).
When we left there, WGF suggested we check out the Boathouse, since neither of us had been. How can I politely put this...the place was like one of those generic seafood places you find in Norfolk or Baltimore full of tourists and frat boys. It didn't help that we had to walk past a bachelorette party (giant penises, an identifying white lace bow, bridesmaids french kissing each other) just to get in and see the madness. One quick sweep through and we'd both determined it was not the place for us. I know people who have been (although not on a Saturday night and perhaps that was the problem) and didn't hate it, but we were hugely underwhelmed.
So we ended up at Julep's for after-dinner drinks and to further the conversation that had been impossible at our last two stops. Unfortunately for me (WGF was way more tolerant), we became the recipients of a rather drunk redneck truck driver's attention as he smoked and drank and clumsily tried to engage us in conversation...until WGF told him flat out that we hadn't seen each other in a month and wanted to talk. Alone. He huffed a bit then turned his back on us. Sorry, sir, but you're just not proving yourself conversationally.
All in all, it was sort of a strange night. And now there's this ridiculously early morning thing going on. Maybe it's the full moon working against me?
Wine Geek friend came over last night so we could attend the Tricycle Gardens Harvest Dinner together. Poor thing, she came straight from work, so we began here with a Tenuta di Pietra Porzia 2008 Frascati Superiore to ease her transition to Saturday night. It was light and delicious, kind of a pears and almond thing going on. We caught up on the blogging world and what's been going on in our lives since we last got together, then it was time to head to the Robinson Theater in Church Hill.
We had no idea what to expect from the Harvest Dinner, since it was the first one, and that was probably a good thing. The place was packed (the event sold out) with a lot of recognizable local faces as well as plenty of unknowns just looking for a giant feast made by local restaurants (The Fat Goat, Balliceaux, Rowland's, Helen's and more) and supporting a good cause (community gardens). It was impossible not to run into people we knew, but the din was so loud, conversation was challenging. Which worked for me, given a few of the people from my past I ran into it (Fly Guy, for instance).
When we left there, WGF suggested we check out the Boathouse, since neither of us had been. How can I politely put this...the place was like one of those generic seafood places you find in Norfolk or Baltimore full of tourists and frat boys. It didn't help that we had to walk past a bachelorette party (giant penises, an identifying white lace bow, bridesmaids french kissing each other) just to get in and see the madness. One quick sweep through and we'd both determined it was not the place for us. I know people who have been (although not on a Saturday night and perhaps that was the problem) and didn't hate it, but we were hugely underwhelmed.
So we ended up at Julep's for after-dinner drinks and to further the conversation that had been impossible at our last two stops. Unfortunately for me (WGF was way more tolerant), we became the recipients of a rather drunk redneck truck driver's attention as he smoked and drank and clumsily tried to engage us in conversation...until WGF told him flat out that we hadn't seen each other in a month and wanted to talk. Alone. He huffed a bit then turned his back on us. Sorry, sir, but you're just not proving yourself conversationally.
All in all, it was sort of a strange night. And now there's this ridiculously early morning thing going on. Maybe it's the full moon working against me?
Friday, October 2, 2009
He Used to be Sad, Now He's Just Bored with Her
My friend Holmes got dumped because he wasn't as romantic as Noah in "The Notebook."
Apparently the woman actually said that to him.
I'd like to say I know what Noah was like except I've never read or seen "The Notebook."
And it wasn't like she'd told him ahead of time that she wanted him to be romantic like Noah, and since he hadn't read or seen it either, he didn't exactly know that he was supposed to measure up to Noah.
Fortunately, he's smart enough to be glad to be rid of a nutcase like that, but it got me thinking.
Since everyone defines romance differently, what are the chances that when two people start out together they'll instinctively know what kind of romance to bring to the table?
And, realistically, how many people state their romantic preferences right up front?
I don't want to come off like a downer here, but, looking forward, how likely is it that I'll meet someone who can figure out how to romance me right?
Holmes thought he was doing just fine until that woman brought him up short.
Tonight was devoted to hearing Holmes' tale of woe; we began the process at my place with old music and a bottle of Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir (hence the need for the decanter, per wine whiz Julia) so Holmes could share all the gory details.
Holmes loved my wine choice: lots of red fruit, medium-bodied and earthy.
After that we moved on to First Fridays since Holmes had never partaken of the art extravaganza, augmented this month with 2 Street Festival goings-on.
Seriously, Art6 is only allowed to have 20 people in its 2,000 square foot space at a time? Hell, yes, I'll sign your petition.
We concluded at Avalon (which I hadn't been to since June on an ill-fated date; the guy was disappointing, but the food was quite good) with an extended meal of mussels, scallops, rosemary and Parmesan grits, roasted corn, filet mignon and Pinot Gris.
Holmes shared all the little details leading up to The End: the lies, the letter, the weirdness about smooching.
He's decided to put off dating for a while and just hang out with his female friends, since we don't expect any Noah-like behavior out of him.
He joked that he's definitely planning to watch "The Notebook," maybe even take notes in a black and white composition book.
