px, near 728 king street, old town, alexandria

if you're interested in cocktail culture, search for the dim blue light. it's above a door located just barely off king street smack in the center of old town alexandria. behind eamonn's dublin chipper.

if it's on, px is open and there are people inside having super-intriguing cocktails. there's no sign letting you know the 20's fashioned speakeasy exists. if you haven't heard about it through the grapevine, how would you know? if you're in the know you're in the know. but make a reservation. or it's likely you won't get in. it's probable you won't get in.

lucky for you if you didn't know, there's me to impart these tidbits.

when px opened, you used to have to call to get the password or peruse the paper in a secret section to locate it. now, if you go to www.eamonnsdublinchipper.com, scroll all the way to the bottom on the right hand side, you'll see px. click on it, and it's easy to then make a reservation. turns out they have one time left for the night i'm to go: 11:30 pm. which is perfect, because i happen to have a date scheduled for this exact time. huh?


sous chef from last friday's escapade asked me out. for a cocktail. at 11:15 pm.

what the? are you jokin me? nope. this boy works round the clock. i know all the dating advice would say, run-don't-walk. who asks a girl out for 11:15 pm and expects cute fun girl to show up? [to that i say: phooey. it's not like anything else i've tried has worked of late. why not shake things up? this girl's got nothing to lose, but a little sleep and like i always say, i'll sleep when i'm dead.] besides, this guy lives in the 703, and practically the same zip, something i never explore, as you know. bonus.

my summer's about to become all about me and the fun i'm gonna have so i'm willing to be flexible. give it a whirl. never been on a date starting at 11:15 pm. anyway, i myself have an event tonight which will get me home just in time to prep for 11:15 pm date with sous chef. parfait. that's french for perfect.

i know you're worrying sick like i was: what's a girl to wear? you can't get thoroughly dolled up like normal. yet, it's a first date and you can't go unceremoniously relaxed-looking either. you gotta be casual-stylish-and-ever-so-slightly sparkly. it is still a date. i consider myself lucky to have the perfect perfect for nearly every occasion. [it's my hobby. and i believe that if you build it they will blah, blah, blah.]

so off i go at 11:14 pm towards old town. i pick him up outside his resto and we head down the street in search of the dim blue light.

px opened about three years ago. i happened to visit its very first night. i haven't returned and i'm not sure why. perhaps because one friend did a high jump over the arm of and onto the 200 year old sofa, breaking its foundation, creating an embarrassing little stir. someone might've recognized if i reappeared too soon. i believe it's safe to return.

it's ultra-exclusive - but don't be intimidated by this. you too can get in. but please act civilizedcool when you do. or charming. or look cute. me, i'm exhibiting all of these, so i'm good to go.

px stands for person extraordinaire, in france the word for VIP. px is owned by cathal and meshelle armstrong of restaurant eve, the majestic, eamonn's dublin chipper and px. along with dc-coolio cocktail master, todd thrasher.

mr. thrasher's cocktails are prepared like food. everything from scratch, except the alcohol. all the juice, fresh. and seasonal. homemade bitters, syrups and foams, even using tobacco in the cocktail, smoker's delight. ingredients include yuzu, hot peppers and cucumber and ginger, to name a few. he uses garnishes such as fresh glistening sticky honeycomb that gently melts into your cocktail while you sip - yummy. and pretty. he smashes, muddles, sets fire to things - to improve the flavor, bring out the natural oils and create additional drama so your drink is the best it can be. you must be patient for these concoctions though. it takes at least 5 minutes for the bartender to prepare each one. and sometimes longer.

so, we ring the doorbell, and in the little barred window of the ancient door a face appears asking us what we want. there's no password anymore, which i sort of wish they wouldn't have done away with. i tell the hostess i have a reservation. she opens the door and asks us to wait on the landing of the steps. behind us, a couple gets rejected and turned away. too bad for them.

