A fellow foodie recently raised the question of how to approach a restaurant you love to let them know they're slipping. The brief conversation jogged something I've thought about a lot in the past and wanted to tackle here. What is that intangible moment when you recognize — and finally note — that one of your favorites has gone off its game? At what point, do you realize it's not just an off-night or two but a real slip in quality?
When your favorite neighborhood joint messes up too many meals or loses the servers who helped give it a bit of extra charm, do you say something? Or do you just stop going? Become that regular who no longer eats there every Thursday? What responsibility do we have as customers — and sometimes friends — to let a place know that it is off its game?
A few years ago, the kid and I had a regular meal at one of the Richmond Fan favorites. Many weeks, we'd be there twice. The servers knew us; we were treated well. Then the quality started to slip a little bit. A couple of our favorite servers left; some orders came out wrong; the quality of ingredients seemed to go off a bit. Ultimately, though, it was managerial indifference, a shrug when a server added a tip to my card when I'd left cash for a tip, that got us to stop going to the place.
As a loyal person, I recognize our willingness to put up with some of the mistakes was a direct result of my love for the restaurant. The managerial shrug — and a fiver handed back to me — put us off for months, until the kid wanted to go back one day and we got word that one of our favorite servers had been looking for us. And the food? It was just okay, and I realized that I'd been lulled into accepting what was at best middling food made with fair ingredients for years. When I could have taken my business elsewhere, I kept going because it was just easy and it was what we expected.
The place in question is busy enough that the loss of our business probably didn't hurt them. Likewise, they do enough business that my complaint about quality would probably have fallen on ears made deaf by the ring of the cash register. That said, there have been moments when I've been willing to step up — commenting on a change in the quality of bread made by one of our local shining stars, mentioning a side dish that is clearly overdone from a kitchen that knows better — and in most cases, the comments were greeted with thanks.
The truth is that the Richmond dining scene is big enough that restaurants should guard against resting on their laurels. But because it is also a dining scene in which a few luminaries carry a lot of weight, many customers put up with more paint-by-numbers food than they should.
Keeping that in mind, I would push everyone who loves food and who develops relationships with restaurants to let joints know when they're off their game. Even if it's a matter of asking questions about why something seems different, resist the urge to be obnoxious, but let the chef or server know if something isn't as good as it was before.
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UPDATE: Guess I should add that I have specifically avoided naming names. There are a number of places that I've simply stopped going to because they've either decided to rest on their laurels or haven't kept up their game as new competition has hit the streets. Feel free to name names in the comments, however.
Showing posts with label richmond. Show all posts
Showing posts with label richmond. Show all posts
Friday, October 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
A note about small plates, and restaurants in general.
A friend recently posted on his blog about a favorite spot of mine, Secco. I've noted to others that Secco isn't my go-to joint for a meal because putting a full dinner together can sometimes cost more than L and I have as discretionary funds. Why? Because, as people have noted before, the plates are small.
An omnivore like me may be able to put together a fine meal for under $30 — duck or steak, a salad, soup plus the schiacciata, for instance. There's enough balance and richness to satisfy my palate and leave me feeling satisfied. A pickier eater may find it difficult, though. Vegetarians will find some very tasty items, but at least in our visits, L hasn't found the plates satisfying enough. As a result, we're more likely to enjoy one of the best cheese and charcuterie plates in town, drink some excellent wines, and finish the meal at home.
A few times recently, Secco seems to have become a straw man for what some Richmond diners see as the problem with small plates in general. They are — well — small. What a surprise, right? The point of tapas or shared delicacies is that you enjoy a variety of tastes. It's possible to put a full meal together, but you have to strip away expectations of each person getting an appetizer, entree, and dessert. Regardless, the problem with many small plate restaurants is that they often aren't adventurous enough. Too often, small plates simply seem like easy ways for restaurants to maximize profit and minimize care for preparation. This is where Secco beats the curve.
My standard for a good restaurant — no matter the cuisine, style, or cost — is whether it provides me with meals I can't produce myself. Whether it's because of better equipment, ingredients or the elusive techniques of proper preparation, I don't care. If I have been served something transporting that I could not produce as well myself (or find better elsewhere), the restaurant gets my kudos. Mas Tapas in Charlottesville fits the bill. So does Catina, a local banh mi joint. Numerous falafel joints in New York that leave me longing for the right crunch, not to mention a couple steak joints in the city that simply produce a better filet than I can duplicate, are on the list. I could go on, but the point is Secco has landed on that list faster than other places in town. What the chef is producing is worth tasting and savoring. I haven't sampled anything yet that didn't make me smile.
L and I may not eat there as often as I'd like, but that has more to do with life in general than it does a quality-to-price ratio. Ultimately, I wish there were more restaurants that delivered the way Secco does.
****************
In the interest of full disclosure, I am friends with the owner and staff of Secco. But that's only a small part of why I am proud to say they've hit the mark so well. Richmond needed a place like this.
An omnivore like me may be able to put together a fine meal for under $30 — duck or steak, a salad, soup plus the schiacciata, for instance. There's enough balance and richness to satisfy my palate and leave me feeling satisfied. A pickier eater may find it difficult, though. Vegetarians will find some very tasty items, but at least in our visits, L hasn't found the plates satisfying enough. As a result, we're more likely to enjoy one of the best cheese and charcuterie plates in town, drink some excellent wines, and finish the meal at home.
A few times recently, Secco seems to have become a straw man for what some Richmond diners see as the problem with small plates in general. They are — well — small. What a surprise, right? The point of tapas or shared delicacies is that you enjoy a variety of tastes. It's possible to put a full meal together, but you have to strip away expectations of each person getting an appetizer, entree, and dessert. Regardless, the problem with many small plate restaurants is that they often aren't adventurous enough. Too often, small plates simply seem like easy ways for restaurants to maximize profit and minimize care for preparation. This is where Secco beats the curve.
My standard for a good restaurant — no matter the cuisine, style, or cost — is whether it provides me with meals I can't produce myself. Whether it's because of better equipment, ingredients or the elusive techniques of proper preparation, I don't care. If I have been served something transporting that I could not produce as well myself (or find better elsewhere), the restaurant gets my kudos. Mas Tapas in Charlottesville fits the bill. So does Catina, a local banh mi joint. Numerous falafel joints in New York that leave me longing for the right crunch, not to mention a couple steak joints in the city that simply produce a better filet than I can duplicate, are on the list. I could go on, but the point is Secco has landed on that list faster than other places in town. What the chef is producing is worth tasting and savoring. I haven't sampled anything yet that didn't make me smile.
L and I may not eat there as often as I'd like, but that has more to do with life in general than it does a quality-to-price ratio. Ultimately, I wish there were more restaurants that delivered the way Secco does.
****************
In the interest of full disclosure, I am friends with the owner and staff of Secco. But that's only a small part of why I am proud to say they've hit the mark so well. Richmond needed a place like this.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Stuzzi — Adding salt to the mix.
After one of my fellow food bloggers exposed some questionable management techniques at Stuzzi, I was determined that we wouldn't try it. The place had gotten enough negative press from fellow foodies for mediocre pies, poor climate control, an inexperienced staff, and a bloviating owner that we had steered clear already. Still, the place also had enough buzz that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Fast-forward to this past Sunday when a friend suggested it for dinner. The kid had headed off for the night with her mom, and I hadn't planned ahead for dinner so we had a "why not" moment.
When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.
Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.
In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.
The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.
Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.
But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.
Meh. They're okay. Just okay.
The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.
After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.
The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.
When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.
Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.
In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.
The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.
Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.
But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.
Meh. They're okay. Just okay.
The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.
After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.
