So I've been in Cville a year, and I still don't feel like a local. Not surprising really - it took me a good 3 years before I felt like a Pittsburgher, and 5 years before I was able to get around that labyrinth of a city without getting lost.In the year I've lived here, and eaten here, I have noticed a few things about Cville. Cvillians love their wine. They show rabid loyalty to their local coffee watering holes. They bleed blue and orange. And Cvillianls sure LOVE their cowboy boots. Okay those last two weren't related to food. But what's with the cowboy boots? Just in Greenberry's this morning in fact, rushing in on my way to work, I swear a good 80% of the ladies (and some of the men) were wearing cowboy boots. Striding about the place like ol' Nelly was roped outside. Is this Texas? Are we rounding up a posse? Supposedly Cville lies flat in the middle of horse country. Seriously though, how many of these folks sipping espresso own horses? How many will be shoveling poop later? Now I know good and well the answer to that is ZERO.
Okay, major digression. I don't mean to sound petty or bitter or whatever. Wear boots if you like 'em. It's just something I've noticed. Who knows? Maybe I'll cave and buy my own pair - a few of the ones I've seen are majorly cute (and yes, I'm just shallow enough to follow a trend if it appeals to me and I think it will look good). Only problem? I've NEVER tried on a pair of cowboy boots that are comfortable - NEVER.
On to the review. Didn't see too many boots when Hubby and I went to The Local a few weeks ago (how's that for a segue?) Saturday night at The Local was more strappy heels and little dresses. Guys in prep wear. And a lot of casual, but not of the status symbol slash $1,000 cowboy boot kind. More sneakers, jeans, and tee shirts.
A few days prior, Hubby and I decided it had been far too long since we'd been out anywhere. It was time to haul the old farts off the couch and into the car. "To go into town," as they say. Now part of my PAYING job is making dinner reservations. Yep, no shit. I make dinner reservations for groups of faculty who are visiting and need to be wined and dined for whatever reason. I get to look at the receipt when they get back. Eavesdrop and see what they had to eat or drink. Often I'm gasping, thinking, "Who in the HELL would order that?" or "Ugh, $200 tab and they ordered the CHICKEN."
Anyway, while making the reservation for this group I came across the menu for The Local, and it interested me just enough to make reservations of my own. Hubby and me + The Local = Saturday night plans! Yee-haw!
Except when Saturday night rolled around I didn't want to go. No amount of hemming and hawing and cajoling was going to get me off that couch and into the car. It had been a horrid week, my stomach hurt, and Libby wasn't going ANYWHERE thankyuhverruhmuch. It didn't help I had nothing to wear (this was before the realization dawned that in Cville you don't actually have to dress for dinner - another Cville thing I've noticed. Not like in Pittsburgh where dinner out is an event worthy of at least a snazzy dress and boots). Hubby promised we wouldn't stay long, in fact, we'd only order a few appetizers, have a drink, and be home by 11pm. We needed this, he insisted. It had been too long since we'd gone out by ourselves, without entertaining family members.
Poor Hubby. More often than not he has had to deal with an overly pouty and emotional wife. A wife who stares at her closet blankly, her tired eyes wondering what in God's name she could possibly wear out to dinner (me of the TRULY casual closet), only to cuss and fuss, finally get dressed and dragged out the door like she's going to the dentist instead of a wonderfully romantic dinner, and then realize on her way to said dinner that she is actually having a good time. It's a horrible trait to have, one I'm greatly ashamed of, and am working hard to fix.
Sigh. Another MAJOR digression (and another poor habit). ANYWAY we finally made our way to The Local and our first foray into Belmont. And how frikkin' CUTE is Belmont? Old farmhouses and Depression-era bungalows and rowhouses with cute little restaurants sprinkled about. Places like Mas, Bel Rio, and the soon-to-be-open La Tavola. The whole neighborhood actually reminded me of Front Royal, Virginia where my father grew up. Except there aren't cute restaurants on and around River Drive - just the train tracks and the old, abandoned AVTEX factory.
The Local itself has great design very reminiscent of the bars/restaurants I used to frequent in Richmond, VA. Long narrow space with a bar on one side, tables running up the other. Modern lighting, warm wood, exposed brick. And the bartender looks like the twin brother of John D'Earth (always a plus).
Being Libby of the weak tummy this night we stuck to cocktails and appetizers - okay, so maybe tummy wasn't as weak as one might think. We did have two cocktails each after all. But I truly did not feel like I could handle a full-on meal. So maybe what follows cannot be considered a true review of The Local. So let's call it a "Appy & Cocktail Review With Digressions Thrown In" sort of quasi-review.
