policy, 1904 14th street, nw, u street corridor, dc

policy is one of the smooth new coolcat spots to grace the u street corridor. joining old school classics cafe st. ex and local 16 along with the new: hominy, 1905, the gibson and new-ish marvin, cork and vinoteca. what i'm loving about the u street corridor is now we have freedom of choice. you don't get all the way over there only to find yourself trapped in a joint you're not feelin. eclectic little spaces with loads of character. just add cool people and stir. instaparty. and if you don't like the scene at one, ease on down the road.

the main floor, pictured here, is a cheeky combo of retro and mod with red vinyl booth seating and barstools right outta the 70's. if they drank i could totally see jill, kelly and sabrina sipping cosmos and rehashing the roller derby antics, leaving dingbat bosley with the tab.

upstairs, the walls are covered with handpainted graffiti murals. and from the ceiling hangs a multitude of sparkling chandeliers. i'm in love with this room. curiously empty tonight, a thursday. it's so contrary to the place i just left in every possible way and i hope it's not indicative of the level of fun i'm about to have or have not.

i remind you two readers that i just left dinner at ray's with my former neighbors and mr. pretty restauranteur. how many times in my life will i happen upon all those traits [so tightly] wrapped into one package - i sure hope more than once. i'm nearly positive he had a flaw or two, but none that i could see. 'cept that unremitting stream of speakage. hee. at least he's not a non-talker.

fortunately policy has valet. what a delightful surprise on a drizzly night in a tricky parking neighborhood. bonus. i love valet. especially when they don't rake you over the ever-lovin' coals: i think it was $8 or $10. i manage to arrive before blind date from the amish country. yay me for being stealth-late.

i do not have a reservation, a risky endeavor given what i've read about standing room only happening here. i just enjoyed three and a half courses at ray's the steaks so i don't plan to eat. i ask the hostess if i can get a table. she was sweet and though they were superslow, she inexplicably had to mull it over for a [strange too long] minute. i mention that someone's gonna be joining me. and i didn't know who he was. trying to collect a poor baby or two i tell her i'm meeting a blind date. bingo. she gives me the green light for a red booth.

she wishes me luck.

within 5 minutes blind date from amish country arrives. he's not ugly. but he's not my type either. is it terribly shallow when you know this just by looking? he doesn't look like the britney spears-listening popaholic he told me he was. [i'm not making this up. and i don't mind it either.] he also doesn't appear to have just valeted a horse and buggy. nice jeans, nice jacket. thank heavens he came dressed for a date. i really appreciate that.

perhaps people in amish country overcompensate for some things by engaging in others. like lady gagaspears and designer jeans. i don't know. i happen to love britney, as you well know.

he sits, we start to chat. the cocktail list at policy is whimsically fun. you know, while i'm a die-hard champers girl (that's british for bubbly wine), i do enjoy the fact that so many places offer unusual cocktails now. bar-chefs and mixologists preparing complicated drinks from purees made from scratch mixed with other fruity juices and extracts.

bar chefs. let's not overuse a word precisely termed for a reason, chef. i prefer when they're referred to as mixologists or master mixologists. i doubt bar-chefs are getting their asses kicked in the kitchen as they wait for their simple syrup to come to a boil. maybe i'm being sensitive. i have a great deal of respect for these folks, i really do. anyone who sees the value in raising the level of normal expectations and experience by studying the art and history of making cocktails, can explain the nuances of vodkas, putting unexpected flavors together gets two thumbs up from this girl. i appreciate that. sorry but i can't get on board with calling it a bar chef though. and i don't want to be called a food mixologist either.

the drink menu includes a few bottles of bubbly that i find to be over the top for this spot. i'll have to report back on a busier night to really examine the patrons, but i don't know too many places featuring the first bubbly on the list a $600 bottle of cristal and include an $850 dom perignon 1996 rose. do you? they also offer in da club hilton-lohan vip bottle service not typical of this neighborhood i think. whatev. then they have a list of all kinds of -tinis. me, i choose the truthtini. grey goose, ruby red grapefruit juice and pama. what's pama? pomegranate flavored liqueur, according to wiki. yummy. i can't remember what amish country had but it will come as no surprise that it was pinker than mine. again, he's prob not used to pink liqueur. the amish make everything themselves so i'm thinkin white lightning. rude of me, yes? it's a joke, people. lighten up.