we're led up the extremely dark creaky steps into a barely lit bar. it's an historic townhome. all wordwork is original. antique imported chandeliers. there's a few people chatting it up with bartender. we're asked to sit at the bar rather than a table, which is good i think for a first date here. the bar menus are presented to us. and by the way, don't even think about ordering a gin and tonic: you will certainly look ill-bred and you might just get the boot. which would be tres embarrassing. i know, i know, you've got to be kidding in this time of economic hardships to have to go through the silly rigmarole. just play along though, and no one gets snubbed.

oh the bar menu. any menu this detailed sends anxiety running through my heart and head and tummy. i have grown to dislike choosing things for myself. plus if i'm honest, i'm no cocktail connoisseur. sous chef asks the bartender what he recommends. no love though. he kindly asks us to review the menu. every cocktail has no fewer than 4 ingredients. in small print. and it's dark. names include eamonns cocktail [which is what i start with], the most aggressive fish in the sea and other whimsical titles. i later had the best champagne cocktail with homemade cherry bitters. delish.

so sous chef and i have lots and lots to discuss of course. we chat like we've known each other for a great long time. only being interrupted by the bothersome and ostentatious dudes next to us, who have their cell phone ringers on, complete with blaring ringtones. for the love of obnoxious, chatty wannabes, thinking they're cool but they're so not, who does that anymore? vibrate, man, it's the only way. i'm a little surprised they're not asked to leave or to turn those ringtones off. especially when one asks the bartender if his cocktail is coming any time soon.

we enjoy two and a half cocktails before it's finally closing time - a respectable 2 am on a wednesday. as we're shown out by hostess, she mentions in a sweet but assured way, that men should not be wearing shorts and flip flops to px. in fact she shouldn't have let us in at all, but did because it was late and we had reservations. yes, i suspected that to begin with. i knew in my heart, after having just gotten off work the chance of sous chef looking mammoth-casual was likely. you can't tell someone to bring appropriate clothes. to a first date anyway.

the funny thing is, and if you know me, it's more strange and promising than funny: i hadn't paid a moment's attention to what sous chef was wearing. this could be good my friends. and btw it's fantastic to be reminded at least for now, that dating doesn't always leave you questioning wtf just happened?

we're getting together sunday. at a more practical time of day.

until then, i suggest open your mind to the fancy cocktail and drama of px. you'll find no lack of conversation in a fascinating and sexy setting.

scene at the harris teeter, shirlington

i took a leisurely trip to the harris teeter last sunday evening to see what they had in store for me to pick up. a grocery trip for sport alone. i never get to savor shopping here because i'm always in a raging dash.



why harris teeter, and not safeway? why not whole foods tonight? the teeter happens to be the one with the most capacity for budding romance due to its proximity to me as well as upscale condos, dogpark, gym, library [hee, kidding], chinese takeout, ice cream shop and much more. beyond that, it's become known as a pick-up spot. well at least a good spot to gaze on good-lookings.


i've been told sunday is the day to go due to the throng of supposed hotties runnin around squirreling up for the week ahead. as a professional grocery shopper, i avoid a sunday trip to the store because everyone knows it's for rookies.



the produce and dairy items are entirely picked over, you have to mix and match cartons of eggs putting a full uncracked dozen together only if you're lucky. bins where there should be basics like garlic and onions are empty except for the papery skins, remnants and rogue cloves. one lonely sad and too dark avocado. what is it with this town and lack of groceries on sundays? this is a metropolis, no?

somewhat prepared to engage in conversation after studying some tactics for such an occasion, i don my juicy couture mexican dress: cute but appropriate grocery store attire. i pull into the parking garage perky and optimistic. oh hell. bad sign: plenty of parking. what's the? there's never parking at the teeter.



well i'm here, i do need a few items. perhaps i'm slightly too early [though i'm here at the exact time my friend was last sunday when she saw loads of desirables]. so i'm gonna take my leisurely and peruse all aisles. including frozen. including canned vegetables. i even went to the pesky upstairs aisles just to see what's at the teeter tonight. [and for the love of bacchus, why is the wine inconveniently located upstairs?]


i'll admit i've seen a lot of cuties here on past trips but i'm always in such a flippin hurry there's no time for extended eye contact, smiling, hair flipping, questions about various cuts of meat, and so on. consider yourselves fortunate, those who can calmly enjoy grocery shopping and checking people out. lucky grocery checker-outers.




