A Clandestine Affair: Charleston's Underground Kitchen

Last weekend, I experienced yet another first in my life. I paid money to eat a mystery dinner with +/- 29 people I'd never met before in a secret location.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: The Underground Kitchen.

Charleston's Underground Kitchen describes itself as "...a giant, infrequent dinner party involving strangers and amateur cooks who like good food and don’t mind making a few new friends." Who on earth would not be intrigued by this claim?

I learned about Underground Kitchen from the blogosphere, of all places. Being a newcomer to Charleston, I've poked around on the Internet quite a bit over the last couple months. I've found that the best way to learn about a city's offerings is to find the local bloggers. While perusing a local blog aggregator one evening, I noticed the term "underground kitchen" popping up in a couple different spots, and my interest was immediately piqued. Like a bloodhound, I followed the scent right to The Underground Kitchen's website. After reading how it worked and admiring the site's design (a well-designed website goes a long way with me), I wasted no time signing up for the invite list.

Within a couple days, I received an e-mail from The Underground Kitchen announcing the date for their next affair. "I should do this," I thought. Mom has been telling me I need to get out and meet people, and she's never given me bad advice. I've known this as well, but really haven't felt up to it. The Underground Kitchen, I decided, would be just the catalyst I needed. So, I did the following:

1. Paid $40.00 of my hard-earned scratch to someone I'd never met, let alone heard of, via PayPal.
   
2. Immediately wondered if I'd just given $40.00 of my hard-earned scratch to a pimply-faced Belarusian teenage genius with an affinity for illegal-in-most-countries Internet porn and pirated MP3s.
   
3. Shrugged and waited for further instruction.
   

Between the time I paid for my reservation and received the e-mail disclosing the supersecretninja location, I told anyone and everyone who would listen about what I had just signed myself up for. Everyone's reaction can be summed up as follows: "Wow, really? That sounds SO cool. Wait... this is in Charleston?" Having never been to anything like this, I wasn't sure how to accurately describe it. "Well," I'd say, "I think it's kind of like a rave, without the candy kids. Or like Eyes Wide Shut, without the whole freaky, masked orgy thing going on*. I won't know where it is until a couple days before, and I won't know who will be there or what we'll be eating until I arrive." Needless to say, everyone I talked to about it was intrigued.

Fast-forward to last Saturday, when I pulled into the parking lot of Charleston's Habitat for Humanity ReStore with a chilled bottle of wine and a major case of the butterflies. A couple days before the event, I was talking with Bridget on the phone and nervously telling her that I felt certifiably insane for making my first social outing in Charleston a mystery dinner party with 30 strangers. She stated in her calming, matter-of-fact way, "Dinner with 30 strangers is a lot less scary than dinner with three strangers." A genius observation, and exactly what I needed to hear. As I walked to the door I chanted in my head, "30 is less scary than three. 30 is less scary than three." And I was golden. I even squashed the urge to declare, "Fidelio!" as I made my presence known.

I walked in to a dark-ish warehouse, atmospheric in its string-lights and candle-lit dimness, the hum of fans (it was a hot evening and the venue was not air conditioned), laughter and various conversations, and the most amazing smells ever. I was greeted by one of the chefs and introduced to the other, who was feverishly chopping what looked like cilantro. My first impression of the non-chopping chef was that this guy seems like he never meets a stranger, and I felt immediately at ease. Both of these guys were genuinely friendly, despite being in the throes of cooking for 30 people in a warehouse. These people seemed cool. I was not going to need my brass knuckles after all.

After putting my name on a sticker and a place card, I went over to the wine chilling station and just started talking. I'm an interrogator's dream come true... when I get nervous, I talk. So talk I did. And I met some very cool people in the process. I'm horrible at remembering names, but was able to piece some names together with websites and blogs I'd visited or people I'd seen on Twitter. At that moment I realized, once again, what a trip the world wide web is.