he's opinionated this one. very strong opinions on things like music, icky french cuisine, how he's been to paris so many times it's just cliche [wtf?], work/life balance, travel, the fact that girls shouldn't wear boyfriend jeans because they're too baggy. how girls really dress for girls and not for guys. drone on, droner.

back the truck up, mister man.

he hasn't a clue that his foot is squarely and securely in mouth. as you well know, i'm a rebel with a fashion cause and approach food with an open heart and open mind [a la cuisine!]. he's punching a few buttons unbeknownst to him. how superbly boorish of him to put a smackdown on my beloved french food. and screw your silly thoughts on [thank goodness they're back] boyfriend jeans. too many strikes to count against this boob. i'm getting irritated right now, again, just thinking about it. on behalf of girls around the globe who aren't wearing tightassed jeans and tube-tops i say, you screwed the pooch, buddy. whatever that means.

let me just mention before i blow my top, that we did order food. i'm not hungry after 3 1/2 courses but, since i'm here, i'm going to try a couple things i heard about. we opt for the curry lamb sliders with gorgonzola and mint pesto, the duck springrolls and handcut fries with truffle mayo. those lamb sliders were tadiefor. seriously. perhaps the best sliders i've had. holy mother of is that barack obama painted on the wall? yep. i'll come back just for those sweet babies. i can't wait to return [with someone else] and get those dreamy lamb sliders again, whilst sitting upstairs. and with a glass of bubbly. i think he ordered the springrolls just in case the sliders weren't good. have you ever had a springroll that's bad? kind of boring.

the handcut fries. well, i call a flagrant foul on that. i'm not complaining about them, but i'm solidsure they're handcut by someone at the potato factory then flash frozen. the truffle mayo needs more truffle. doesn't it always?

i won't say our convo got heated but i will admit that my smurly side surfaced. what the f is that? that's being slightly surly while smiling. i'm so crafty.

don't worry, friends, he's not detecting my irritability. i know this because he continues in this way the remainder of the evening. meanwhile i'm thinking i should meet up with mr. pretty and the gang who are happily rockin out to a local band at the new h street country club. crap.

well the date ended at last because it was getting late and he had a long drive back to lancaster, pa. we waited outside together for our vehicles, with that gratuitous dialogue you have to protract as a date comes to its [ill-fated] end. mindlessly talking about getting together again and how fun that was, blah, blah blah. ugh. hell.

dude, where's my car?

i know you're wondering whether this chap liked me. of course. they always do when you don't return the vibe. which blows. he texts me on the way home. he texted me the following day to arrange another date. what's the rush you ask? this amish country chatzkies salesman [yep you heard me] is traveling the entire month of august - through the middle east. alone. brave, cool, intriguing, etc.

he [jokingly, i hope] mentions that if we can't manage a date before he leaves for vaca, perhaps i'd consider meeting him in paris at the end of his trip - what happened to paris being cliche?

summer is no time for negative nellies and naysayers. so for that, i apologize. i don't have strong opinions about much but i've got one about overly opinionated people who share-too-much. and i don't run off to paris with them.

it's my policy.

ray's the steaks, 2300 wilson blvd, arlington, va

there's always been a buzz about ray's the steaks. people who've tried ray's either love it or hate it for reasons that mostly boil down to expectations and ambience. what's not to love? here's a cluebird for ya: read reviews before you dine out. not every resto should offer the same old sheet. it's what makes the world go round. i like to embrace these differences.

recently ray's moved down the street from its not-so-attractive stripmall location, allowing owner michael landrum to triple the number of covers he served in a night. bonus for you: the address of the new ray's the steaks is horsepuckey. don't let its wilson blvd address fool you into thinking it's actually on wilson. it's on clarendon blvd. for the love of arlington's 19 starbucks in a 2-mile radius, i give up trying to understand the whole clarendon wilson blvd thing.

so here's how i wind up at ray's a coupla thursdays ago. i bumped in to some friends on the way to the dogpark one afternoon; a coolio fun easygoing couple who used to be my neighbors. they suggested dinner at ray's the steaks. how nice is it that? i haven't been in moons. plus i love having dinner parties with people i don't see very often. keeps life interesting, no? they said they'd arrange everything and text me the deets. which they did. well in advance of the reservation.

well, i didn't have it on my calendar, because my assistant had taken the week off. silly ditzy girl.