To put it bluntly - I felt like all the descriptions of the cocktails and drinks were better than what actually came out to the table. I used to teach 8th grade English (digression alert!) and one of my exercises for descriptive writing was to have the students create the restaurant menu of their dreams. They could have whatever food they wanted on it, but it had to be descriptive enough so someone's mouth would water enough to order it. One student got an A+ for creativity (his menu involved ROADKILL which I found High-LARious) but only a "C" for actual description. It's hard to make Truck-Squashed Raccoon sound good after all.
The descriptions on The Local's menu were extraordinary - I wanted to order EVERYTHING. But what came out was distinctly mediocre. Let's start with drinks. We both ordered The Hinton (muddled mint, Makers Mark and natural brew ginger ale). I was expecting a really cold mint-julepy thing with a bite of ginger. But what came out was lukewarm, watered down, in a ROCKS glass (something like this I would've put in a highball) and had no bite. Kept sipping though, all the while thinking this drink would've been MUCH better with crushed ice.
The second cocktail was really no better. Hubby stuck with The Hinton, I went with The Honeybee (Mount Gay rum, Grand Marnier, honey and freshly squeezed lime juice). Hoping for some sort of honey-flavored nectar, what I got was sugar water in a martini glass. So coyingly sweet I didn't even finish it. Blech.
Now for the appies. We'll start with the not-so-great and end with the better ones, just to leave on a high note. The organic local Italian sausage over fontina polenta triangles with fresh tomato sauce, aged balsamic, and extra virgin olive oil tasted like something you'd get at any Olive Garden. The sausage didn't taste like anything special, the polenta was bland, and the sauce tasted like something out of a jar. Where was the basalmic? I didn't taste this at all. Ditto the baby artichokes stuffed with fresh mozzarella and served with tomato sauce and fried sage. It tasted like an appetizer you'd order with fried calamari at a middle-of-the-road Mom and Pop Italian restaurant. Almost like mediocre mozzarella sticks. They were okay-tasty, don't get me wrong, but nothing special. Jar-tasting tomato sauce, and the fried sage equaled out to be 2 or 3 tiny sage leaves. Not enough to add any flavor to the dish.
On the other hand, the mussels Romesco with Spanish chorizo, grilled bread, and aioli was inspired. Now granted, it's kind of hard to mess up mussels. As long as the little guys open on steaming and you throw some white wine and garlic in there, you're good to go. But these were different. The spicy chorizo added another dimension to the tender meat of the mussels, and the aioli added a creamy taste to the chorizo. These flavors played off one another VERY well, and I found myself wanting another order. Guess the ol' tum tum was feeling better! My only minor complaint would be the slices of chorizo were tiny (add more!) and heavy - so they tended to sink to the bottom. Which made hunting for them all the more fun.
Equally tasty was the oyster appetizer - TINY LITTLE grilled oysters served in the shell with some sort of herbs and tobiko. Okay, see, this is why I'm still an AMATEUR critic, because not only did I not write down what kind of oysters they were, I didn't write down what they came with either. The only reason I remember tobiko is because Hubby had just bought some for homemade sushi at Seafood @ West Main. Mea culpa a million times mea culpa!
I DO remember these oysters were delicious. Tiny grilled jewels of tender meat with the spicy kick of tobiko - which is fish roe marinated in wasabi so they look bright green. Prior to this I had never had grilled oysters. But damn were they good! Is there any meat out there that DOESN'T taste good grilled? From now on instead of fried oysters I'm gonna request them grilled every chance I get. Only complaint? You only got four of them. Six would've offered someone a real taste instead of a tastelette.
The service at The Local was fine - friendly and attentive in spite of it being a busy Saturday night. Even when John D'Earth, er, the bartender, walked over and apologized for having to move our table because the band needed to set up, he was still friendly about it.
I want to LIKE The Local, because it seems like the kind of place you'd hang out in often if you lived nearby. Drop in after work for a beer and some fries kind of place. And they serve Mona Lisa Pasta on the menu. Heck, I'll be back just for that. And the prices there are pretty great (no entree over $19). It's just too bad the appetizers and cocktails we had that evening were less than stellar. But I'll go back - for a tried and true dinner review. I'll pretend I'm a real local (even though I don't yet feel like one and don't own cowboy boots) and order those mussels again. And if they're serving those tiny grilled oysters I'll place TWO orders.
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