I least I think he was joking.
Men...
Apparently the woman actually said that to him.
I'd like to say I know what Noah was like except I've never read or seen "The Notebook."
And it wasn't like she'd told him ahead of time that she wanted him to be romantic like Noah, and since he hadn't read or seen it either, he didn't exactly know that he was supposed to measure up to Noah.
Fortunately, he's smart enough to be glad to be rid of a nutcase like that, but it got me thinking.
Since everyone defines romance differently, what are the chances that when two people start out together they'll instinctively know what kind of romance to bring to the table?
And, realistically, how many people state their romantic preferences right up front?
I don't want to come off like a downer here, but, looking forward, how likely is it that I'll meet someone who can figure out how to romance me right?
Holmes thought he was doing just fine until that woman brought him up short.
Tonight was devoted to hearing Holmes' tale of woe; we began the process at my place with old music and a bottle of Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir (hence the need for the decanter, per wine whiz Julia) so Holmes could share all the gory details.
Holmes loved my wine choice: lots of red fruit, medium-bodied and earthy.
After that we moved on to First Fridays since Holmes had never partaken of the art extravaganza, augmented this month with 2 Street Festival goings-on.
Seriously, Art6 is only allowed to have 20 people in its 2,000 square foot space at a time? Hell, yes, I'll sign your petition.
We concluded at Avalon (which I hadn't been to since June on an ill-fated date; the guy was disappointing, but the food was quite good) with an extended meal of mussels, scallops, rosemary and Parmesan grits, roasted corn, filet mignon and Pinot Gris.
Holmes shared all the little details leading up to The End: the lies, the letter, the weirdness about smooching.
He's decided to put off dating for a while and just hang out with his female friends, since we don't expect any Noah-like behavior out of him.
He joked that he's definitely planning to watch "The Notebook," maybe even take notes in a black and white composition book.
I least I think he was joking.
Men...
Back in the Saddle Again
Isn't there some lame expression about how the best part of going away is coming home or some such nonsense? Sorry, but that's crap. But if you have to come back, it is good to be rewarded pleasurably for it.
Like having four people ask me why my blog was missing in action. Aw shucks, you noticed?
Or seeing my dog chow down like crazy after going on a hunger strike for the pet-sitter while I was gone. He's still a bit peeved with me for leaving, but at least his stomach isn't growling anymore.
Like meeting two restaurant friends for dinner in the neighborhood and being surprised with a gift of a dark chocolate truffle bar from Seattle Chocolates. Does this help explain why I love these siblings? Well, gifts and the conversation is always great.
And beef tenderloin with sauteed onions and mushrooms after three days of seafood. Yum.
Running into Alexa, former fellow employee and a photographer for the RTD, shooting pictures for next week's dining review. She couldn't resist ordering one of the dishes she'd photographed to take with her (the tequila shrimp); she said it was the first time she's ever been so tempted while shooting.
The monthly music recording for RVA news at Ipanema with Fuzzy Baby playing a nice, long set full of multiple instruments, lovely voices and glass playing (as in glasses partially filled with water). I only wish the crowd had been quieter (and shorter), but the place was packed and quiet is asking a lot of a crowd on a Thursday night. Thursday is the new Friday, or so they say.
If I had to come back to real life, it wasn't a bad way to kick off my weekend. Not bad at all.
Like having four people ask me why my blog was missing in action. Aw shucks, you noticed?
Or seeing my dog chow down like crazy after going on a hunger strike for the pet-sitter while I was gone. He's still a bit peeved with me for leaving, but at least his stomach isn't growling anymore.
Like meeting two restaurant friends for dinner in the neighborhood and being surprised with a gift of a dark chocolate truffle bar from Seattle Chocolates. Does this help explain why I love these siblings? Well, gifts and the conversation is always great.
And beef tenderloin with sauteed onions and mushrooms after three days of seafood. Yum.
Running into Alexa, former fellow employee and a photographer for the RTD, shooting pictures for next week's dining review. She couldn't resist ordering one of the dishes she'd photographed to take with her (the tequila shrimp); she said it was the first time she's ever been so tempted while shooting.
The monthly music recording for RVA news at Ipanema with Fuzzy Baby playing a nice, long set full of multiple instruments, lovely voices and glass playing (as in glasses partially filled with water). I only wish the crowd had been quieter (and shorter), but the place was packed and quiet is asking a lot of a crowd on a Thursday night. Thursday is the new Friday, or so they say.
If I had to come back to real life, it wasn't a bad way to kick off my weekend. Not bad at all.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Life is a Beach
There are many disadvantages to being jobless, but one advantage is that when you get an invitation for a mid-week trip to the beach, you can just pick up and go. And I did. The trip provided the perfect excuse to bring along my recent wine gift to share (forget delayed gratification for me) and if ever there was a perfect place to enjoy a bottle of 2007 K Ovide, it was sipping it leisurely on a deck overlooking the ocean. You score a lot of points when you bring such a fine hostess gift, I noticed.