kidding. come on, people. i am my assistant and my life is an effing trainwreck.

turns out, i double-booked myself, having scheduled yet another mind-numbing blind date the same night. [cut me some slack before you judge. i'm trying to gather some more material for this lame-ass blog.]

i couldn't postpone the blind date because he was driving [horse and buggy] from amish-country lancaster, pennsylvania. what the? i know, i know. one of these days i'll come across a charming gentleman who lives between 1 and 6 miles from me.

i couldn't cancel dinner with friends and look like a flakasaurus rex. well that and they mentioned something about a hottie single friend joining.

how smart am i? dinner at 6:30; blind date at 8:30.

if you know anything about ray's, besides the fact that it's a well-regarded and reasonably-priced steak house, you know it's a get 'em in getemoutasfastaspossible burn and churn kind of resto. an hour an half for dinner here is totally doable.

most people know that anytime you double-book yourself, things don't go exactly as your pea brain intends. you end up having unforeseen best time of your life at engagement #1 and subsequently visualizing ways to dodge engagement #2.

we'll call that jt's law of double-booking. it has an equal and opposite outcome too, which is when you want to disengage from a boring situation to mosey along to a merrier one.

just as i'm sashaying through the door, i see my friend and favorite dc sommelier, james beard foundation award-winner, mark slater. he recently left michel richard citronelle after 12 years and joined ray's as wine director for all of michael landrum's restos, ray's the steaks, ray's hellburger and ray's the classics. what a doll baby.

and while he's a wine-stud he is not the supercilious sommelier he could be - even though his brain holds a $hit-ton of viniferous information. mark has a legendary talent for discovering fascinating wines under $40. if you see him when you visit ray's, by all means, enlist his assistance in choosing a great bottle. that's what he's there for. for us, he sent us some yummy bubbly followed by a lovely bold malbec for dinner.

so we're seated at the best table in the house - right in the middle of all the action. i should mention here that the fellow with my neighbors is indeed, hot. all caps. not only is he terribly attractive, he's california dude rockstar trendy. and healthy looking. trust me when i tell you we don't have these creatures running rampant in dc. not straight ones anyway.

i don't know why all the people on yelp, donrockwell.com and tripadvisor blah, blah, blah are always talking about the lack of decor at ray's. who gives a frog's fat ass? i find it refreshing that it's minimalistic. it's simple. clean. what if when there's not a bunch of cluttery filling up all possible white space, you actually focus on the food and conversation [and getting the hell out as fast as ray's can get you gone]. ray's is totally family-friendly too btw. there's all sorts of clientele here - and yes, mark confirms that they do indeed serve 300-400 people a night here. standard ops.

even though he talks incessantly, i find the brawny chap next to me really interesting because he's in the process of opening a few restaurants in dc. smart and pretty? and stylish? crap i have a blind date in an hour with a guy from amish country.

it would be really rude of me to call in sick, wouldn't it? even if guy next to me is really shiny and pretty?

back to the food. ray's offers a crazygood deal: 3 courses for $23.95. first course of salad or soup, main course of either the scallops, the top sirloin or the hanger steak and choice of dessert. how oklahoma of them - i love it. i'm totally here for beef. that's what they do. really well.

the lovely mr. slater is reading my appetizer-loving mind and takes charge in sending us a few: the steak tartare "deviled" eggs. i love steak tartare with all my heart, i do. so flippin cute this is, i can barely stand it. i'm stealing this idea. deviled eggs are all the rage now if you haven't heard. you can stuff anything into a boiled egg right? they needed a little more salt. surprise, surprise. he also has the kitchen deliver a demitasse cup of the crab soup. full of flavor and muy delicioso. and, where on earth can you get bacon as an appetizer? here, friends. uber-thick slices of applewood smoked bacon perched atop a sweet tuft of sauerkraut. an order of angry shrimp comes as well, or shrimp diablo - super spicy, i warn you. but i like it. in moments our salads come and minutes after that (remember, they're all business at ray's and they want to fill your seat with someone else's arse as soon as they can) steaks arrive. mine, i went for the hanger steak - slightly tougher than other cuts and not as juicy, but bursting with meatiness. you have your choice of varied sauces and other things like roasted garlic or roquefort to top your steak. i chose a port reduction along with roasted garlic. it's likely i'm not kissing anyone tonight. who doesn't love garlic anyway? i was real happy with my choices.

i look at my watch to discover it's 8 and we haven't ordered dessert. "i've got a blind date at 8:30," i inform mr. pretty.

