where to eat in richmond | dot's back inn

My sports bra got twisted around my shoulders and wouldn't budget another inch. It wouldn't have mattered very much, except that I was standing bare-breasted in a parking lot filled with departing football fans. I pulled and yanked and writhed, Zander standing behind me with a blanket moving right to left, trying to censor the very public show I was putting on. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get the damn bra untwisted and over my boobs. With one hand, Zan continued to hold the blanket. He used his body to shield me while using his free hand to maneuver the rolled up bra. With a great heave I finally pulled the bra down, shimmied my goodies inside of it and stepped outside the blanket. Now, to put on dry underwear...

I came up with the perfect date for Zander last week - something that would get us out of town for the day, let us be outside, and appeal to his hobbies. I printed out tickets to attend the Washington football team's training camp in the new training center in Richmond. We packed a cooler and headed to Richmond at 9:30 Saturday morning for the 2:00pm practice. We assumed a 2-hour drive would leave us enough time to check out the downtown area, grab some snacks, and get to the field with enough time to find great seats.

And that's what's known as "best laid plans." Traffic had other ideas for us.

After 4 hours of stand-still, creeping, crawling, parking lot style traffic on 95-South, we drove into Richmond with attitudes as sour as lemons and headaches from the pure insanity of it. Okay, I had a bad attitude and a headache. I walked if off on the 3/4 mile walk to the field from the parking lot, and by the time we were looking for seats, I was excited again.

The skies had looked ominous all morning, and we'd had a few showers on the way down, but our weather apps swore the rain would be intermittent and manageable. So we weren't worried when the clouds started to pool together and the sky went from gray to grayer. At 1:40, we maneuvered our way into a spot right on the 50-yard-line.

At 1:41, the sky directly over the field flashed white and yellow with a bolt of lightning so close I could make out its shape. We looked at each other nervously. "It'll pass right over," we both said and nodded.

At 1:42, the clouds couldn't hold it anymore, and the entire sky over Richmond poured down pelts of rain so thick and with such a fury they stung when they hit. I think we looked at each other in total shock for a second before we cracked up. The absurdity of the whole drive down, realizing we left the umbrella in the car, the distance we were from shelter, the complete certainty that practice was now canceled - we couldn't stop laughing.

We got back to the car with pool in our shoes, our clothes soaked to the ends, and our hair matted to our heads. I had a change of clothes from another best laid plan (to work out before leaving that morning), and that's how I found myself stripping behind Zan's SUV. It was a wonderful kind of misadventure, and I loved Zan all the more for his sense of humor, willingness to shake it off, and mostly, suggestion of a great restaurant for lunch.

We'll forever remember Saturday as the day we drove 11 hours to have lunch at Dot's Back Inn. Dot's Back Inn is a 1950s, Rosie-the-Riveter-themed diner with serious culinary prowess.The chef is classically trained, it has been featured on Diners, Drive Ins and Dives, and the burger with pineapple is legit. And - they have $2 beer! We were not in DC anymore, Toto! Dot's was the perfect antidote to our soggy, rained out plans.

if you go...

Dot's Back Inn 

swimming with canoes | fletchers cove

now this is a story
all about how
our boat got flipped
turned upside down
and i'd like to take a minute
just sit right there
i'll tell you how we flipped into the potomac river

"We both have pretty good upper body strength, right? We'll be fine." I hesitantly nodded my approval before Sonia stepped into our canoe. The second she turned her back I vigorously shook my head. I have as much upper body strength as I do chances of becoming a supermodel in the next week. But I felt pretty positive that I could handle a canoe paddle. This is kid's play, right? 

Sonia and I met at Fletcher's Cove on a recent Sunday afternoon. It's sort of in the middle of nowhere in DC. After exploring Hains Point a few days prior - another getaway-within-the-city, I was less surprised by the serenity and placidity at Fletcher's, but I was still so overjoyed by it. I've spent my three years in DC becoming a regular at various bars and restaurants and getting to know the city on a gastronomical, occasionally tourist-style level. But this summer has been about finding the spots that fill my soul more than my stomach, as cheesy as that sounds.

But back to my novice canoeing attempt. Did I mention this was my first time canoeing, kayaking, or generally boating? I failed to tell Sonia, either, until we were already out on the water.