The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Cafe Rustica Redux
As anyone who has read my notes on Richmond restaurants knows, Andy Howell's Café Rustica is among my favorite spots in the city. Compared to most restaurants of comparable pedigree, Rustica churns out consistently excellent food for better prices. I have yet to have a bad meal at the joint, even on what I would call at the time one of their "off" nights.
Tonight was decidedly not an "off" night. In fact, with a new menu debuting in the past two weeks, the kitchen seems to be revived and putting more energy into the food. (Mind you, there was no lack of energy before.) The mix of locally-sourced, reasonably-priced Continental comfort food is well-intact. From the pomodoro pie to the steak to the mediterranean short stack to the pot roast, everything that came to the table was well-prepared and delicious. Even the beet salad seemed to have gained a little extra microgreens and a little extra zing on the roasted walnuts. My only regret? That Howell took the Portuguese stew off the menu before I tried it.
The tab with a bottle of '07 Chinon Cab Franc and a glass of Rueda for L's mother? $127. With tax and tip. That's for four of us, and we all walked away sated and stuffed, wishing we had a little more room for the peanut-butter-and-jelly creme brulée or blueberry mascarpone. But back to the price: $127, after tax and a good tip. It's tough to find comparable food at that price anywhere in the city. And with a front-of-house staff that makes the place feel like home, there's little wonder it has become our go-to place.
Next step, testing the place on the kid. Then again maybe we'll keep it as a date-night secret.
Tonight was decidedly not an "off" night. In fact, with a new menu debuting in the past two weeks, the kitchen seems to be revived and putting more energy into the food. (Mind you, there was no lack of energy before.) The mix of locally-sourced, reasonably-priced Continental comfort food is well-intact. From the pomodoro pie to the steak to the mediterranean short stack to the pot roast, everything that came to the table was well-prepared and delicious. Even the beet salad seemed to have gained a little extra microgreens and a little extra zing on the roasted walnuts. My only regret? That Howell took the Portuguese stew off the menu before I tried it.
The tab with a bottle of '07 Chinon Cab Franc and a glass of Rueda for L's mother? $127. With tax and tip. That's for four of us, and we all walked away sated and stuffed, wishing we had a little more room for the peanut-butter-and-jelly creme brulée or blueberry mascarpone. But back to the price: $127, after tax and a good tip. It's tough to find comparable food at that price anywhere in the city. And with a front-of-house staff that makes the place feel like home, there's little wonder it has become our go-to place.
Next step, testing the place on the kid. Then again maybe we'll keep it as a date-night secret.
Monday, March 08, 2010
The problem with Richmond restaurants...
This weekend, we had a couple of experiences that perfectly explain my issues with so much of the Richmond restaurant scene. On Friday, my mother came into town, and L and I took advantage of the chance to have an adult meal with her while the kid was over at her mom's.
We batted around ideas like Rustica, Can Can and Coast. A few other favorites like Edo's, Balliceaux, and a few others were dropped because of expected crowds. Rustica was dropped for the same reason. The food and service at Rustica are worth a wait, but we didn't want to take the risk of a long wait. When given the choice between Can Can and Coast, my mother chose the latter for a smaller, more intimate experience. We gave a call and were told tables should be clear soon.
When we arrived, there was a party ahead of us at the bar. This wouldn't have been a problem except that Coast is very small, and two parties decided to take their sweet time after they'd paid their checks. We lingered at the bar and had the she-crab soup, which we all declared excellent, and a basket of the fresh bread. My mother and L had glasses of a nice Gruet from New Mexico. I had a Starr Hill IPA. The owner Gary came over and chatted for a bit from behind the bar. The brief wait got longer as the parties continued to linger. When we were finally seated, the owner sent over a plate of calamari to make up for the long wait. He also pulled a nice bottle of Valipolicella Ripasso for us — it wasn't on the wine list, and the price was a very reasonable $32.
When it came to our entrées, the only stumble was that they'd run out of crab cakes. Nonetheless, my mother chose the sea bass and housemade tagliatelle, and L chose the sauteed flounder with tagliatelle instead of potatoes. Both fish were perfectly done and light without being bland. I broke my usual code of not ordering things that I prepare myself and ordered the lamb chops which came a perfect medium rare, with a nice reduction drizzled over the top. For dessert, we opted for a chocolate torta with berries, and it too was right on target.
The overall tab without tip came in at $172. Not cheap, by any means, but it was an "occasion" dinner. The thing is we could easily have spent the same or more at one of Richmond's more central and popular restaurants — and come away far less satisfied. What Coast has going for it includes the quality of ingredients, the simplicity of preparation, and the professionalism of the service. What it loses is location, a problem that the owner's other restaurant solved until it was controversially shut down in November by the new building owner.
This was the high point.
The next day, we decided to do lunch out and dinner at home. After batting around a couple of options, L and I decided we'd try to make our peace with Mezzanine. Unfortunately, Mezzanine apparently changed their hours without changing their website. We decided to try Water Grill — the Richmond Restaurant Group's latest offering. The brunch menu seemed extensive and worth checking out. Once inside, we were seated in the windowed front room — so far, so good. L and I ordered an Allagash White and a Dale's Pale. The server delivered them, declaring confidently that the Dale's was the White and the White was the Pale. When I switched them, she giggled and admitted that she didn't really know the difference between the beers.
We ordered around, the kid getting french toast with sausage on the side, mom getting the crab bisque and an arugula salad, L getting a crab cake Benedict with fruit instead of home fries and an arugula salad to share with me, and a croque madame for me. The soup arrived before anything else, and while it was clear that my mother was being nice about it, the consistency was so thick as to look gelatinous. She didn't finish the bowl. The salads arrived next and were the best part of the meal. The kid's french toast arrived, as did the sausage. She was tired, though, and ate about half of the toast and a couple bites of sausage before declaring herself full. L's crab cake benedict arrived with home fries; thankfully, it tasted good so she ran with it. My croque madame was made with Texas toast that tasted as though it had been in the kitchen a couple days past its freshness date, and the white of the egg was runny when I got to the middle. The kid's sausages were also a little undercooked, which is a pity because they seemed a nice, thick maple sausage. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, the server asked me if I wanted another beer. I told her I might, and to check back with me. About ten minutes later, and as I had decided I wouldn't be getting another beer, a pint arrived.
The tab for this meal: $72. For brunch. This would seem high, even if the meal hadn't been a prime example of Richmond's restaurant mediocrity. As I've experienced with several of the RRG restaurants, not to mention other restaurants around town, the combination of preparation errors and server inexperience made the tab seem like even more of a crime.
The final restaurant experience of the weekend came at Legend Brewery. Now, Legend has struggled for years to balance quality of food and service with the quality of their beer. On the bright side, they've had the advantage of one of the few good outdoor locations in Richmond, and the deck was busy that afternoon. A busy afternoon doesn't excuse bad service, however. I ordered a Hopfest, one of their seasonals, and L asked about a sampler. The server was fidgety and said that she thought they were out of sampler glasses. Again, it was busy, but not that busy. We decided to get my beer, and L would try it to see if she liked it. The kid ordered a quesadilla and a Sprite. This is important because the kid rarely orders without prompting, but the server didn't seem to care about listening to her; she looked at us for the order.
About five minutes later, the hostess arrived with two pints of Hopfest. She looked a little sheepish when we clarified what the order was. Thankfully, L liked the Hopfest, and we were set. The server followed a few minutes later and dropped — literally dropped — the quesadilla between L and me. By this point, we were already saying how much we always wanted to like Legend. The thing is the place was messing up the simplest of things — the beer order was botched, the service was rushed and bad, and the quesadilla came without chips. When we got the server's attention and asked about the chips, she told us that chips didn't come with the quesadilla. L pointed out that the menu said kid's items came with chips, and the server said, "Well I can bring you some, but the quesadilla doesn't come with them." And she turned on her heel. In the end, we left after one beer and a light snack. The server got a $2 tip, and even that seemed too generous.