"what? cancel." is his response. as tempting as this is, i must adhere to my prior commitment but promise to ditch out of blind date if i'm not enjoying amish country. upon my return from powdering my nose and checking my pearly whites, desserts have arrived. i manage to capture a bite of each. do try the key lime pie. it was the winner. the chocolate and white chocolate mousses (meese?) are so-so, though i'm not that much of a mousse girl anyhow. cheesecake was good i think but i really needed more time with it to be sure. tiny peanut butter chocolate petit fours are a perfect touch that come - next to the check of course.

hate to eat and run but hey, it's ray's and if you're not running out they'll probably run you out.

i'll have to reinvestigate mr. pretty another time.

pov, w hotel, 515 15th street, nw, dc

at long last, it's open. dc's first w hotel. in all its glory glory hallelujah. formerly the tattered hotel washington - home of the best view in town [available to the public]. me, i don't give a sqeaky squirrel's arse about the hotel itself. the girls and i have been discussing how cool it would be to james brown style getonup to the rooftop terrace after years of construction. how touristy of us. as you know we like to be in the know though. [hey, a poem.]

a big hip hip hip. hooray. what the f took so long for those starwood dudes to bring a w to dc anyway? whatever the story on that, they did indeed procure the primest, fattest, ballin' property in town. and, though i haven't dined there yet, there'a also the jg steakhouse, by none other than jean-georges (our first jean-georges spot here. can i take a moment to ask 1) why did that take so long and 2) do we need another potbelliedsuitwearingman steakhouse in dc? hell. what about our rights to jean-georges genius asian cuisine?

back to the rooftop. everyone knows the former washington hotel had the best view known to [washingtonian] man. from here you can see the white house, all the executive office buildings - some brilliant architecture, the monument, the jefferson and all the way to the burbs. a breathtaking view.

so after months of trying to figure out what to do for one of my best girlfriend's birthdays, the w hotel opened in perfect timing last month and it seemed apropos of a celebration, considering we didn't quite get our $hit together for a trip to australia or greece.

i will say this: in this town, it's easier to pass a healthcare reform bill and confirm a supreme court justice than it is to get a reservation here. birthday hottie planned the party herself as she wanted to include her co-workers as well as her buddies. the w rat bastahd reservationists won't answer the phone so she had to be-bop over there in person one afternoon to speak with someone about space for 30 of her nearest dearest.

they have a weird reservation process for pov. stressing the words weird process. this is a bonus for all y'all's information [that's oklahoman plural possessive for fyi]. see, if i'm repeating this correctly, they take reservations from 4:30 to 6:30 pm, and then again after 8:30. so, if you're a walk-in, they can perhaps seat you between 6:30 and 8:30. i'm sure there's some scientific calculation to this seemingly nonsensical mumbo jumbo. but that's the dealio. do what you will with it. all i can say is thank heavens we reserved space. and i explicitly suggest you do as well.

running a tad late. shoulda taxied. taxi, people - there's no reason in midsummer to drive to downtown dc (through the mall and monuments over to the white house area) dodging the hotdogpretzel-eaters and fbi t-shirt buyin' bozos.

also, you never know what vip is staying at the w or next door at the williard and this can monkey wrench your timeliness. tonight it was the president of iran or someone reasonably important. the po po had f street blocked off and this raucous was using up the normal swarm of valet parking staff for themselves and their superstretched limos.

i'm not gonna bag on the valet guys at the w who perhaps saw this coming but didn't adjust their plan accordingly. when i drove up, idling behind a few cars, i could see there was some kind of cluster-f going on. i patiently waited a few minutes until steam started coming out of my ears. trying to get a handle on the hullabaloo, i put 'er in park and pressed that triangular hazard button [one of the great things about dc is you actually use this little red button in your car a lot. me, i love that clicking sound].

fortunately i was looking tremendously fabulous in a new missoni frock {they were practically giving it away at bergdorf's - mother of all chevron stripes i'm still in love with this dress and am so lucky to have snatched it up}. as you well know, sometimes it pays to feel like a million and one bucks because things fall into place for you in more ways than you can imagine. valet angel facilited my potential parking nightmare faster than you can say "nice shoes, biatch." he could tell my head was about to pop off and he swiftly and kindly said he'd take care of my car so i could join the birthday party for 30 people (yes i told him i was a part of the private party going on - clearly it might not get going til this gorgeoused up vision arrived). kidding. sort of.