I usually go to the beach during June and July. so I wasn't even sure what to expect out of fall on the Outer Banks. Of course the crowds were gone, but the ocean was every bit as warm as summer, so we went in every day. The sand was never scorching hot, so I could collect shells without destroying the soles of my feet. We enjoyed an excellent meal at my favorite wine bar, absent the martini-swilling tourists from Ohio that populate it during high season. Another culinary highlight: steamed crabs and fresh butter beans, both so good that we ate them again for lunch the next day.
As usual, there wasn't much activity beyond eating, drinking and walking, except reading on the beach. I finally finished the enormous biography of Arshile Gorky I'd started last month and made a nice dent in the V.S. Pritchett collection of lusty short stories I'd brought along.
And because the oddities of my life follow me wherever I go, I had one of my typical random conversations with a stranger while out walking on the beach first thing this morning.
Him: Good morning.
Me: Morning
Him: It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?
Me: Looks like it'll be another great day on the beach.
Him: You have a very sexy bottom, but I'm sure you get told that all the time.
Me: (!)
Him: Are you married?
Me: Yes.
Him: I wish I was.
Me: Good luck with that.
I may have even gotten a little September sun during my sojourn.
I usually go to the beach during June and July. so I wasn't even sure what to expect out of fall on the Outer Banks. Of course the crowds were gone, but the ocean was every bit as warm as summer, so we went in every day. The sand was never scorching hot, so I could collect shells without destroying the soles of my feet. We enjoyed an excellent meal at my favorite wine bar, absent the martini-swilling tourists from Ohio that populate it during high season. Another culinary highlight: steamed crabs and fresh butter beans, both so good that we ate them again for lunch the next day.
As usual, there wasn't much activity beyond eating, drinking and walking, except reading on the beach. I finally finished the enormous biography of Arshile Gorky I'd started last month and made a nice dent in the V.S. Pritchett collection of lusty short stories I'd brought along.
And because the oddities of my life follow me wherever I go, I had one of my typical random conversations with a stranger while out walking on the beach first thing this morning.
Him: Good morning.
Me: Morning
Him: It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?
Me: Looks like it'll be another great day on the beach.
Him: You have a very sexy bottom, but I'm sure you get told that all the time.
Me: (!)
Him: Are you married?
Me: Yes.
Him: I wish I was.
Me: Good luck with that.
I may have even gotten a little September sun during my sojourn.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Awake and Barely on My Feet
The dreams that wake you up in the wee hours or the ones you experience just before you wake up in the morning are never the fluffy, frivolous type dreams, at least in my experience.
It's never the being chased, or sliding backwards down a hill or nonsense like that sort of dreams, not for me anyway.
No, it's always the deep, subconscious kind of dreams that force you awake.
The kind of dreams where you're having conversations that you'd never have in real life.
The kind of words that must have been lurking in your subconscious all along but don't actually cross your lips.
But go to sleep, boy, and all of a sudden you're over-sharing and the dream people are responding completely unlike themselves (or maybe like themselves; who knows?).
The kind of dream where you wake up and for a few minutes, you actually believe the conversation happened and you're suffused with a happiness or sadness for no good reason.
A quick adjustment to reality and you file it away in the crazy dream part of the brain, maybe even relieved that you didn't actually say those thing out loud.
I'm not sure what causes the nervy part of my brain to move to the forefront once I check out, but it's always fascinating to see who I direct my secret thoughts at and what I choose to say when there are no possible repercussions.
I think some of the recipients of my dream conversations might be very surprised at what I'd say if social convention didn't relegate my real thoughts to dreamland.
It's never the being chased, or sliding backwards down a hill or nonsense like that sort of dreams, not for me anyway.
No, it's always the deep, subconscious kind of dreams that force you awake.
The kind of dreams where you're having conversations that you'd never have in real life.
The kind of words that must have been lurking in your subconscious all along but don't actually cross your lips.
But go to sleep, boy, and all of a sudden you're over-sharing and the dream people are responding completely unlike themselves (or maybe like themselves; who knows?).
The kind of dream where you wake up and for a few minutes, you actually believe the conversation happened and you're suffused with a happiness or sadness for no good reason.
A quick adjustment to reality and you file it away in the crazy dream part of the brain, maybe even relieved that you didn't actually say those thing out loud.
I'm not sure what causes the nervy part of my brain to move to the forefront once I check out, but it's always fascinating to see who I direct my secret thoughts at and what I choose to say when there are no possible repercussions.
I think some of the recipients of my dream conversations might be very surprised at what I'd say if social convention didn't relegate my real thoughts to dreamland.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Here & Now is Coming Round
When the economy sucks, people don't hesitate to share their strategy for getting along on less.
Or maybe they just share it with me in particular because I'm jobless and they figure I can empathize, which I can, but probably no more than anybody else these days.
A local bookseller told me that her strategy is to buy something from a local business every week.
She's absolutely right about doing this and it would b great if more people made that effort to support local businesses right now.