There is a difference between quick and professional and rude and unwelcoming, and this server crossed that line. Unfortunately, unprofessional and/or uneducated servers are too much the norm around Richmond restaurants. It takes so little to know how to do a job well and how to give people good service that I get more than a little frustrated when someone says a busy day is a good excuse for bad service. There is no reason a server at a restaurant where brunch can run upwards of a hundred dollars should not know which beer she's serving. Likewise, there is no reason a kitchen in such a restaurant should use stale bread and turn out undercooked items. When it comes to Legend, our poor harried server lost out on a decent tip and a higher bill by simply not caring how well she took care of her table. Whether she disliked kids or looked at us and decided we weren't worth the time, I don't know; I just know there's no excuse for such service.
Unfortunately, too often, the norm at Richmond restaurants is weak service and food that doesn't live up to the price. I've complained in the past about the lack of good, moderately-priced neighborhood restaurants where you feel welcomed and can walk away satisfied without breaking the bank. Ultimately, if I could wish one thing for the Richmond restaurant scene, it would be more restaurants like Coast and Rustica rather than more restaurants owned by the same three or four owners or more places that seem to feel like it's okay to be just good enough.
We batted around ideas like Rustica, Can Can and Coast. A few other favorites like Edo's, Balliceaux, and a few others were dropped because of expected crowds. Rustica was dropped for the same reason. The food and service at Rustica are worth a wait, but we didn't want to take the risk of a long wait. When given the choice between Can Can and Coast, my mother chose the latter for a smaller, more intimate experience. We gave a call and were told tables should be clear soon.
When we arrived, there was a party ahead of us at the bar. This wouldn't have been a problem except that Coast is very small, and two parties decided to take their sweet time after they'd paid their checks. We lingered at the bar and had the she-crab soup, which we all declared excellent, and a basket of the fresh bread. My mother and L had glasses of a nice Gruet from New Mexico. I had a Starr Hill IPA. The owner Gary came over and chatted for a bit from behind the bar. The brief wait got longer as the parties continued to linger. When we were finally seated, the owner sent over a plate of calamari to make up for the long wait. He also pulled a nice bottle of Valipolicella Ripasso for us — it wasn't on the wine list, and the price was a very reasonable $32.
When it came to our entrées, the only stumble was that they'd run out of crab cakes. Nonetheless, my mother chose the sea bass and housemade tagliatelle, and L chose the sauteed flounder with tagliatelle instead of potatoes. Both fish were perfectly done and light without being bland. I broke my usual code of not ordering things that I prepare myself and ordered the lamb chops which came a perfect medium rare, with a nice reduction drizzled over the top. For dessert, we opted for a chocolate torta with berries, and it too was right on target.
The overall tab without tip came in at $172. Not cheap, by any means, but it was an "occasion" dinner. The thing is we could easily have spent the same or more at one of Richmond's more central and popular restaurants — and come away far less satisfied. What Coast has going for it includes the quality of ingredients, the simplicity of preparation, and the professionalism of the service. What it loses is location, a problem that the owner's other restaurant solved until it was controversially shut down in November by the new building owner.
This was the high point.
The next day, we decided to do lunch out and dinner at home. After batting around a couple of options, L and I decided we'd try to make our peace with Mezzanine. Unfortunately, Mezzanine apparently changed their hours without changing their website. We decided to try Water Grill — the Richmond Restaurant Group's latest offering. The brunch menu seemed extensive and worth checking out. Once inside, we were seated in the windowed front room — so far, so good. L and I ordered an Allagash White and a Dale's Pale. The server delivered them, declaring confidently that the Dale's was the White and the White was the Pale. When I switched them, she giggled and admitted that she didn't really know the difference between the beers.
We ordered around, the kid getting french toast with sausage on the side, mom getting the crab bisque and an arugula salad, L getting a crab cake Benedict with fruit instead of home fries and an arugula salad to share with me, and a croque madame for me. The soup arrived before anything else, and while it was clear that my mother was being nice about it, the consistency was so thick as to look gelatinous. She didn't finish the bowl. The salads arrived next and were the best part of the meal. The kid's french toast arrived, as did the sausage. She was tired, though, and ate about half of the toast and a couple bites of sausage before declaring herself full. L's crab cake benedict arrived with home fries; thankfully, it tasted good so she ran with it. My croque madame was made with Texas toast that tasted as though it had been in the kitchen a couple days past its freshness date, and the white of the egg was runny when I got to the middle. The kid's sausages were also a little undercooked, which is a pity because they seemed a nice, thick maple sausage. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, the server asked me if I wanted another beer. I told her I might, and to check back with me. About ten minutes later, and as I had decided I wouldn't be getting another beer, a pint arrived.
The tab for this meal: $72. For brunch. This would seem high, even if the meal hadn't been a prime example of Richmond's restaurant mediocrity. As I've experienced with several of the RRG restaurants, not to mention other restaurants around town, the combination of preparation errors and server inexperience made the tab seem like even more of a crime.
The final restaurant experience of the weekend came at Legend Brewery. Now, Legend has struggled for years to balance quality of food and service with the quality of their beer. On the bright side, they've had the advantage of one of the few good outdoor locations in Richmond, and the deck was busy that afternoon. A busy afternoon doesn't excuse bad service, however. I ordered a Hopfest, one of their seasonals, and L asked about a sampler. The server was fidgety and said that she thought they were out of sampler glasses. Again, it was busy, but not that busy. We decided to get my beer, and L would try it to see if she liked it. The kid ordered a quesadilla and a Sprite. This is important because the kid rarely orders without prompting, but the server didn't seem to care about listening to her; she looked at us for the order.
About five minutes later, the hostess arrived with two pints of Hopfest. She looked a little sheepish when we clarified what the order was. Thankfully, L liked the Hopfest, and we were set. The server followed a few minutes later and dropped — literally dropped — the quesadilla between L and me. By this point, we were already saying how much we always wanted to like Legend. The thing is the place was messing up the simplest of things — the beer order was botched, the service was rushed and bad, and the quesadilla came without chips. When we got the server's attention and asked about the chips, she told us that chips didn't come with the quesadilla. L pointed out that the menu said kid's items came with chips, and the server said, "Well I can bring you some, but the quesadilla doesn't come with them." And she turned on her heel. In the end, we left after one beer and a light snack. The server got a $2 tip, and even that seemed too generous.
There is a difference between quick and professional and rude and unwelcoming, and this server crossed that line. Unfortunately, unprofessional and/or uneducated servers are too much the norm around Richmond restaurants. It takes so little to know how to do a job well and how to give people good service that I get more than a little frustrated when someone says a busy day is a good excuse for bad service. There is no reason a server at a restaurant where brunch can run upwards of a hundred dollars should not know which beer she's serving. Likewise, there is no reason a kitchen in such a restaurant should use stale bread and turn out undercooked items. When it comes to Legend, our poor harried server lost out on a decent tip and a higher bill by simply not caring how well she took care of her table. Whether she disliked kids or looked at us and decided we weren't worth the time, I don't know; I just know there's no excuse for such service.
Unfortunately, too often, the norm at Richmond restaurants is weak service and food that doesn't live up to the price. I've complained in the past about the lack of good, moderately-priced neighborhood restaurants where you feel welcomed and can walk away satisfied without breaking the bank. Ultimately, if I could wish one thing for the Richmond restaurant scene, it would be more restaurants like Coast and Rustica rather than more restaurants owned by the same three or four owners or more places that seem to feel like it's okay to be just good enough.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The epidemic of OK.