all this and i'm still only running 20 minutes behind. nice, yes?

for the love of the not so secret service guarding the building [am i the only one who thinks guys wearing those earpieces with baby slinkies on them are hotter than they would be otherwise?], the new lobby entrance and "living room" as they call it is spectacular. i'm so having drinks here in the winter. a total clash of soho modern sleek with classic italian working in definitive harmony. i'm in love with this grand room.

what i'm not about to be in love with is the line for the elevator to the rooftop terrace. this is a serious warning, my friends: a line of 40 people awaiting their ride on the brass elevator. again, panic nearly sets in. thankfully i hold the ability to text with the speed of a peregrine falcon. as does birthday girl. next thing ya know "elevator hostess" ushers me right through those splendid doors and up i go. if you have this coveted status of reservationed, just speak with little gatekeepergirl in black dress holding clipboard. otherwise get in line with the cattle. and pray to the gods of see and be seen that you get a ride to the top.

the rooftop terrace looks much the same as it did the last time i was here 5 or 7 years ago. only cool. sleek, modern, red loungers, black tables, white and green accents. lots and lots of dressed in head-to-toe-black staff running around. we did get really great service i think, considering how busy it is up there.

i was somewhat troubled that the crowd here would be geographically undesirable [touristy] and ill-fashioned. delightfully not so. there were lots of attractives. i saw several people i vaguely recognized - most importantly a rare creature i'll call a dc-hottie i think know from somewhere, who knows. in my mind i planned to strike up convo with him. "you look familiar, how do we know eachother?" wasn't coming to mind though. rats. birthday girl recognizes him as being married she thinks. ah well, i had too many fun friends to catch up with.

and, due to the sweltering day it was, people are sweating like cochons (that's french for pigs). subsequently, my double-stacked platform patent leather louboutins were pinching my lil fred flintstone toes together, sending a shooting pain through my feet within 15 minutes. crap. managing to look cute while suffering such a cruel level of agony is a challenge. for some.

i can't speak about the food or even what's on the menu at pov; sorry. but who really cares with this type of view and crowd? [oh and huge bonus: bathroom is ginormous, thank you, kind w people.] i can tell you the drinks are fun. after enjoying a couple glasses of bubbly, i switched to this lovely looking and sweet-tart cocktail of fresh strawberries and lemonade with vodka. yummy. as pretty as they are, beware, they're shifty.

how do i know? the fact that birthday girl and i were (hopefully not) seen microwaving burritos at 7-11 later that night should enlightenscare you.

national harbor debauchery

washington national harbor - brand-spankin huge. holy mother of colossal newness. what was a dubious opening last winter, a few restos and shops opening in the dead of cold and amidst crappy economy, things have changed [all caps]. i visited saturday to be a part of a friend's birthday fete and whaddayaknow, the place is thriving. unless you traverse the woodrow wilson bridge you probably feel like national harbor was built overnight. where the heck have i been?

this place is massive. and pristine. it kind of looks pleasantville-movie set fake and plastic, void of any personality. yet. i'm sure it won't be long before it cultivates its own magic charm.

plan was to meet in old town alexandria and hop the water taxi.

haven't you heard? oh yes, we just joined the ranks of cities with water taxi service. i can't say it enough: kickass. for $8 it shuttles you directly from old town alexandria to the national harbor leaving every 20 minutes or so. [there's a pretty cute 1st mate on the one i rode too btw.]

so i missed the 4:40 scheduled water taxi with my amigos because i got caught up in my gorgeous day. if you head over to the marina, just walk up and buy a ticket, easy breezy. the schedule's online at http://www.potomacriverboatco.com/ - one leaves every 15-20 minutes. it's nice, the water taxi. i would say it's equivalent to the wall street-jersey city ferry yet not as pleasurable as the ferry from st. thomas over to st. john. this isn't exactly the caribbean ya know.

the boat's quite clean. sit indoors or not. me, i chose to enjoy the ride outside - a little crowded with the bad-shoed fannypackers and with complete lack of seating but worth it on this astonishingly perfect day, 85 degrees sans humidity. i'm trying my damndest to not look tourist.