hmm. nada, nothing, nope. not you either buddy. son of a gun. came up dry. not one person was remotely attractive. not even one dude with a chic. or a baby buggy. wonder what gives. don't worry i'll check back and re-report. hopefully with some news. perhaps i shoulda chosen safeway tonight. [though i think the day for safeway is monday.]

brabo tasting room, 1600 king street, west end, old town alexandria

(pictured is the butcher's block, just next door to the tasting room)

a couple of months ago i inadvertently stepped in to the tasting room on my way to eat next door at brabo. and ever-so-briefly i admired groups of fun attractives enjoying what seemed like a hip joint. [not to be confused with a hip joint replacement.]


i'm supposed to be attending my high school reunion in oklahoma right this minute, but due to the amount of work i have, combined with my interminable misfortune with airlines, it's simply impossible to be there. next best thing - i created my own mini high school reunion. complete with too many glasses of wine, barking up potentially wrong trees and general buffoonery. but still looking very cute nonetheless.

facebook's a wondrous miracle for reconnection. as i'm aware, and keep using to my benefit. and tonight's gonna be no exception.

recently i've befriended another stillwater high school pioneer [that's what we were, the pioneers, shut up i'm from oklahoma] who's lived minutes from me all this time. how tragic that we're only now figuring this out. well, whatever, everything happens for a blah, blah, blah.

we plan a night out to do some catching up. at brabo's tasting room in old town. newly single, she needs a means of escapism and [i'm always on the prowl for fun] i've been wanting to check this spot out since my date with frenchy at brabo. it's a gorgeous friday evening in june. i should mention that i got studstall parking right up front. west end old town is remarkable for this reason alone. and yes, this is a tremendous foretaste of the evening.

entering the tasting room, instead of the conventional hostess stand greeting, you're welcomed by smiling happy chefs operating the wood-fire oven. hot. right there at the door, separated from you only by a little counter. oh no, one is conspicuously cute. oh yes, indeed.

"can we sit anywhere?" sous chef nods to my right, where there are four secluded booths offering a great view to the passers-by on king street. those tables are too quiet though. we're looking for romance, but not with each other. i think area to my left looks like more potential excitement [and eye-catching, and we want to catch someone's]. she and i are about to have a marathon convo session but we're way too attractive to be put in a corner. [nobody puts baby in a corner. right?]

to the left are more diner-esque booths along with a communal high-top table, smack in the center of this tiny place. the room is white on white. very fresh and clean feeling [great for you ocd germaphobes]. it's a tiny avant-garde but then it's got some exposed brick mixed in and a lot of natural light filling the room. it's bright but it's still real comfy. we opt for the communal table. as i always say, though not always do, you gotta put yourself out there.

i am sensing this night could go one way: we chitchat have a glass of vino and part ways by 8:30, i go home and get my arse on the sofa and command of the remote. or it could go the other: blowoutgirlsgonewild. then there's a number of scenarios in between.

one of the cool things about single chics is you never know what kind of turn the night's gonna take. especially when you haven't seen each other in 10 years [what is it with me livin it up bigstyle with long lost pals?]. is she up for it? am i?

hell to the yeah.

only semi-concerned about the ass-spread you get when perched upon them, we hop up onto the barstools right smack in the middle of the room. straight away, ari, waiter, brings menus and asks our prefs on wine - white or red? i'm the ever-loving white wine fan during the summer months. as is my friend. he brings us each a taste just to make sure he's on the right track. this guy's a total gem by the way. he's utterly helpful and attentive and concerned and big. he's huge for such a tiny spot. but, really how cool is a no strings attached wine taste? i wonder how many tastes you can get before you settle on one. we quickly decide on the danielle de l’ansée sauvignon blanc 2007 loire at a very reasonable almost cheap $8 a glass. i suggest a bottle but it's the same price per glass. again, a non-committal place. i feel right at home.