If we lose them to this recession, we may not get them back. Shop rva and all.
I was at Total Wine (pricing decanters, not wine...don't ask) and ran into a wine rep I know stocking shelves.
We chatted about how the economy has changed people's patterns; for him, it's his going out and drinking habits.
The former happens less often and the latter means he chooses beer over vodka tonics.
I told him I know most every wine special in town and which nights they apply.
He told me that consumers are still buying plenty of wine, but it's cheaper stuff in larger quantities.
The owner of our neighborhood yoga place told me that she expects this to be a bare bones holiday season at home and she was referring to Thanksgiving as well as Christmas.
She said her little family plans to cut back almost completely on holiday expenditures, which most people would probably acknowledge have gotten to be excessive anyway.
I always hated mall/big box shopping, my car is paid for and my expenses minimal, so I continue to use my small discretionary income for supporting local restaurants, markets and artists.
When things rebound, I'll just use my increased income to support the same things to a greater degree again.
It'll be interesting to see which habits borne of this recession people maintain once the economy picks back up.
As we've all seen, our collective memory can be very short.
Or maybe they just share it with me in particular because I'm jobless and they figure I can empathize, which I can, but probably no more than anybody else these days.
A local bookseller told me that her strategy is to buy something from a local business every week.
She's absolutely right about doing this and it would b great if more people made that effort to support local businesses right now.
If we lose them to this recession, we may not get them back. Shop rva and all.
I was at Total Wine (pricing decanters, not wine...don't ask) and ran into a wine rep I know stocking shelves.
We chatted about how the economy has changed people's patterns; for him, it's his going out and drinking habits.
The former happens less often and the latter means he chooses beer over vodka tonics.
I told him I know most every wine special in town and which nights they apply.
He told me that consumers are still buying plenty of wine, but it's cheaper stuff in larger quantities.
The owner of our neighborhood yoga place told me that she expects this to be a bare bones holiday season at home and she was referring to Thanksgiving as well as Christmas.
She said her little family plans to cut back almost completely on holiday expenditures, which most people would probably acknowledge have gotten to be excessive anyway.
I always hated mall/big box shopping, my car is paid for and my expenses minimal, so I continue to use my small discretionary income for supporting local restaurants, markets and artists.
When things rebound, I'll just use my increased income to support the same things to a greater degree again.
It'll be interesting to see which habits borne of this recession people maintain once the economy picks back up.
As we've all seen, our collective memory can be very short.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Pop A Squat
How much time can one person spend sitting on their ass in a day?
Well, if you're talking about me and how I spent today, pretty much all of it.
First off I met friends at the Bowtie to see Hitchcock's "Rear Window," a movie I had never seen on the big screen.
Seeing it full size for the first time was the perfect analogy for Jimmy Stewart's nosey neighbor-watching in the film; there was so much more to see with a better view.
It was the restored version, too, so the color was absolutely beautiful; it showed in every detail of every scene.
This afternoon, I went to the Firehouse for their pick-your-price performance of "Boys' Life," which has gotten rave reviews from critics and been recommended by several friends.
I wasn't the least surprised at how strong Joe Carlson's performance was; he had already impressed me in several plays just this summer alone.
He had cut his hair for the role and completely inhabited the witty and immature Jack character. Our seats were in the front row and unbeknownst to me, all the seats had been replaced since I'd last been to the Firehouse. The uncomfortable and very squeaky chairs of yore are gone, so what was another two hours seated?
Coincidentally, my final event of the evening was also at the Firehouse: Project Resolution, the monthly showing and forum for local filmmakers and fans.
The first half of the program is devoted to shorts (5 minutes or less) and the audience offers critique and comments to the director after each.
The second half features a longer film (20-30 minutes) and tonight it was Joey Tran's "The Cyclist."
I find it fascinating to hear the audience's knowledgeable feedback (most are filmmakers and/or film geeks) and observe how the directors handle the opinions offered. Most seem to appreciate it; others become nothing less than snarky.
P-Res always does a raffle, usually of DVDs and tonight I was the lucky recipient of "Talladega Nights," a film I will never watch (I don't have a TV or any desire to see it), but who doesn't love winning something random?
Or supporting a local event I frequently attend?
And, by this point, what was a few more hours with my butt firmly planted?
Well, if you're talking about me and how I spent today, pretty much all of it.
First off I met friends at the Bowtie to see Hitchcock's "Rear Window," a movie I had never seen on the big screen.
Seeing it full size for the first time was the perfect analogy for Jimmy Stewart's nosey neighbor-watching in the film; there was so much more to see with a better view.
It was the restored version, too, so the color was absolutely beautiful; it showed in every detail of every scene.
This afternoon, I went to the Firehouse for their pick-your-price performance of "Boys' Life," which has gotten rave reviews from critics and been recommended by several friends.
I wasn't the least surprised at how strong Joe Carlson's performance was; he had already impressed me in several plays just this summer alone.