Dinner was a study in social engineering; place cards had been strategically set to ensure that people who knew each other well were not seated directly next to each other. I was seated in a wonderful little pocket of guests, as I'm sure the entire table was. The people in my immediate vicinity were warm, welcoming, friendly and excellent conversationalists. Several topics were breached, and nobody's delicate sensibilities were offended, no insults were hurled, nobody burst into tears. I felt very comfortable and happy among what felt like were like-minded individuals.

And then there was the food. Let's talk about food. Okay, so these cats refer to themselves as amateur cooks... and I guess in the literal sense, they are. Do not mistake amateur for average, though, or even just pretty good. The food they prepared was excellent on a technical level, but more importantly, it was creative. Flavorful, inventive and freakin' delicious. The courses were as follows:

• Appetizer: Curried Chicken Salad with Walnuts & Cranberries and Curried Pea Dip
  
• Salad: Roasted Corn & Orzo Salad with Goat Cheese and Ginger/Tomatillo Sauce
  
• Entree: Grouper with Zucchini Cakes and Stewed Tomatoes & Olives
  
• Dessert: Chilled Pear Soup with Walnuts and Honey (I think)
  

A few things. First, the curried pea dip looked kind of like guacamole but I could not, for the life of me, place the flavor. It wasn't guacamole. Not even a hint of avocado, and a completely different consistency. Now that I know it was peas, I'm like, "DUH! PEAS!" When it's not easy to immediately place a flavor, you know something's been made both creatively and skillfully. Second, I love goat cheese. I love ginger. I love tomatillo sauce. NEVER would I think to put all three together. Yet, it worked magically.

I managed to take a few snaps, before the wine and food buzz really kicked in and I felt too jolly to be taking photos. Behold:


Our top secret location


People who actively seek out dinner parties at classified locations


Beautiful and tasty vittles

So, to sum up, The Underground Kitchen is a must-do if you like mystery, intrigue, good people and amazing food. The aspect of raising awareness for Habitat for Humanity was a really cool angle as well. Local readers, you have to try it. Just don't secure your reservation before I secure mine. And out-of-state friends and family, if one of your visits coincides with an installment of The Underground Kitchen, you can bet your sweet ass(es) I'll be taking you with me. Every city would benefit from something like this.

Finally, read about the evening from the perspective of the UGK Maestros themselves. I love, love, love that they gave a nod to Bridget's sage words of nerve-calming advice (a story I repeated several times throughout the evening with my rosy-cheeked, wine-buzzarded self).

Not even remotely scary... absolutely, deliciously cool. Right here in Charleston.

Edited to add: Local restaurant critiquing crew, Fork You Blog, have posted their take on the experience at Fork You Blog. It's a fun read.

*I can not vouch for what may or may not have happened after I left.

Baby's First West Virginia Day

Mountaineers are always free.

Today is West Virginia day. In honor of West Virginia day, I'd like to take a little time to write about the state I have been calling home for a short three and a half months.

Recently, Vice President Dick Cheney made a joke about West Virginia, inferring that West Virginians have a proclivity for inbreeding. I'm not a native West Virginian, and I have only been a resident of the state since March. So, I didn't feel it was my place to be offended by the VP's attempt at humor. It's not the first time I'd heard West Virginia made fun of in such a way, so I just kind of rolled my eyes and thought to myself, "Old meme." I don't care for lazy, hackneyed humor and that's what this was. Besides, I seem to have a pattern of living in misunderstood states so I've heard all the tired, predictable jokes before. Houses in Alabama still have dirt floors; everyone from Utah has five mothers. West Virginia is populated with inbred ridge runners. Sure, there are some people here who play the banjo, but so did my dad, who was from southern California. The hills here are not alive with the sound of dueling banjos. For the record, Deliverance was set in Georgia, not West Virginia. People here seem pretty easygoing, and I haven't met anyone who thought Cheney's joke was a huge deal. What seems to have bothered most people was his quip about not having to watch what he says anymore now that he's not running for re-election.

But, my blog isn't about politics. It's about wild, wonderful West Virginia and the things I've discovered in my short time here. So, without further ado, here is a list of the things I love, in no particular order, about West Virginia... keeping in mind that I haven't had much of a chance to get very far outside of Charleston.