i'm told it takes 20 minutes to zip over.

not exactly. 37 minutes after embarkation, we are at our first stop, gaylord national resort and convention center [yes, gaylord's long rich arm stretches from oklahoma to the east coast].

i strongly recommend you disembark here because it takes another 20 minutes for this boat to get its act together and get you over to the next stop, which would take you 5 minutes to walk to your bar/resto and as a bonus you can familiarize yourself with the goings on. if you're loving rubbing up against strangers though, the the 2nd stop lands you smack in the heart of all the action.

did you know that the national harbor spent $hit tons of money to transplant that spine-chilling awakening statue of the man coming out of the ground that used to be at hain's point? he's not as disturbing coming out of the playground with kids jumpin on and off him. but holy crap he still gives me the creeps.

(scary awakening statue moved from hain's point -top photo - to national harbor - bottom.)

anyway, there's all kinds of shops and galleries that i'd like to go back and check out when i'm not headed over there to get my drink on. [and my lampshade on.] btw there's more scheduled to open too so just be patient.

there's a saturday market from 10-3 and friday night jazz concerts and outdoor movies during the week. just check out http://www.nationalharbor.com/. i think a terrific family situation.

streets lined with hotels, condos, lots of resto's (though mostly chains i think) and shops and kiosks selling inane chatzkies, compactly situated in walking distance of each other. it's really un-dc. i can't even decide what to compare it to.

so i get off the boat, head up the steps and meet my friends over at rosa mexicano to get my paws on the indispensible pomegranate margarita. half of our gang's already getting situated at bobby mckey's - our destination spot for the birthday hooha. we're lucky to have prime real estate on rosa's patio on such a stunning day so we opt to linger for a bit. do get the fresh guacamole at rosa mexicano. and do request salt on your marg so you can use it to season the bland yet delectable guac. [i know, always, i need salt.]

on the word that birthday girl's already staked out her spot at bobby mckey's up the street, we head that way too after soaking up the last bit of sunshine for the day. it's gonna be a spectacle, bobby mckey's: it's a dueling piano bar. i think it's $15 bucks to get in. our table's opportunely front and center [well, slightly off center, there's a bachelorette party front and center]. birthday girl has already been on [exhibition] stage; damn we missed that.

no worries though. she'll be up there again. and again. and oh yeah, again.

someone gave the birthday girl a little mannequin pis statue. our mascot for the night, pictured here. if you press the button, he pees out whatever drink you've poured into him. i'm thirsty, why not? naughty, huh? reminds of something peddlers sell you in rome. only bigger.

(the real mannekin pis, in brussels)

so the deal at bobby mckey's: go ahead and get half in the bag so you're ok with impending mortification, especially if you're the guest of honor at your shindig. oh and don't take your mama here. unless of course she's ok with heaps of loutish vulgarity.

as the guest of honor your friends pay tribute to your birthday by shamelessly crafting song requests and embarrassing little secrets on cocktail napkins and handing them to one of the piano players along with a [bribe] tip.

next thing you know you're on stage performing for the encouraging crowd. and by that i mean they're encouraging you to act like a buffoon. you might find yourself playing the air-fiddle to their rendition of devil went down to georgia. you only live once.

(here a cocktail napkin request for poison's talk dirty to me. i guess the scribbly heart was a lame effort to get their attention so they'd play my song.)

now i understand how dudes get caught in the slippery slope of the strip bar and come home broke. the thought process of, if i can get something for a dollar, what can i get for $5? hell, what happens if i slip him a $20? well, here i can tell you, you get the same for a dollar as you would for $20. he completely ignored my request for poison's talk dirty to me - accompanied by a $20. and with my $5 he sang only one quick line of britney's womanizer. annoying. but for $1 i think i got a couple bars of something, can't remember what. those dudes make bank. i became known as green dress for some reason.

we had a lovely time at bobby mckey's. i'm not sure lovely is the right descriptor actually. a raunchybawdy loud good time. i'm not embarrassed. i unreservedly fulfilled my duty in celebrating my friend's birthday. that's what girlfriends are for, no?

we didn't make it to cadillac ranch afterwards for the old-fashioned mechanical bull-riding we had planned. i guess birthday girl was in no condition for that. next time. next time.

evidently i did meet a dude on my way out who i so generously gave my number to. what the? thanks to my amigos for sweeping me away from him, whoever he was.

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.