He had cut his hair for the role and completely inhabited the witty and immature Jack character. Our seats were in the front row and unbeknownst to me, all the seats had been replaced since I'd last been to the Firehouse. The uncomfortable and very squeaky chairs of yore are gone, so what was another two hours seated?
Coincidentally, my final event of the evening was also at the Firehouse: Project Resolution, the monthly showing and forum for local filmmakers and fans.
The first half of the program is devoted to shorts (5 minutes or less) and the audience offers critique and comments to the director after each.
The second half features a longer film (20-30 minutes) and tonight it was Joey Tran's "The Cyclist."
I find it fascinating to hear the audience's knowledgeable feedback (most are filmmakers and/or film geeks) and observe how the directors handle the opinions offered. Most seem to appreciate it; others become nothing less than snarky.
P-Res always does a raffle, usually of DVDs and tonight I was the lucky recipient of "Talladega Nights," a film I will never watch (I don't have a TV or any desire to see it), but who doesn't love winning something random?
Or supporting a local event I frequently attend?
And, by this point, what was a few more hours with my butt firmly planted?
Take A Picture. It Lasts Longer.
Answer: You post a picture of yourself wearing the new t-shirt (perhaps t-dress would be more appropriate) on your blog and on Facebook in gratitude, then try to decide who to share the wine with.
Question: What's the proper response to receiving a surprise package in the mail from Walla Walla, containing a winery t-shirt (men's, size small) and a bottle of wine you've been lusting after for months, but couldn't afford on your unemployed pocketbook?
Question: What's the proper response to receiving a surprise package in the mail from Walla Walla, containing a winery t-shirt (men's, size small) and a bottle of wine you've been lusting after for months, but couldn't afford on your unemployed pocketbook?
Saturday, September 26, 2009
It Begins with an Innocent Question
"Would you like to meet for breakfast?"
He suggested 10 a.m.; I countered with 11.
He was punctual, as is his habit.
He told me to choose the place since he'd picked our last eating destination.
I chose 821.
He countered with McLean's.
It's my turn, so we walked to 821.
I ordered...drum roll... black bean nachos.
He got a crab omelet with bacon and coffee.
He reluctantly admitted that the food was good.
I got my nacho fix.
He whined a little more about McLean's.
We disagreed about music, as usual (please...he loves Boston. Enough said).
He explained the difference in sleeping with someone and sleeping with someone.
Right.
Are you getting a sense of just how much we have to base an interesting friendship on?
If so, please clue me in.
He suggested 10 a.m.; I countered with 11.
He was punctual, as is his habit.
He told me to choose the place since he'd picked our last eating destination.
I chose 821.
He countered with McLean's.
It's my turn, so we walked to 821.
I ordered...drum roll... black bean nachos.
He got a crab omelet with bacon and coffee.
He reluctantly admitted that the food was good.
I got my nacho fix.
He whined a little more about McLean's.
We disagreed about music, as usual (please...he loves Boston. Enough said).
He explained the difference in sleeping with someone and sleeping with someone.
Right.
Are you getting a sense of just how much we have to base an interesting friendship on?
If so, please clue me in.
The Good, The Bad and the Ugly
InLight, 1708 Gallery's 2nd Annual annniversary display, turned out to be both more and less than expected.
The three blocks of Broad and Grace from 5th to 8th were alive tonight with outdoor light-inspired art.
Some of it, like the installations at the plaza on the east side of the federal courthouse were imaginative and engaging.
I loved "Reach," a motorized contraption with halogen lights moving in a spider-like motion as viewers moved beneath.
But without question, my favorite was "Tomorrow Stood Just Outside the Circle From Where the Light Did Shine," a collection of black dress shoes with cut-outs illuminated from within and words written on the soles, all hanging across Grace Street.
It was ghostly and captivating at the same time.
There were plenty of interesting light installations, but nothing with the impact of last year's Jackson Ward house, as defined by light.
That 3-D recreation of an 18th century row house using only lights set a standard that may never be exceeded for this exhibit, IMHO.
As if pre-determined by fate, I followed InLight with dinner at the Belvidere at Broad, where I enjoyed seeing any number of fascinating locals.
I knew I'd be seeing Katie, last night's wine rep and bourbon buddy (and her charming farmer friend) again, but also saw Karen of Now Sleepyhead (looking lovely, as always) and Nate, who was performing outside the restaurant as Gull.
I never miss a chance to see and catch up with Nate; he is, without doubt, one of my favorite music people.
Add into this mix a very married neighbor who came early, sat himself down next to me, and stayed late, despite obvious hints from me to go home to wifey.
Residents of nearby bar stools noticed his inappropriately amorous attempts, but told me afterwards that they weren't certain enough to intervene.
Pity, really, because their meddling could have saved me untold fending off of said neighbor.
They stayed out of it as the neighbor got progressively more inebriated and I got more and more bored.
I came home to messages from two friend wanting to catch up with me earlier tonight, but, alas, it's a bit late at this point.
Maybe I can find someone to have breakfast with me in the morning.
We shall see who turns up.
The three blocks of Broad and Grace from 5th to 8th were alive tonight with outdoor light-inspired art.