Fletcher's is on a narrow strait of the Potomac River. It's mostly calm, but even the slightest bit of wind makes for a workout when you're rowing against it. We started off rowing with the wind, aiming to head down about to a nondescript point we could see in the distance before turning back. We chatted the whole way, stopping mid-sentence to let a plane pass overhead, before picking up where we had left off once it passed.

When we reached our turnaround point, we lifted our oars for a minute to enjoy the quiet. It's really beautiful out there - dense trees and foliage lining both sides of the river, other canoes and kayaks gliding across the water. We watched a buck, a doe, and their little fawn graze, admiring their coloring and gentle movements.

We headed back rowing down the center of the river, using all of our strength to stay on course. The wind would take us allllll the way to the left. We'd get back to the center with concentrated effort, and the wind would push us alllll the way to the right. On one of those trips alllll the way to the right, we beached on a rock. We used our paddles to push off, we shifted our weight side to side. Sonia moved to the middle of the boat to shimmy us off. Finally, I stepped out onto the rocks, pushed the boat away and leaped back into the boat, stomach first.

Having overcome that obstacle, all we had to do was turn ourselves 90 degrees and head straight, and we'd be at the dock in no time. We both leaned left and paddled with all our might, willing and forcing the boat to turn. A fierce gust of wind came from our right sides, and with a singular all-of-our-strength into the oars paddle, we capsized.

We didn't have time to think, remove our shoes (don't wear flip-flops!), or stabilize before we were thrown into the legendary not-so-clean Potomac waters. The second I hit the water, my hand went into my life vest, where I'd tucked a change purse with my cell phone, keys, cash, and credit card. I pulled it up and over my head into the air before I'd even emerged for a breath.

By the time we resurfaced, we were laughing so hard the water droplets might have been tears, and I'd lost a shoe that Sonia had grabbed, and the paddles were floating 10 feet away. For a good 30 minutes, we tried to swim the canoe back - me on my back butterfly kicking with my change purse held sky high (my phone!), Sonia with all four of our shoes stuffed into her life jacket, helping me guide the boat.

We did eventually make it back, with the help of a small-boat fisherman (and a giant catfish that nestled against my leg - cue me screaming and jumping up and down on rocks in the water). Sonia waved to the guy assisting on the dock as we rowed in, "It's a nice day for a swim, huh?" And his eyes went wide. "So YOU TWO are the ones that fell in!"

Yep, that's us! I can't wait to canoe again. But before I do, maybe I should do some push-ups.

if you go...

fletcher's boathouse 

rent single & double kayaks, canoes, & bicycles

canoe rates: $14/hour $28/day

the wait: at 3:30pm on a sunday, we waited a brief 30-minutes. they'll call you when they have a boat

 

the barns at hamilton station vineyards | virginia wineries

The story behind The Barns at Hamilton Station Vineyards is enough to fuel the imagination of any dreamer. The story, as I heard it, goes something like this... A girl and a boy were childhood best friends. They grew up and found and married the loves of their lives. Both couples had kids and stayed close through the years. As they neared that age where retirement feels closer than it is farther away, they started talking about was next. As dinner drew to a close one evening, and another glass of wine was poured all around, the two couples talked about what it might look like to open a winery. (I've had that conversation, haven't we all?) Their nightcap conversation turned serious in the many days and months and years to come, and eventually, they went through with it. Together, the two couples purchased a 103-year-old dairy farm in Hamilton, Virginia and converted it to a vineyard and winery. They recruited their kids to help clean the place, tear down what was too old and restore what was beautiful and well-kept.

One of the owners' daughters, now in college, told Zander and me the story as she poured our tasting. We were so hooked we kept forgetting to taste the next wine (most of which were notable). The historic barn-turned-winery captured my imagination last weekend, and it still has it held captive now.

I love the idea of the stories a barn holds - the memories of generations of kids jumping from a loft into bales of hay, screaming with delight and fear the whole way down, and the intimate connection between humans and animals and nature. I like the idea of this particular old farm and barn and its stories joining forces with two couples with a powerful story of their own.

The owners kept the original wood floors - re-purposing them in some places and leaving them as is, in others. The tasting room sits on the first floor and showcases exposed wooden beams and natural light. Once upon a time, the basement housed milking cows, and while you might not know that right away, it's not hard to imagine. The floors have barely been touched, and the smell of hay and milk and land still permeates the whole place, if you close your eyes and breathe in deeply.