the tasting room is still new - having opened maybe three months ago, but a reputation is already established for their house-made charcuterie and wood fired tarts. tarts? crispy thin crust yummy "pizza" that all pizza should be. also the mussels. and belgian beers. all are known to be quite good. oh and i saw a huge and delicious looking sandwich walk by. my friend tells me she's picky and is leaving everything to me. i always leave everything to the waiter, who suggests charcuterie. again. what the? as you well know, i'm having a lifelong affair with charcuterie and therefore this is the perfect place for me. it is. everything is meant to be shared and snacked on.

the bread is delicious here - i forgot to ask where it's from. charcuterie plate comes complete with caperberries, which i adore and believe that there needs to be more caperberry-serving restos. also, cornichons, artichoke hearts, various meats and a duck liver pate. yum sweet yum. our wine was perfectly paired for such an occasion. buttery smooth complimentary to the meats and pate.

i'm secretly worried that this isn't going to be enough for me, i'm so in love with this food. eat slowly everything will be ok, i tell myself. and it is. we are talking like you read about. we each recount the past 10 years of our lives. story by story by story. good, bad, ugly.

[speaking of, we're actually experiencing this right now - the scene at the tasting room is good for the food/wine/great service/cute sous chef, bad because there are no singles but us, ugly packed with tourists. damn. did i mention it's attached to the new lorien hotel and spa [a kimpton property - yay for old town]. we are totally gonna bounce after we eat to find a better looking scene with more potential. tasting room isn't going to be romantically productive for us. waitaminute... waiter over there is cute too.

well we proceed to get pretty comfortable here. i hope my friend isn't too keen on bolting because i have now engaged sous chef in conversation at his station in front of wood fire. about food and the fact that i too used to be a cook in a resto. blah, blah, blah. he's way cute, he is. i know he doesn't want us to leave because he's bored of looking at x-tra large fanny-packed patrons. i don't blame him.

me, i'm a vision in all white with my cute new saja top from ginger boutique and white linen pants. my friend she's a long blonde bombshell. he tempts us to stay by inviting us to pull up barstools at his station. really? this is legal? yes, do it, i'll make you ladies some nice things [impress you with my cooking prowess]. ok [don't need to ask me twice]. plus, i'm gonna get to know this sweetthing up close and personal. we have plenty to talk about and could bore the living daylights out of my friend if i continue talking shop with sous chef. sadly, tightassed manager who looks and behaves like a pit boss in an otherwise casual cool hangout, puts the kabash on our front row situation. he "needs the space" [to lean on while he watches the flat screen].


back to our spot at the communal, we're vip rockstars now and friends with everyone working here, 'cept manager. and we have a tart coming. a tart, people - topped with fresh mozzarella, virginia prosciutto and basil. i firmly believe when a chef wants to send a couple cuties food, it's the same thing as when a peacock spreads his plumage. i'm totally going to allow it and shower him with praise. an operative flirting tactic hopefully. i might be a little smitten kitten. i am.

next thing ya know. a couple of my blast from the past citronelle buddies come through the door - they work at brabo behind the bar. again, at home i am here at the tasting room. so i'm telling sous chef he should hurry with his silly closing inventory duties and change and meet us at our next spot. he's sadly so sadly got too much to do though and not sure he's gonna make it. thank goodness i have the wherewithall to get his number and email address [he's offering to help me cook for upcoming events - and this may be the one time i decide to take someone up on that, big big smile].

my girlfriend - now we're like old friends again - entirely in the know about each other's lives and fully supergirl bonded due to wine and deepdark secret sharing - shut down the tasting room and decide to head over to union street for some ridonkulous extension of this so-far perfect night. i know, what the? when was the last time you saw the insides of that place? we shut it down too and headed home. at 3 am. impressive, yes?

i will definitely revisit the tasting room. i wish i could think of a non-stalking reason to get there asap. after perusing my receipt i'm so pissed at myself for the 20% tip i left and wish i'd left ari more. i'm not known for being cheap normally. $hit. i'm guilt-ridden over that.

p.s. sous chef texted me the next morning. we're gonna get together this week for a cocktail. maybe i do have game.