Some of it, like the installations at the plaza on the east side of the federal courthouse were imaginative and engaging.
I loved "Reach," a motorized contraption with halogen lights moving in a spider-like motion as viewers moved beneath.
But without question, my favorite was "Tomorrow Stood Just Outside the Circle From Where the Light Did Shine," a collection of black dress shoes with cut-outs illuminated from within and words written on the soles, all hanging across Grace Street.
It was ghostly and captivating at the same time.
There were plenty of interesting light installations, but nothing with the impact of last year's Jackson Ward house, as defined by light.
That 3-D recreation of an 18th century row house using only lights set a standard that may never be exceeded for this exhibit, IMHO.
As if pre-determined by fate, I followed InLight with dinner at the Belvidere at Broad, where I enjoyed seeing any number of fascinating locals.
I knew I'd be seeing Katie, last night's wine rep and bourbon buddy (and her charming farmer friend) again, but also saw Karen of Now Sleepyhead (looking lovely, as always) and Nate, who was performing outside the restaurant as Gull.
I never miss a chance to see and catch up with Nate; he is, without doubt, one of my favorite music people.
Add into this mix a very married neighbor who came early, sat himself down next to me, and stayed late, despite obvious hints from me to go home to wifey.
Residents of nearby bar stools noticed his inappropriately amorous attempts, but told me afterwards that they weren't certain enough to intervene.
Pity, really, because their meddling could have saved me untold fending off of said neighbor.
They stayed out of it as the neighbor got progressively more inebriated and I got more and more bored.
I came home to messages from two friend wanting to catch up with me earlier tonight, but, alas, it's a bit late at this point.
Maybe I can find someone to have breakfast with me in the morning.
We shall see who turns up.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wine Dinner at Bistro 27 Leads to....
...unbridled wine consumption, superior food offerings, fascinating conversation with wine geeks, wine sellers, catering types and Uruguayan winemaker as well as bourbon tasting for the out-of-towners afterwards.
The wine dinner tonight at 27 had many things to recommend it: the charming presence of Francisco Carrau of Bodegas Carrau, a menu that included, among other things, seared scallops. grilled stuffed quail and breaded pork tenderloin scallopini, sustainable and hand-harvested wines made by a family of ten-generation winemakers and a savvy crowd of wine geeks, sellers and buyers.
Portions were huge, pourings generous and the wine talk exceptional.
Chef Carlos did what many local chefs can't: spoke briefly about the food and wine pairings before the dinner started and then let us find out for ourselves what he intended to accomplish.
No between courses blustering about the upcoming dish or pairing.
Five courses made for a very full group by meal's end, but not too full to organize a party of winemaker, distributor, wine seller, chef and chosen few to trek down a block for an after dinner course of bourbon, tequila and digestifs.
Our honored guest, Uruguayan Francisco Carrau, was most curious about Kentucky bourbon, so we took him to Comfort to sample our country's best.
Three hours later, he seemed satisfied enough with his new-found knowledge of the array of American bourbon and even a little Virginia whiskey.
I was satisfied with an invitation to Uruguay to see first-hand South American wine county. Everybody was happy.
For you green types, Carrau vineyards boasts the highest sustainability index possible. For you foodies, Chef Carlos outdid himself with a menu of five perfectly paired courses.
For you stay-at-home types, you missed an evening of engaging conversation and all kinds of interesting personalities.
Wine highlight?
Bodegas Carrau Tannat Amat, a rich rustic wine with considerable tannins.
It was served with the scallopini with chimmichurri sauce and I requested it be poured again with the dark chocolate tart; the winemaker enthusiastically seconded my motion.
I had to order some for home as well; it was that good.
Uruguayan wine. Who knew?
The wine dinner tonight at 27 had many things to recommend it: the charming presence of Francisco Carrau of Bodegas Carrau, a menu that included, among other things, seared scallops. grilled stuffed quail and breaded pork tenderloin scallopini, sustainable and hand-harvested wines made by a family of ten-generation winemakers and a savvy crowd of wine geeks, sellers and buyers.
Portions were huge, pourings generous and the wine talk exceptional.
Chef Carlos did what many local chefs can't: spoke briefly about the food and wine pairings before the dinner started and then let us find out for ourselves what he intended to accomplish.
No between courses blustering about the upcoming dish or pairing.
Five courses made for a very full group by meal's end, but not too full to organize a party of winemaker, distributor, wine seller, chef and chosen few to trek down a block for an after dinner course of bourbon, tequila and digestifs.
Our honored guest, Uruguayan Francisco Carrau, was most curious about Kentucky bourbon, so we took him to Comfort to sample our country's best.
Three hours later, he seemed satisfied enough with his new-found knowledge of the array of American bourbon and even a little Virginia whiskey.
I was satisfied with an invitation to Uruguay to see first-hand South American wine county. Everybody was happy.
For you green types, Carrau vineyards boasts the highest sustainability index possible. For you foodies, Chef Carlos outdid himself with a menu of five perfectly paired courses.