The owners have kept the integrity of the farm structure and its aesthetic and historical appeal in tact while re-imagining a modern, solvent life for it. Fortunately for all of us, that new breath of life involves award-winning Viognier and tables with a view.

if you go...

the barns at hamilton station vineyards

tasting fee: $7

45 minutes from DC

the most photographed spot in the winery is the pinterest-inspired rakes as wine-glass holders

i'd live in nolita | new york

Were I to move to New York, and had I the money, I've rent an apartment in Nolita. I'd have a fire escape slanting down the side of my building, just the way they do in Manhattan, with a ledge outside built just for me to sit and people-watch with a glass of wine and a good book. I'd take pictures far too often of the Little Italy sign and the adjoining streets with their string lights hanging, but I'd tire of the crowds and probably not eat or drink there. I'd get lost in Nolita's crisscrossed streets, avoiding the trash bags on one street and admiring the ivy growing up the brick buildings on another. I'd own too many kitchen gadgets I rarely use but buy for "just in case!" on Bowery Street on Saturday mornings. I'd befriend the bartenders at those tucked away bars that the tourists haven't found. I'd sip on sangria at open-air, 20-seat restaurants that I don't bother to look up on Yelp! I'd learn the best spots for hummus, if you're craving that, or for Prosecco specials, or even dinner on the cheap. I'd have a go-to carryout Chinese place and find the best hole-in-the-wall food joint around. I'd like Nolita, I think, with its boutique clothing stores and little known shops. I'd find a corner of Nolita to make my own, that feels like home. If I were to move to New York, I think that neighborhood could be mine.

Here are some additional photos that don't quite fit one single post from my weekend in New York, taken from all over Manhattan. I thoroughly enjoyed meandering from one hub in Manhattan to another, learning the neighborhood names, and wondering, "Which one would be me?" New York is a world of possibilities.

Thanks to my friends Ellie, Andy, and Noelle for housing me and/or showing me around and for an incredible weekend!

teeing & taking off at hains point | dc

I'm guilty of being fickle. I make extraordinary plans that sound incredible in the moment - kayking, golfing, camping, yes, yes, yes! But when the time comes to execute them, I occasionally err on the side of, "But it's raining a little? I mean, I think I felt a drop of rain. And Netflix has movies, you know, that we could watch inside. And I hear pizza places deliver these days." For instance, Zander and I have been together for almost a year and a half, and we've seen a grand total of two movies in theaters. It's not for lack of trying - we plan to go to movies all the time! But when the Friday evening comes, and we saddle up to a bar for a pre-feature flick happy hour drink and snack, it's suddenly 10:00pm, and where did the night go? And I guess we missed the movie. I can be fickle, and I'm working to change that.

Zander's helping me. This past Friday night, we had planned to go out to Hains Point, a beautiful park peninsula that is so peaceful and quiet and outdoors-oriented that it doesn't seem to belong in DC, but that's what's so great about this city - there's always something new to discover and relish. We grabbed a drink at Dino first, and after one glass of Prosecco, I yawned and protested: "Are you sure we don't want to just stay in and order a movie and dinner?" Zan didn't flinch when he said, "Nope, we decided to go, so let's go." I've seldom been more attracted to that man.

Hains Point is all the way past the National Mall and across the water from the Southwest Waterfront. It's the southern tip of East Potomac Park. It's under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. There's an 18-hole golf course, a driving range, a mini-golf course, a public outdoor lap pool, trails for running and cycling, and stunning views of the Potomac River and planes landing and taking off from Ronald Reagan National Airport.

Zan and I tried our hand at the driving range. I learned a few things... 

1. Zan owns golf clubs. He played golf when he was younger! He'd like to take lessons and improve his stroke.
2. Hand-eye coordination is not, nor has ever been, my strongest suit.
3. But with a little instruction, I can hold my own (read: hit the ball and not just air).
4. Driving ranges make for great dates! You can buy beer and there are plenty of opportunities for hand-over-hand, get-you-in-the-correct-position guidance.
5. There are lots and lots of double entendres in golf.

There are times when I mentally and physically need to take a break and relax, but from now on, I'm going to be more discerning about it and stick to my plans. They make for the best, most memorable weekends, after all.

