As promised, a few of many glimpses of life so far in RVA! The energy is pervading: the neighborhood, the foods, the friends, the vibe.
You know those times when you’re driving and you realize you might be lost, so you turn the radio down? It’s almost involuntary—and funny, because that particular sense should really have no impact on your being able to see a street sign. Yet we still do it—I do it when I’m parking, or making a deposit at the bank. Just turn the music down so I can think, or listen for imminent disaster. Something tells me we’d both turned the volume down on everything the last 6 or so months—a muted life melody while we waited for something big to happen. Eyes and ears open.
Now that it has happened, we’re smoking those highways. All the windows are down.
Our neighborhood was, I’m convinced, tailor-made for us. Here’s Carey taking a picture of a kitty snoozing in a window the block over. Lesson 1: Fan cats are your friend and bite less than our own little demon.
Got the car jazzed up after it spent 2 nights under a blooming Virginia crepe myrtle tree….
…then found a vegetable garden in Scuffletown Park, smooshed between blocks down the street.
We stopped in our favorite market for two grapefruit sodas and a to-go pack of Tylenol for Bearino and stumbled on the park—someone is diligently watering their tomatoes in this blazing heat:
1 cat, 4 birds, and a yellow something. Ball? Sun? Yarn? Lemon?
Another Fan cat to interact with:
Then it was time to get some off-water air, so Carey took me to the footbridge to Belle Isle:
Staying true to her previous post.
And now I’m going to squeeze in a mini-review of a bottle we grabbed at Strawberry Street Market to accompany prosciutto/mozz/roasted red sandwiches on baguettes:
From my tasting notebook:
I’ve enjoyed past vintages, but I’m struggling with the 2008. Scantly laced with fruit on the nose; unripe, with little to complement otherwise enviable levels of acidity on the palate. The CellarTracker community notes were not only in agreement, but vast, unflappable and uniformly damning, but, in defense, there is a marked improvement if allowed time and air. Raspberry dominates a lean, but textbook Pinot Noir nose and accomplished minerality is desperate for fruit to deliver and marry on the palate. The nose becomes the star, softly spiced and tastefully oaked. It deserves at least a year to mesh. It’s not a poorly made wine, perhaps just stylistically pushed to hard into old-world mold that it wasn’t meant for. The funk, earth, and florals that ache to fill gaps and bolster muted fruit just isn’t there. This wine could easily be delicious—a light, approachable and affordable real-deal entry Oregon Pinot Noir.$15-$20.