I've been pondering the conundrum of restaurants around Richmond for a while now. L's description of her lunch yesterday at Balliceaux, the new hotspot, put a fine point on it. It was just "Okay." The falafel was overdone. The flatbread store quality. The ahi tuna on the salad cooked rather than seared. And her companion's rice/beans/pork plate piled as though it came from a cafeteria. All this from a restaurant that opened to stellar reviews just a month ago. It would be one thing if this was not the second "down" experience with the place.
On our first visit, we enjoyed a few small plates and a bottle of wine. It seemed a little pricey at $50 + tip, but not that much more than other places in town. (This is part of the problem, and I'll get back to it.) Still the crab cakes and cheese plate were excellent, and the service was good at the bar so we were willing to roll with it. Fast forward, however, a couple of weeks to our next visit. We sat at the bar again and skipped the bottle of wine, opting instead for a couple glasses apiece and entrees to follow our cheese plate. My pork belly was superb, but L's mussels were undistinguished at best. We got dessert for a friend for her birthday — a mini red velvet cake. With tax and tip, we had spent just north of $120.
Mind you, I don't intend to tear down Balliceaux. I like what they're trying to do, but it needs to be consistent from lunch to dinner. It also shouldn't feel like we're being gouged. No item on our orders was more than $17, and yet we walked away having severely nicked the month's eating-out budget. The problem is that this sort of thing — food that veers from great to just decent to downright bad and prices that jump rapidly — has become the norm in Richmond restaurants.
One of my favorite things about living in New York years ago was the abundance of little neighborhood restaurants. Often barely noticed by Zagat and other reviewers, these were the sorts of places where you could get a good meal and a bottle of wine and walk out for fifty bucks. You could spend a little more if you headed into the few higher-priced items on the menus, but still it was possible to eat well and inexpensively.
Richmond has only a few places like this. Sticking to the pastas and no appetizer, you can get out of Mamma Zu's or Edo's for that kind of money. Sharing a paella and a salad, you can almost get out of Kuba Kuba for that kind of money. A carafe and a couple of small plates at Can Can and you're still okay. And you'll eat well in any of these places. Try getting out of most other restaurants in that tier for a decent price, and it's almost impossible — unless you want to order a burger or pizza. Worse yet is the obsessive duplication of menu items around town. Worst is the fact that it's okay to be just okay. Our choices veer from glorified bar food (and, yes, there is a specific group of restaurants I'm thinking of here) to uninspired retreads of the same idea (another group of restaurants). Simply put, there's a surplus of places where you can eat middling food and get fair service and very few places where you can get great food and great service — without breaking the bank. (If price is no object and you're not looking for someplace kid-friendly, the options are wide open.)
What really bothers me, however, is that people seem to have accepted this as the norm. Richmond diners seem to have become so accustomed to fair food and Richmond restauranteurs so willing to oblige that there is little incentive for places to become better and/or introduce more reasonably priced menus.
A while back, I started to take two approaches to eating out. The first was to try things on the menu that should be consistent and good — a well-cooked steak, for instance, or crab cakes. The second approach was to order things that I would not — for whatever reason — cook for myself. If the results were good in either case, a return trip was merited. Unfortunately, I have been so often disappointed — and spent a great deal to be disappointed — that I've practically given up on the whole endeavor. After all, why spend the money if I can do better for less in my own kitchen?
It's sad, though, because I enjoy eating out. I enjoy breaking bread and being part of the community. I enjoy being given a meal that is prepared with care. Now if only we could have a few more little neighborhood joints with great and reasonably-priced food (that is not straight out of a Sysco truck), I'd be happy to put this screed aside. Food should be always be more than just okay.
On our first visit, we enjoyed a few small plates and a bottle of wine. It seemed a little pricey at $50 + tip, but not that much more than other places in town. (This is part of the problem, and I'll get back to it.) Still the crab cakes and cheese plate were excellent, and the service was good at the bar so we were willing to roll with it. Fast forward, however, a couple of weeks to our next visit. We sat at the bar again and skipped the bottle of wine, opting instead for a couple glasses apiece and entrees to follow our cheese plate. My pork belly was superb, but L's mussels were undistinguished at best. We got dessert for a friend for her birthday — a mini red velvet cake. With tax and tip, we had spent just north of $120.
Mind you, I don't intend to tear down Balliceaux. I like what they're trying to do, but it needs to be consistent from lunch to dinner. It also shouldn't feel like we're being gouged. No item on our orders was more than $17, and yet we walked away having severely nicked the month's eating-out budget. The problem is that this sort of thing — food that veers from great to just decent to downright bad and prices that jump rapidly — has become the norm in Richmond restaurants.
One of my favorite things about living in New York years ago was the abundance of little neighborhood restaurants. Often barely noticed by Zagat and other reviewers, these were the sorts of places where you could get a good meal and a bottle of wine and walk out for fifty bucks. You could spend a little more if you headed into the few higher-priced items on the menus, but still it was possible to eat well and inexpensively.
Richmond has only a few places like this. Sticking to the pastas and no appetizer, you can get out of Mamma Zu's or Edo's for that kind of money. Sharing a paella and a salad, you can almost get out of Kuba Kuba for that kind of money. A carafe and a couple of small plates at Can Can and you're still okay. And you'll eat well in any of these places. Try getting out of most other restaurants in that tier for a decent price, and it's almost impossible — unless you want to order a burger or pizza. Worse yet is the obsessive duplication of menu items around town. Worst is the fact that it's okay to be just okay. Our choices veer from glorified bar food (and, yes, there is a specific group of restaurants I'm thinking of here) to uninspired retreads of the same idea (another group of restaurants). Simply put, there's a surplus of places where you can eat middling food and get fair service and very few places where you can get great food and great service — without breaking the bank. (If price is no object and you're not looking for someplace kid-friendly, the options are wide open.)
What really bothers me, however, is that people seem to have accepted this as the norm. Richmond diners seem to have become so accustomed to fair food and Richmond restauranteurs so willing to oblige that there is little incentive for places to become better and/or introduce more reasonably priced menus.
A while back, I started to take two approaches to eating out. The first was to try things on the menu that should be consistent and good — a well-cooked steak, for instance, or crab cakes. The second approach was to order things that I would not — for whatever reason — cook for myself. If the results were good in either case, a return trip was merited. Unfortunately, I have been so often disappointed — and spent a great deal to be disappointed — that I've practically given up on the whole endeavor. After all, why spend the money if I can do better for less in my own kitchen?
It's sad, though, because I enjoy eating out. I enjoy breaking bread and being part of the community. I enjoy being given a meal that is prepared with care. Now if only we could have a few more little neighborhood joints with great and reasonably-priced food (that is not straight out of a Sysco truck), I'd be happy to put this screed aside. Food should be always be more than just okay.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Touring Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden
A little over a month ago, Jonah Holland was kind enough to invite me and Sarah of Roaming Virginia for a private tour of Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden. I brought Buttercup along, figuring it would be a good chance for her to get the inside scoop on one of her favorite places around town.
I'd been in touch with Jonah via Twitter, and we have a slew of mutual friends in Richmond. Given how many of us have kids and are loosely or directly involved in creative professions, sometimes it seems like a little thirty/forty-something parent mafia, all slightly interconnected. In any case, after meeting Jonah, she took us out for our first stop at the community garden.
Ginter received a grant this year to grow 10,000 pounds of vegetables for the local food bank. It was/is an ambitious task driven by volunteer support and community contributions. When we visited, they had already harvested nearly 2,000 pounds of vegetables and received a few hundred more from personal donations — people with gardens more successful than mine.