• Taylor Books
  I love this bookstore. It's progressive, has an excellent inventory, a great sale section, always smells like coffee (they've got a coffee bar) and is in a beautiful little spot on Capitol Street.
  
• The Blossom Deli
  I've never been for dinner, but the lunch offerings are nothing short of transcendent. Having tried every sandwich on the left-hand side of the menu, I'm kind of an authority on the topic. They have cream of mushroom soup once a month, and that's a day I never miss.
  
• The Capitol Market
  It's a farmer's market, and so much more. Besides farmer's market items including seasonal plants and produce, there is a wine shop, fish market, butcher, produce and bulk food market, restaurant, book store, coffee bar and foodstuffs/gift items specific to West Virginia. Last weekend I got a scented geranium for my patio. I've been looking for one of those for YEARS. I love this place.
  
• The Kanawha River
  I wouldn't dip my littlest toe into it, but I love the Kanawha river. I live about three blocks from the river, and work a block away from it. There is a trail that is wonderful for walking and biking, and at lunchtime it's a wonderful place to sit and watch the coal barges and speedboats go by. At night, the lights of Charleston reflect off the water. During her visit, Mom commented that this made Charleston remind her a lot of the little towns on Lake Geneva, Switzerland.
  
• The New River Gorge and Bridge
  When mom visited in April, we took a trip down to Fayetteville to check out the famed New River Gorge bridge. It is one of the most amazing structures I have ever seen! Photos do not do the massive nature of the bridge justice. More than the bridge, though, the entire area is breathtakingly beautiful. Green, rugged, completely alive. We drove back to Charleston on the Midland Trail, which at one point hugs the Gauley river and is dotted with small towns. I hope to be able to explore that area more in-depth during my time here.
  

Those are just a few things that I have fostered an affinity for here in the past couple months. I know as I get more established in the area, the list will grow.

So, in honor of West Virginia day, there you have it. And, I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone... but I haven't met any inbred, sinister, grossly disfigured hillbillies up here. Everyone I have interacted with here is intelligent, educated, creative, warm and friendly. Downtown Charleston's vibe is both chic and funky. Granted, I have wound up in a couple hollar-type places while out on drives that were kind of unsettling, but I think that stems from the one way in, one way out nature of these little pockets and an unfamiliarity with the area. Otherwise, this place is the same as every other place in the country in ways to be expected, and special for its unique assets and charms.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go check on my 'shine.

On Hotel Living

One more thing to cross off my list of things to do in life: Live in a hotel.



Living in this hotel has turned me into such an old lady. I'm a major grandma up in here. I get home from work, I watch the local news, I watch NBC nightly news, and then I watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!. By the time Jeopardy! is over, I am at a nodding-off point. I get up, putter around, and then fall asleep with the TV on. Watching TV in bed is a HUGE luxury for me. Having a TV in the bedroom is something I've always been fiercely against but am often tempted by, so I am enjoying it while it lasts.

That said, I'll be glad when it's over. The movers will have my stuff up here on Friday or Saturday and I'll get settled into my new dwelling. At the same time, though, it's been pretty cool to be here. It's forced me to unwind during my off hours. Having someone bring me clean towels and wash my dishes never gets old. I have a dedicated housekeeper here, and she is a living doll. She leaves Banjo! little treats and leaves me neatly-stacked pyramids of Hershey's chocolates. One day she even left a toy for Banjo! accompanied by a very sweet hand-written note.



And, yes, Banjo! totally loves it. Housekeeper Terry will be getting a huge tip.



The downside to the hotel lifestyle is that every so often there are guests who are loud all night long making for a night with little to no sleep. Also, it's expensive. In case anyone was wondering, it's around $2,500 to stay at a Residence Inn for a month. Considering the circumstances, though, it's been worth it. I had time to find a cool place to rent in a neighborhood I'll be happy in, and I've been able to get some rest after months of craziness. I think the hotel is cheaper than the hospital for "tired people", which is where I was inevitably headed.