For you stay-at-home types, you missed an evening of engaging conversation and all kinds of interesting personalities.
Wine highlight?
Bodegas Carrau Tannat Amat, a rich rustic wine with considerable tannins.
It was served with the scallopini with chimmichurri sauce and I requested it be poured again with the dark chocolate tart; the winemaker enthusiastically seconded my motion.
I had to order some for home as well; it was that good.
Uruguayan wine. Who knew?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Feeding the Byrd (Theater)
I can cross another classic movie off my "Need to See" list after taking in "Singing in the Rain" at the Byrd this afternoon.
It was a fundraiser ($7 for admission and all the popcorn you wanted) and, frankly, I'm happy to support anything that gets those god-awful seats replaced sooner.
I saw one rather large woman trying to squeeze herself into a seat and it wasn't going well; I tried not to watch but it was like a train wreck and kind of tough to look away.
The Byrd seats were built for 1928 back sides, not our 2009 super-sized butts.
At the moment, parts of the Mighty Wurlitzer are in the repair shop, so we didn't get the usual pre-movie organ extravaganza as billed, but I was okay with that.
Some people weren't and whined a bit at the announcement.
The best part of the movie was the dancing, of course, with Donald O'Conner's performance a close second.
Fun fact I learned: all that singing in the rain was actually singing in a water/milk mixture, since straight water didn't photograph as well under the lights.
And Gene Kelly did that dance in one take, with six cameras filming.
One take!
Ask a dancer how tough that would be to accomplish.
Then imagine how bad he smelled with watery milk residue all over him afterwards.
I'm singin' in the rain
Just singin' in the rain
What a dis-gusting feeling
I'm pungent again.
Or something like that.
It was a fundraiser ($7 for admission and all the popcorn you wanted) and, frankly, I'm happy to support anything that gets those god-awful seats replaced sooner.
I saw one rather large woman trying to squeeze herself into a seat and it wasn't going well; I tried not to watch but it was like a train wreck and kind of tough to look away.
The Byrd seats were built for 1928 back sides, not our 2009 super-sized butts.
At the moment, parts of the Mighty Wurlitzer are in the repair shop, so we didn't get the usual pre-movie organ extravaganza as billed, but I was okay with that.
Some people weren't and whined a bit at the announcement.
The best part of the movie was the dancing, of course, with Donald O'Conner's performance a close second.
Fun fact I learned: all that singing in the rain was actually singing in a water/milk mixture, since straight water didn't photograph as well under the lights.
And Gene Kelly did that dance in one take, with six cameras filming.
One take!
Ask a dancer how tough that would be to accomplish.
Then imagine how bad he smelled with watery milk residue all over him afterwards.
I'm singin' in the rain
Just singin' in the rain
What a dis-gusting feeling
I'm pungent again.
Or something like that.
Walking the Walk, Talking the Talk
"Why don't you climb up here and I'll show you how to drive this thing?"
-a guy on a huge excavator near the old Ukrops renovation on Grace Street.
No thanks, sir, I'm not sure the construction company or VCU would approve of that.
"Where were you yesterday? I was sitting on my porch and you never came by!"
-a guy on a bike who stopped me and maybe, kind of looked slightly familiar? And, yes, I did walk yesterday, but no one said I have to take the same route every day, now did they?
"My day is complete now! Good morning."
-a guy restoring a house on Grace Street, usually hungover and always coughing up a lung. I've also heard him talking to his tools as he works and listening to bad classic rock (Styx anyone?).
I walk. They talk. Big wheel keep on turning.
-a guy on a huge excavator near the old Ukrops renovation on Grace Street.
No thanks, sir, I'm not sure the construction company or VCU would approve of that.
"Where were you yesterday? I was sitting on my porch and you never came by!"
-a guy on a bike who stopped me and maybe, kind of looked slightly familiar? And, yes, I did walk yesterday, but no one said I have to take the same route every day, now did they?
"My day is complete now! Good morning."
-a guy restoring a house on Grace Street, usually hungover and always coughing up a lung. I've also heard him talking to his tools as he works and listening to bad classic rock (Styx anyone?).
I walk. They talk. Big wheel keep on turning.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
It's Complicated
You have to love a restaurant where you walk in and the first thing the bartender says is,"I was going to e-mail you and tell you to come worship at my altar." The man was right; I was overdue at Tarrant's anyway, my recent visits having been during the daytime when he doesn't work. And given that this fine bartender and I go back to last summer at least, it was a pleasure to spend some time in his company tonight. We'd recently run into each other at another local spot, reminding me that I enjoy conversation with him.
He told me about an interesting sounding class he's taking (knowing I'm a geek, too) and that he'd taken my recommendation to visit the Chimborazo Medical Museum (I think he liked it as much as I do). We'd seen different late summer movies and compared notes. He even graciously gave me a heads up and a big smile when undesirables approached the restaurant (and thankfully kept on going).