We had a chance to speak with the associate director, who explained that they'd opted to go with conventional rather than organic methods out of expediency and cost — they'd been offered a substantial supply of mulch. Still, they weren't treating the plants and sought more organic or natural methods of pest control. Regardless, it was clear that the program was proving to be a success — after all, affluence shouldn't determine whether a person can afford fresh, local produce.
Next up was a stop at the Butterflies Live! exhibit.
Here Buttercup was able to show off her stellar knowledge of butterflies and moths. There were some truly remarkable specimens, including one with a wingspan of nearly a foot. The butterflies and moths flit freely around, and you're cautioned before entering not to touch them if they happen to land on you. The brilliant part is that you can visit repeatedly and be assured of seeing different varieties of butterflies and moths.After a bit more wandering around, we landed in the children's garden. Buttercup knows the place well, but it was still a pleasant surprise to come across blackberry bushes bursting with berries and fairy houses. It was a further reminder that it would be grand to see a bigger cross-section of Richmond using and taking advantage of the gardens... butterflies, squash and all.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
sad trombone
I'm sad to report that the 2M Mediterranean Market on Staples Mill seems to have gone drastically downhill in recent months. The business seems lackluster at best, and I've had two very weak lunches there recently.
The latest travesty involves a mediocre gyro sandwich on which I asked for hot sauce. They've had excellent chili sauce in the past. What the guy dumped on today more closely resembles mildly spicy ketchup. Between that and a guava nectar that tastes well past its prime, I'd say business and quality are flagging a bit at 2M.
It's a pity because a year ago these guys served some of the best Mediterranean dishes I've had outside of New York.
The latest travesty involves a mediocre gyro sandwich on which I asked for hot sauce. They've had excellent chili sauce in the past. What the guy dumped on today more closely resembles mildly spicy ketchup. Between that and a guava nectar that tastes well past its prime, I'd say business and quality are flagging a bit at 2M.
It's a pity because a year ago these guys served some of the best Mediterranean dishes I've had outside of New York.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Weekend notes, pt. 2 — after the show
Though slightly out of the blue and slightly off-budget, the Annie experience was surprisingly good.
We bombed out of the house with barely an hour and a half to spare before the performance. On the way, I called the box office and secured two tickets — including a half-price one for myself. We pulled up in front of Tarrant's to get a quick dinner. Tarrant's is one of those places in town that is generally reliable — sometimes very good, rarely bad — and it's location across the street from the theatre was ideal.
Service was quick and good. Buttercup was looking a little faded, but perked up when rolls appeared. I ordered a cup of the chicken and corn chowder for myself — perfect on a dreary day — and white pizza with spinach and tomatoes for us. I asked the waitress to add feta, without asking what the charge for an extra ingredient was. The question would have been a good one to ask, however, since apparently all pizzas are priced based on optional ingredients — whether they're listed as standard pies or not. The menu isn't clear about this, unfortunately, and I might have changed the order if I'd known that our $11.95 pizza was going to run $17.95 instead. Given the timing when we were asking her to box up half and bring the check, it wasn't worth saying anything; I might mention it next time though.
On a quick side note, it's also worth mentioning that the pizza was very good. The crust had a good flavor and the cheese and tomatoes were nicely done. Had I known that the spinach wouldn't be fresh, I might not have ordered it. The mushy green lent a bit too much liquid to the pie.
Dinner wrapped up, we headed across to the theatre. Theatre IV is a local theater group that puts on a few children's shows a year. They've done Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and many other classics. They link in regularly with schools in the area and generally do great work. Tonight was no exception.
The sets were beautifully done, and the actors all seemed to be having a great time. This could have been last-performance bounce, but it seems more likely that they were just generally enjoying themselves. (This is only borne out by the tears streaming down the lead's face at the curtain call.) The singing and dancing were mostly very sharp. Two of the best parts: Buttercup asking if the dog was real, and her friend E asking if it was the real president up there. (For those who don't know, FDR plays a significant part in the show.) The only trick watching the show for me was getting past various anachronisms and implausibilities that are distracting, but hardly central to the story.
What also surprised me was how much of the show I remembered, and how much it touched me. Frankly, it was still a very good time when I saw Annie on its first national tour in Chicago in 1978. We were spending quite a bit of time in that city — a place I still remember very fondly — and all hell hadn't broken loose. At eight (or almost eight), the worst experiences of elementary and middle school were yet to come. My parents were still five years from telling me they were divorcing. In other words, it's a time that has deep and positive memories — the Cubs at Wrigley, Stuart Brent Books, the museums, the zoos, camping and skiing trips.
What surprised me tonight was how easily a cheesy, mawkish — albeit very catchy — libretto can pull out a whole flood of memories and associations that have laid buried for years. And how easy it is to welcome back the memories, and how much they put the present in perspective.
We bombed out of the house with barely an hour and a half to spare before the performance. On the way, I called the box office and secured two tickets — including a half-price one for myself. We pulled up in front of Tarrant's to get a quick dinner. Tarrant's is one of those places in town that is generally reliable — sometimes very good, rarely bad — and it's location across the street from the theatre was ideal.
Service was quick and good. Buttercup was looking a little faded, but perked up when rolls appeared. I ordered a cup of the chicken and corn chowder for myself — perfect on a dreary day — and white pizza with spinach and tomatoes for us. I asked the waitress to add feta, without asking what the charge for an extra ingredient was. The question would have been a good one to ask, however, since apparently all pizzas are priced based on optional ingredients — whether they're listed as standard pies or not. The menu isn't clear about this, unfortunately, and I might have changed the order if I'd known that our $11.95 pizza was going to run $17.95 instead. Given the timing when we were asking her to box up half and bring the check, it wasn't worth saying anything; I might mention it next time though.
On a quick side note, it's also worth mentioning that the pizza was very good. The crust had a good flavor and the cheese and tomatoes were nicely done. Had I known that the spinach wouldn't be fresh, I might not have ordered it. The mushy green lent a bit too much liquid to the pie.
Dinner wrapped up, we headed across to the theatre. Theatre IV is a local theater group that puts on a few children's shows a year. They've done Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and many other classics. They link in regularly with schools in the area and generally do great work. Tonight was no exception.
The sets were beautifully done, and the actors all seemed to be having a great time. This could have been last-performance bounce, but it seems more likely that they were just generally enjoying themselves. (This is only borne out by the tears streaming down the lead's face at the curtain call.) The singing and dancing were mostly very sharp. Two of the best parts: Buttercup asking if the dog was real, and her friend E asking if it was the real president up there. (For those who don't know, FDR plays a significant part in the show.) The only trick watching the show for me was getting past various anachronisms and implausibilities that are distracting, but hardly central to the story.
What also surprised me was how much of the show I remembered, and how much it touched me. Frankly, it was still a very good time when I saw Annie on its first national tour in Chicago in 1978. We were spending quite a bit of time in that city — a place I still remember very fondly — and all hell hadn't broken loose. At eight (or almost eight), the worst experiences of elementary and middle school were yet to come. My parents were still five years from telling me they were divorcing. In other words, it's a time that has deep and positive memories — the Cubs at Wrigley, Stuart Brent Books, the museums, the zoos, camping and skiing trips.
What surprised me tonight was how easily a cheesy, mawkish — albeit very catchy — libretto can pull out a whole flood of memories and associations that have laid buried for years. And how easy it is to welcome back the memories, and how much they put the present in perspective.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Customer Service, how not to do it...