Now, when's the next showing of Blue Jasmine?

If you go...

Hains Point overview

map and directions

east potomac golf rates

the staten island ferry | new york

The last time I saw the Statue of Liberty up close, I must have only been three years old. Maybe 4? I have an old photo of my mom with her hair wild and thick and curly in the wind, my brother standing next to her, and me - lifted up or standing on something, with the Statue of Liberty in the background. On the outside, we look like a happy tourist little family. I see that picture as an adult, and I can see the shades of conflict and emotion and nuance in it. I know now that at the time that picture was taken, my mom had recently taken my brother and me out of Florida illegally and moved us to Georgia, to keep us safe. I know that she had just cut ties with the majority of her family and friends so that no one would know our address or how to contact us, were they ever to be questioned, or worse, threatened. What I don't know, and can't remember, and for some odd reason, have never asked my mom, is why we were in New York. Funny enough. I remember the airplane ride. At least, I think I do. It was my first time on a plane. My brother and I sat next to each other, and our mom wasn't with us. I think she must have been in New York already, and we were meeting her there. If I was about 3 or 4, my brother was 7 or 8. The nice stewardess brought us headphones, and I felt excitement at the whole journey. I like to think I was adventurous, even then. I've seen the picture my whole life, but it wasn't until last weekend in New York that it dawned on me that it was taken on the Staten Island Ferry.

Pam, Ellie, Ellie's boyfriend Andy, and I hopped on the subway in Little Italy and made a mad dash to make the 4:30 Staten Island Ferry (they run every half hour). The ferry is free and draws hundreds upon hundreds upon maybe thousands of people seemingly on every trip across the waterway. The ferry not only provides transportation for workers and residents of Staten Island, it also affords the best (free) views of the Statue of Liberty. We fought our way up two flights of stairs to stand on the top deck. I wanted to sneak onto the roof, and we figured with three sets of boobs, it shouldn't be a problem, but ultimately, and probably for the best, we kept our tops on. 

I fought for a position right at the rail like a little kid would so I could ogle the view of the Manhattan skyline. When the Statue of Liberty came into view, Ellie and I held a pose for so long it became comical so Andy could get us and the Statue in the frame. When we finished taking photos, I turned to actually take in the view, and it stunned me. She was beautiful, our Lady of Liberty, with a clear blue sky above her and elegant ripples in the water beneath her feet. I was stunned, too, with the realization that this is where my family had been. I was standing right here when someone, a stranger probably, took that photo.

The Statue of Liberty grandly represents freedom the world over. But she's my own statue of freedom, too. My mom took us there, for whatever reason that I'm going to ask her next time we talk, and maybe she went for work or maybe in some way to be reminded that she, too, could be free and move on and build a new life for us? It struck me as monumental and beautiful and wondrous, that 24 years ago I was in the same place with the same view and now I can be there again because of the life she built for us. I'm being entirely too introspective and metaphorical and with the grand notions, but sometimes on a Friday, you just need to be full of gratitude. And big hair.

  if you go...

staten island ferry schedules 

operates 24/day

manhattan subway stops: j/z to broad street

1 to south ferry

4/5 to bowling green

tip: you can get off the ferry and immediately re-load on staten island (1 hour roundtrip)

where to eat & drink in brooklyn | cafe mogador & maracuja

I've long heard that DC's H Street neighborhood resembles the Williamsburg one in Brooklyn. Hipsters claim both as their stomping ground, local businesses rule the streets, and the bartenders hand out Jameson shots like candy to kids. I got my DC legs on H Street so I had an inkling I'd "get" its Brooklyn counterpart (big sibling?). Williamsburg has the same tight-knit vibe I love about H Street, with the same burgeoning restaurant scene, and some seedier underpinnings. Pam and I found a quaint restaurant on a back street with a stellar wine list and a covered ivy-laced terrace for dinner. We followed it up with champagne and Brooklyn beer at a dirty dive bar with a secret garden out back. I felt right at home in Williamsburg.

 

if you go...

cafe mogador

(one of the bartenders looks like Guillermo from Weeds & Scandal, and i did not mind)

maracuja bar

(ask for the hidden door to the secret garden. tip: charge your phone on one of the holiday lights extensions)