Had I not had somewhere to be at 8, I could have wiled away several very content hours catching up with my friend while he worked. Next time I'll stay longer and play barfly; that'll give him something to e-mail me about.
He told me about an interesting sounding class he's taking (knowing I'm a geek, too) and that he'd taken my recommendation to visit the Chimborazo Medical Museum (I think he liked it as much as I do). We'd seen different late summer movies and compared notes. He even graciously gave me a heads up and a big smile when undesirables approached the restaurant (and thankfully kept on going).
Had I not had somewhere to be at 8, I could have wiled away several very content hours catching up with my friend while he worked. Next time I'll stay longer and play barfly; that'll give him something to e-mail me about.
Poking Fun at the Economy
What do you do if you no longer have your engineering job, but do have a sub-prime mortgage, your 401K is in shreds and you fear for the future of the world economy? If you're Rick Huddle, you create a comedy/commentary routine that uses the ukulele, a slide show, music and lots of humor to make sense of this mess we're in.
Rick's performance of "Spent: Collusion and Prosperity in the World Economy" at Art6 tonight was a wild comedic ride explaining the Great Depression, the credit crunch, deregulation and CEO bonuses in music, stories and assorted foreign accents. His breakdown of the creation of the World Trade Organization was masterfully hysterical; why does everything always come down to American arrogance? Don't answer that.
Rick is traveling the country performing his smart comedy for those seeking a better understanding of today's economic crisis as well as for those who understand it fine, but need to laugh about it so they don't cry. Tonight's audience wasn't nearly as big as it should have been given the talent and creativity on display, but with any luck, he'll be back in rva again and more people will know not to miss his performance. I guarantee you'll laugh out loud and you might even walk away a tad better informed.
Rick's performance of "Spent: Collusion and Prosperity in the World Economy" at Art6 tonight was a wild comedic ride explaining the Great Depression, the credit crunch, deregulation and CEO bonuses in music, stories and assorted foreign accents. His breakdown of the creation of the World Trade Organization was masterfully hysterical; why does everything always come down to American arrogance? Don't answer that.
Rick is traveling the country performing his smart comedy for those seeking a better understanding of today's economic crisis as well as for those who understand it fine, but need to laugh about it so they don't cry. Tonight's audience wasn't nearly as big as it should have been given the talent and creativity on display, but with any luck, he'll be back in rva again and more people will know not to miss his performance. I guarantee you'll laugh out loud and you might even walk away a tad better informed.
Ahh, The Pleasures of Pork Belly
I don't remember my life before I discovered the fatty wonder of pork belly, but I must have had one. Now it's one of those menu items that immediately grabs my attention and causes me to plan the rest of my meal around it.
Phillip Denny from Philly is the new chef at Six Burner and he comes to rva with an impressive resume, including a stint at one of the top five DC restaurants (and, no, I'm not telling you which one. Go in and find out for yourself). He has the letters f-o-i-e and g-r-a-s tattooed on his knuckles; I mean, come on. But that's not the point. The point is his food.
Last night I started with the Cranberry Bean and Bacon soup with Chive Oil, which I can't recommend highly enough. I happen to love cranberry beans, but I'm not sure that's even a prerequisite. It's creamy with an appealing depth of flavor and, as we all know, everything's better with bacon.
Then came the star of the evening: Pork Belly, Pearl Barley, Glazed Carrot Puree, Swiss Chard and Pork Jus with every kind of deliciousness possible on that one plate: the fatty pork goodness of the belly, the addictive saltiness of the Swiss chard and pork jus, the nutty creaminess of the pearl barley and the sweetness of the glazed carrot puree. I didn't exactly lick the plate, but it was embarrassingly clean when Josh cleared it away.
I've said before that I don't know anything about food except what I like. But what Phillip does to a pork belly is a beautiful thing. You know, I must have had some sort of gustatory life before pork belly; can someone please remind me what it was?
Phillip Denny from Philly is the new chef at Six Burner and he comes to rva with an impressive resume, including a stint at one of the top five DC restaurants (and, no, I'm not telling you which one. Go in and find out for yourself). He has the letters f-o-i-e and g-r-a-s tattooed on his knuckles; I mean, come on. But that's not the point. The point is his food.
Last night I started with the Cranberry Bean and Bacon soup with Chive Oil, which I can't recommend highly enough. I happen to love cranberry beans, but I'm not sure that's even a prerequisite. It's creamy with an appealing depth of flavor and, as we all know, everything's better with bacon.
Then came the star of the evening: Pork Belly, Pearl Barley, Glazed Carrot Puree, Swiss Chard and Pork Jus with every kind of deliciousness possible on that one plate: the fatty pork goodness of the belly, the addictive saltiness of the Swiss chard and pork jus, the nutty creaminess of the pearl barley and the sweetness of the glazed carrot puree. I didn't exactly lick the plate, but it was embarrassingly clean when Josh cleared it away.
I've said before that I don't know anything about food except what I like. But what Phillip does to a pork belly is a beautiful thing. You know, I must have had some sort of gustatory life before pork belly; can someone please remind me what it was?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