Yesterday, my Richmond Times-Dispatch was not on my doorstep when I woke up. Whether I was missed or it was stolen, there's no telling. I called the circulation department and registered my complaint with the auto phone system. Lo and behold, my doorbell rang half an hour later, and the paper was handed to me.
This morning, I woke to find this note wrapped around my paper:
The note would be one thing. One thing, that is, if the carrier hadn't then called me at 6:45 to make sure I got the note and understood I should call him in the future. Granted the carrier is a contractor, but this doesn't exactly strike me as customer-friendly behavior.
Lord knows I wouldn't have gotten away with anything like that when I was delivering papers in the early 1980s.
This morning, I woke to find this note wrapped around my paper:
The note would be one thing. One thing, that is, if the carrier hadn't then called me at 6:45 to make sure I got the note and understood I should call him in the future. Granted the carrier is a contractor, but this doesn't exactly strike me as customer-friendly behavior.
Lord knows I wouldn't have gotten away with anything like that when I was delivering papers in the early 1980s.
Friday, April 17, 2009
It's Richmond, Baby...
Yesterday, I spent six hours waiting on line in the spring sun. I've managed to make it this long in my life without ever intentionally waiting this long for anything — not concert tickets, not the New York DMV, not people. But yesterday was the registration day for the Richmond Parks and Recreation summer camp program. The city offers a good enough deal to make even the sanest of us take a half day off work to be the first on line, or at least to get there in time to make the cut for the program.
They take between 60 and 85 kids, depending on the program. Thankfully, I got there in time to ensure that Banana was #25 — though thanks to a couple line-jumpers she was #30 by the time registration started. The line continued to form through the early afternoon until people started counting to see if they needed to wait. Most left, perhaps to go to another community center. Those that stayed ended up at a loss anyway, because the line was cut in half as they let us in to register.
In the end, I'd say the scene was pure Richmond. Several of the parents knew each other and we passed the afternoon chatting rather than reading the books we'd all brought. To make it even more a solidly "Richmond" scene, many of us who didn't know each other before yesterday had friends or colleagues in common. We'd lived on the same streets, knew the same people. As much as I used to describe New York as the biggest small town in the world, Richmond has defied my sense of what a small, close-knit community within a city can be. It's both endearing and frightening at the same time, creating a sense of home that I sometimes ran from but find myself now embracing.
To a certain extent, I suppose yesterday's waiting was one more validation of that. Certainly, paying a fraction of the cost of private summer camps was a motivator, but as the afternoon wore on, what I truly appreciated was the utter feeling of community, the sense that Banana would spend the summer with friends, and that our network had deepened just a little more.
They take between 60 and 85 kids, depending on the program. Thankfully, I got there in time to ensure that Banana was #25 — though thanks to a couple line-jumpers she was #30 by the time registration started. The line continued to form through the early afternoon until people started counting to see if they needed to wait. Most left, perhaps to go to another community center. Those that stayed ended up at a loss anyway, because the line was cut in half as they let us in to register.
In the end, I'd say the scene was pure Richmond. Several of the parents knew each other and we passed the afternoon chatting rather than reading the books we'd all brought. To make it even more a solidly "Richmond" scene, many of us who didn't know each other before yesterday had friends or colleagues in common. We'd lived on the same streets, knew the same people. As much as I used to describe New York as the biggest small town in the world, Richmond has defied my sense of what a small, close-knit community within a city can be. It's both endearing and frightening at the same time, creating a sense of home that I sometimes ran from but find myself now embracing.
To a certain extent, I suppose yesterday's waiting was one more validation of that. Certainly, paying a fraction of the cost of private summer camps was a motivator, but as the afternoon wore on, what I truly appreciated was the utter feeling of community, the sense that Banana would spend the summer with friends, and that our network had deepened just a little more.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Easter, corrected
At a bit of prompting, I should burnish my earlier assessment of the Easter afternoon. A grand time truly was had by all, from the stellar food at brunch to the perfect weather. Even the peeps enjoyed themselves...
life at the heart of crass consumerism
Yesterday was Richmond's annual Easter on Parade. Neither parade nor particularly Easter-ish, this amounts to a few blocks of Monument Avenue being shut off for a grand street festival. I gather that once upon a time in some far-off memory of "the way Richmond was" this amounted to a parade of grand hats and people strolling along in their Easter finest. While some of this was on display yesterday, the festival amounted to much more of this:
Large inflatables for sale? Check. Gyro/falafel/sausage/funnel cakes for sale? Check. Parents saying no? Check.
Don't get me wrong. There were some grand hats. There were refined folks in their better garb — right down to our friend and neighbor who sported a boater for the day. There were grand houses opened for parties. There was a troupe of Morris dancers decked out in their sticks, bells, and face paint. There might have been a petting zoo. There were bottles to fill with colored sand. There were mimosas and bloody marys in plastic cups. There were dogs decked out in wings and ears and bonnets. There were kids-a-plenty. And there was the sun, the grand sun which decided to push past the April moods and join us all day long. There were puppet shows, and there was Jonathan Austin — Richmond's local juggler who is at all things public where there are kids and families.
With all of this and more, I still don't understand the need for the same food concessions as always. Isn't it possible — just once? — for there to be a festival in Richmond without the same old Italian sausage and funnel cake vendors? Isn't it possible — just once? — for that big cup Banana is holding to be filled with lemonade that doesn't come with a side of grease and a heavy dose of sugar? And I fail to see what Batman and Dora the Explorer have to do with Easter.
Large inflatables for sale? Check. Gyro/falafel/sausage/funnel cakes for sale? Check. Parents saying no? Check.
Don't get me wrong. There were some grand hats. There were refined folks in their better garb — right down to our friend and neighbor who sported a boater for the day. There were grand houses opened for parties. There was a troupe of Morris dancers decked out in their sticks, bells, and face paint. There might have been a petting zoo. There were bottles to fill with colored sand. There were mimosas and bloody marys in plastic cups. There were dogs decked out in wings and ears and bonnets. There were kids-a-plenty. And there was the sun, the grand sun which decided to push past the April moods and join us all day long. There were puppet shows, and there was Jonathan Austin — Richmond's local juggler who is at all things public where there are kids and families.
With all of this and more, I still don't understand the need for the same food concessions as always. Isn't it possible — just once? — for there to be a festival in Richmond without the same old Italian sausage and funnel cake vendors? Isn't it possible — just once? — for that big cup Banana is holding to be filled with lemonade that doesn't come with a side of grease and a heavy dose of sugar? And I fail to see what Batman and Dora the Explorer have to do with Easter.
Monday, March 09, 2009
a clever title could go here
A week ago, we were still watch the last flurries of Richmond's biggest snow fall since 1980. Kids and parents were tearing up the parks with sleds. Someone built a snow stegosaurus and a snow fish on the Monument Avenue median. Schools were shut for three full days. The temperature bottomed out at seven degrees.
Today, we're in the upper seventies for the third day in a row and suddenly trees are budding. Spring fever is as rampant as complaints about losing an hour of sleep to Daylight Savings Time. This morning Banana informed me that she no longer needed the comforter on her bed.
And somewhere a climate-change denier will claim this is all part of a normal cycle.
Today, we're in the upper seventies for the third day in a row and suddenly trees are budding. Spring fever is as rampant as complaints about losing an hour of sleep to Daylight Savings Time. This morning Banana informed me that she no longer needed the comforter on her bed.
And somewhere a climate-change denier will claim this is all part of a normal cycle.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Foodie Fail
One of the things I've enjoyed about living in Richmond is the number of excellent restaurants around town. With recent entries like Stronghill Dining Company and Café Rustica and excellent standbys like Can Can, Edo's Squid, Millie's, and many others, we don't lack for good dining options. My only quibble is that many of these places tend to run on the expensive side. While that neighborhood joint in NYC might have entrees hovering in the mid- to upper-teens, most entrees at these restaurants push the mid-twenties to thirty range. Thankfully, a number of restaurants have introduced small plates on their menus, meaning you can pull together a little more variety in a meal for the same tab as two entrees and a shared salad. The other recent development is the impact of the locavore movement on restaurants, with far more places pushing the farm-to-table model.
It was in this spirit, that we went to Mezzanine last night. Mezzanine is one of the latest entries in the RVA dining scene. The owners took over a space that had been cursed in the past and opened it up to create a pleasant, open space. They also took the local sourcing mission to heart and promised to focus the menu around locally-available ingredients and seasonal preparations. With a reasonably-priced wine list to boot, the place should be a winner.
Should be.
We were given our choice of tables upstairs. Though the space was warm and cozy, the noise levels seemed higher than they should.
Initial quirks aside, we dug into the wine list. It had a nice variety of bottles from $19 to $45+. We asked the waiter about a couple of bottles, and we went with his suggestion of the 2007 Marquee Grenache/Syrah/Mourvedre blend. It was a nice blend with flavors of all the grapes coming through — or rather that was the waiter's rather vague description of it. It was well-rounded and had enough fruit and dryness to balance much of our meal.
When it came to ordering, the waiter explained that they'd recently turned over the menu so he couldn't describe many of the items. This became a theme in our ordering. The menu offered some standard openers — the requisite beet salad, the house green salad with local greens — and a wider array of small plates and entree choices than I would have expected given their goal of sourcing locally.
There was only one strict vegetarian item on the menu — a quinoa in curry with Dave & Dee's oyster mushrooms and grilled bok choi — but L decided to go with the small plate of crab cakes instead. We opted to split the beet salad because beets, microgreens, goat cheese, and blue cheese always seem wonderful. I opted for the butternut squash and lobster bisque and then asked the waiter's recommendation between a small plate of a 5 oz. grass-fed NY Strip with a grilled onion and ginger topping and a stuffed quail over seafood jambalaya. Our waiter's response was to tell me that he hadn't had either but that he had heard more people compliment the steak than the quail. I went with the prevailing "opinion."
The food arrived with amazing speed. While I appreciate this in a lunch joint where I'm getting out for under ten bucks, I worry when the meal will quickly push a hundred bucks if my lobster bisque arrives in literally minutes of ordering. Moreover, shouldn't a bisque in a purportedly high-end restaurant come with a more imaginative side than a package of Premium Saltines? That's the kind of thing I expect from Denny's. But how was the soup? It was okay. L is not a fan of heavy cream, but she agreed it had good flavor. It had the sherry flavor you'd expect from a bisque, but the lobster and butternut squash blended together so as to become indistinguishable. Midway through the bowl, I was also left wondering where the lobster was. Even a few chunks of meat would have been enough to bring the soup from passable to good.
Minutes after the soup arrived, the beet salad arrived. The cold beet salad. So cold, in fact, that it had clearly just come out of the refrigerator. So cold, in fact, that there was almost no flavor to the beets or the goat cheese. When I mentioned it to the waiter, he said that they had assembled it ahead of time and plated it when it was ordered. As for the presentation, the beets were thick with a thin layer of goat cheese between them, a very light helping of microgreens and just a few crumbles of very pedestrian blue cheese mixed with the candied walnuts on the plate.
At this point, I was hoping for redemption. I'd heard so much about the place and still had hope that things would improve.
When my steak arrived, my first thought was that it looked like a small ribeye rather than a NY strip. On top of that, it had the curious grid pattern that some chain restaurants apply to steak to make it appear grilled. The flavor of the meat was good, but the cut was tougher than it should have been. And while it was nicely done inside, the steak itself was not hot at all. It had either been grilled ahead or sat out for a while. At this point, I was hungry enough and had seen enough of the service in the place that I didn't feel like asking them to redo the plate.
L's crab cakes were small, but nicely turned out. The waiter recommended using another plate to eat them since the serving dish didn't provide enough space for cutting without mashing them into the sauce they each sat in. The crab cakes were mostly lump crab meat with very little filler. The sauce balanced the crab flavor nicely, but still at $18 I would have expected more than three very small crab cakes.
In the end, the bill with tip came to $98.14. The meal came to a huge disappointment. I could see all the potential in the dishes and in the other menu items I saw coming out, but there were far too many missteps. All in all, Mezzanine struck me as a restaurant cutting corners and doing the minimum rather than really pushing the envelope. Perhaps it was an off night. Perhaps the nights my friends have been there, the menu was in better shape or the kitchen staff was more attentive to what they were serving. Either way, my next hundred-dollar meal is likely to be some place I am certain will make the meal worth experiencing again.
It was in this spirit, that we went to Mezzanine last night. Mezzanine is one of the latest entries in the RVA dining scene. The owners took over a space that had been cursed in the past and opened it up to create a pleasant, open space. They also took the local sourcing mission to heart and promised to focus the menu around locally-available ingredients and seasonal preparations. With a reasonably-priced wine list to boot, the place should be a winner.
Should be.
We were given our choice of tables upstairs. Though the space was warm and cozy, the noise levels seemed higher than they should.
Initial quirks aside, we dug into the wine list. It had a nice variety of bottles from $19 to $45+. We asked the waiter about a couple of bottles, and we went with his suggestion of the 2007 Marquee Grenache/Syrah/Mourvedre blend. It was a nice blend with flavors of all the grapes coming through — or rather that was the waiter's rather vague description of it. It was well-rounded and had enough fruit and dryness to balance much of our meal.
When it came to ordering, the waiter explained that they'd recently turned over the menu so he couldn't describe many of the items. This became a theme in our ordering. The menu offered some standard openers — the requisite beet salad, the house green salad with local greens — and a wider array of small plates and entree choices than I would have expected given their goal of sourcing locally.
There was only one strict vegetarian item on the menu — a quinoa in curry with Dave & Dee's oyster mushrooms and grilled bok choi — but L decided to go with the small plate of crab cakes instead. We opted to split the beet salad because beets, microgreens, goat cheese, and blue cheese always seem wonderful. I opted for the butternut squash and lobster bisque and then asked the waiter's recommendation between a small plate of a 5 oz. grass-fed NY Strip with a grilled onion and ginger topping and a stuffed quail over seafood jambalaya. Our waiter's response was to tell me that he hadn't had either but that he had heard more people compliment the steak than the quail. I went with the prevailing "opinion."
The food arrived with amazing speed. While I appreciate this in a lunch joint where I'm getting out for under ten bucks, I worry when the meal will quickly push a hundred bucks if my lobster bisque arrives in literally minutes of ordering. Moreover, shouldn't a bisque in a purportedly high-end restaurant come with a more imaginative side than a package of Premium Saltines? That's the kind of thing I expect from Denny's. But how was the soup? It was okay. L is not a fan of heavy cream, but she agreed it had good flavor. It had the sherry flavor you'd expect from a bisque, but the lobster and butternut squash blended together so as to become indistinguishable. Midway through the bowl, I was also left wondering where the lobster was. Even a few chunks of meat would have been enough to bring the soup from passable to good.
Minutes after the soup arrived, the beet salad arrived. The cold beet salad. So cold, in fact, that it had clearly just come out of the refrigerator. So cold, in fact, that there was almost no flavor to the beets or the goat cheese. When I mentioned it to the waiter, he said that they had assembled it ahead of time and plated it when it was ordered. As for the presentation, the beets were thick with a thin layer of goat cheese between them, a very light helping of microgreens and just a few crumbles of very pedestrian blue cheese mixed with the candied walnuts on the plate.
At this point, I was hoping for redemption. I'd heard so much about the place and still had hope that things would improve.
When my steak arrived, my first thought was that it looked like a small ribeye rather than a NY strip. On top of that, it had the curious grid pattern that some chain restaurants apply to steak to make it appear grilled. The flavor of the meat was good, but the cut was tougher than it should have been. And while it was nicely done inside, the steak itself was not hot at all. It had either been grilled ahead or sat out for a while. At this point, I was hungry enough and had seen enough of the service in the place that I didn't feel like asking them to redo the plate.
L's crab cakes were small, but nicely turned out. The waiter recommended using another plate to eat them since the serving dish didn't provide enough space for cutting without mashing them into the sauce they each sat in. The crab cakes were mostly lump crab meat with very little filler. The sauce balanced the crab flavor nicely, but still at $18 I would have expected more than three very small crab cakes.
In the end, the bill with tip came to $98.14. The meal came to a huge disappointment. I could see all the potential in the dishes and in the other menu items I saw coming out, but there were far too many missteps. All in all, Mezzanine struck me as a restaurant cutting corners and doing the minimum rather than really pushing the envelope. Perhaps it was an off night. Perhaps the nights my friends have been there, the menu was in better shape or the kitchen staff was more attentive to what they were serving. Either way, my next hundred-dollar meal is likely to be some place I am certain will make the meal worth experiencing again.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
the Richmond Folk Festival — balancing kids' needs and adults' wants
The first Richmond Folk Festival was a clear success, building on the past three years of the National Folk Festival. Almost 200,000 people came out for the shows, and it all came off without visible hitches.
Banana and I saw Mayan pole dancers, Japanese taiko drummers, great blues, Inuit throat singers, Zuni traditional dances, and remarkable celtic harmonies from Liadan. Sad to say, I wasn't able to get great photographs — I'm still trying to put enough spending money together for a digital SLR. Nonetheless, here's a brief taste of a remarkable afternoon.
With any luck, the partnership with the National Council for the Traditional Arts will tamp down the usual Richmond non-profit egotistical inefficiency and this remarkable festival will continue for years to come.
Banana and I saw Mayan pole dancers, Japanese taiko drummers, great blues, Inuit throat singers, Zuni traditional dances, and remarkable celtic harmonies from Liadan. Sad to say, I wasn't able to get great photographs — I'm still trying to put enough spending money together for a digital SLR. Nonetheless, here's a brief taste of a remarkable afternoon.
With any luck, the partnership with the National Council for the Traditional Arts will tamp down the usual Richmond non-profit egotistical inefficiency and this remarkable festival will continue for years to come.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Pho Tay Do
Just took a longish lunch at one of our local pho places. What distinguishes this one — besides the fact that I haven't been able to locate it with Google Maps — is that it is in a small house one street off the Horsepen corridor, a small house decorated with fascinating artwork painted by what I can only assume is one of the owners.
The food, however, is excellent, and the crowd is small and almost exclusively Vietnamese.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
the market haul
Last night, Banana and I hung at our pool for Friday Movie Night. It was a late night, and had Banana so exhausted she slept past nine this morning. Despite that and despite the fact that we got to Forest Hill more than an hour later than usual, we picked a pretty decent haul.
- Honeydew melon
- a small, very fragrant cantalope
- blackberries
- baby carrots
- white peaches
- corn
- green beans
- green peppers
- gold cherry tomatoes
- yellow heirloom tomatoes
- cucumbers
- basil
- chevre
- pork chops
- coffee beans
Unfortunately, I neglected to pick up eggs. In any case, the salad I made for lunch was simple and amazing--cucumbers, tomatoes, basil, carrots, olives, the last of the feta I'd picked up a couple weeks ago, and a little olive oil and balsamic.
It was a muggy, warm morning, but I still remain amazed at how much the market grows. New farms and craft vendors arrive each week, and the crowds remain steady. There is one vendor that seems to be causing a bit of rumbling, however. They carry produce that is past or a little early for the season, suggesting that they are sourcing their wares, possibly from outside Virginia, rather than growing themselves. It will be interesting to see whether the rumblings grow louder. (And, yes, I've left the specifics out intentionally.)
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Saturday Market-ing
The Forest Hill Market keeps growing. Each week new craft and food vendors are popping up. There's even a woman who clips dogs' nails. The farm produce has also continued to expand as more vegetables come into season. We're starting to see squash and cucumbers. Carrots are available, but sparse. Asparagus, broccoli and strawberries are still showing up. The greens continue to be phenomenal, with wide varieties of lettuce, chards, kales, and various spicy greens. We were down one meat vendor this week, but they aren't the one I usually buy from.
That said, this week's haul:
Dinner tonight is probably at a restaurant because of the ballet performance, but tomorrow, we will be slow-cooking the ribs on the grill. They should perfectly accompany one of the Villa Appalachia wines I have. There also promises to be grilled zucchini and something made with an awesome green garlic head. I plan to pore over Alice Waters The Art of Simple Food for more ideas.
But back to the market for a moment. What also continues to impress me are the numbers of people flocking to the market. They grow and get a little more diverse each week. Clearly, Richmond needed (and continues to need) this kind of organic (not necessarily referring to food) sense of community.
That said, this week's haul:
- broccoli
- strawberries
- asparagus
- two kinds of lettuce
- Tuscan kale
- English peas
- pork chops
- chorizo
- ribs
- strawberry jam (on a taste, possibly the best I've ever had, and well worth the $6.50 for a large jar)
Dinner tonight is probably at a restaurant because of the ballet performance, but tomorrow, we will be slow-cooking the ribs on the grill. They should perfectly accompany one of the Villa Appalachia wines I have. There also promises to be grilled zucchini and something made with an awesome green garlic head. I plan to pore over Alice Waters The Art of Simple Food for more ideas.
But back to the market for a moment. What also continues to impress me are the numbers of people flocking to the market. They grow and get a little more diverse each week. Clearly, Richmond needed (and continues to need) this kind of organic (not necessarily referring to food) sense of community.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Sunday Evening while-I'm-doing-laundry-and-watching-the-baseball-game-edition
There are some full posts I've wanted to do, but the weekend has sort of melted away in a flurry of consumer stupidity. That said, here's the abbreviated version...
Back to laundry duty.
- My last post on the new growers market in Forest Hill Park has been a fairly popular hit on the blog. It's not surprising if you are in Richmond and take the time to visit the market on Saturday morning—the crowds are impressive. The result has been an increase in the number of vendors, and an increasing sense that Richmond is catching up with cities that have established green market traditions (like New York, ahem...).
- Our market haul this week: 2 new varieties of lettuce, multi-colored swiss chard, pork chops (pastured), ground beef (pastured), snap peas, flowers, strawberries, pac choi, and asparagus. Cost (including snacks and coffee): $45. I've already fed Banana two amazing meals off this.
- Joining a CSA would ensure that we are guaranteed a certain haul, and yet I haven't bothered to get on the list for any. Why am I such a slacker?
- Broad Appetit—Richmond's new locavore festival in a city obsessed with festivals—came off today in spite of intermittent rain. There was a strong turnout and many restaurants began to run out of items within an hour. Sadly, I didn't get to enjoy it as much as I'd hoped... something about trying to do it with multiple almost-six year olds.
- Changing gears... Clinton needs to drop out. She cannot possibly be so tone-deaf as to miss the momentum in Obama's favor or blame it entirely on the media. Ultimately, though, she should drop out because of comments like the remarks about white, working-class voters and because she has been shot in the foot too often by stupid moves made by her handlers.
Back to laundry duty.
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