Come to think of it, I'm really going to miss this place...

Beware the BAD DOINS KREW

This highly menacing message is brought to you by the BAD DOINS KREW (representing Chucktown, West Virginia).

I don't even want to think about how much blood was spilled and how many families were destroyed during the printing of such an ominous message on these Avery® 5167 return address labels (likely purchased from Office Max, or lifted from someone's mom's desk at work).

BAD DOINS KREW want everyone to know that they are lurking around every corner, surreptitiously applying their little stickers to the window of the Charleston city parking garage, ready to make widows of your wives and orphans of your children if you so much as glance in their direction. Why, merely debating whether to typeset their communique of doom using Copperplate or Comic Sans resulted in torturous bloodbaths of Spanish Inquisition proportions.

Look over your shoulder all you want... but you've gotta sleep sometime, old man. And when you do, BAD DOINS KREW will be looming overhead when you wake up.

I guess Firefall were busy.

One Week

I've been in Charleston for a week now. I miss Alabama.



I miss my little cottage in Montgomery. Saying good bye to those empty rooms brought up all sorts of feelings that'll probably take me a while to work through. I'm such a sentimental fool.







I hope the dollhouse is making its new inhabitant as happy as it made me.

I miss my friends. I miss my sense of security and stability.

But, I love an adventure. And Charleston has been a good experience thus far. Last Saturday, we got some serious snow. Banjo! had never been in snow like this:



He was all over it. It's been a while for me (save for visits to SLC at Christmas time), so I went for a drive. Downtown Charleston is beautiful when dusted with snow.



I was pleased that it was the light, powdery, sparkly snow similar to the snow out in Utah. I wasn't expecting it to be much more than glorified sleet, but the snow that fell on Saturday was just lovely. It glittered, flake by flake, as it fell slowly and deliberately out of the black night sky. Forgive me for waxing poetic about snow, but like I said earlier, it had been a while. I experience a strong wave of nostalgia when it comes to quiet, snowy weekends.

Also pleasing is what I believe to be the MOST AWESOME MAILBOX IN THE ENTIRE WORLD, FREE OR OTHERWISE, right here in Chucktown. I spotted this glorious monstrosity on a Sunday afternoon drive, while in search of a new domicile.



World-class tack. Not bad for a week's worth of sights, yes? Yes. And, as always, there are more to come.

Country Roads

I made it.

Return from Appalachia

I am back in Alabama. West Virginia was a great time. I will write more later. Today is a wash and I need to take some Excedrin and call it.

Today was easily one of the crappiest days in recent memory. I woke up, had some breakfast at the hotel, showered and packed up my stuff. Right as I was leaving, I began to feel kind of queasy. I dropped off the rental car, and on the ride back to the airport IT really hit me. I don't know what IT was, but I have been dealing with IT all day. I checked in, wobbled through security (behind two people who have clearly not flown in this post-9/11 world) and then ran into the nearest bathroom I could find. Barfed, got all clammy and lightheaded. Cleaned up, found my gate. Sat down. Got sick again. Rinse and repeat. My flight out of Charleston was an hour delayed, which was probably a blessing in disguise. I've never puked on an airplane, and I never want to. Airport bathrooms are bad enough but I'd rather keep it on the ground, kthx.

Usually throwing up helps me feel better. Not this time. I was a sweaty, clammy girl on the airplane which SUCKED. For once, I was grateful to have an aisle seat. Fortunately, I didn't need it... I just kept my eyes closed and breathed deeply and deliberately. We sat at the gate forever because there were weight and balance issues with the airplane. Normally, I would have been slightly nervous about that. Today, I could not have cared less.

Because of the delay, I only had 20 minutes to change planes in Atlanta. Which means Queasy McGhee had to RUN to another terminal, and then RUN to a distant gate only to make it on to the airplane with a couple minutes to spare. Again I had an aisle seat, so that was good (or so I thought). Now, I am not exactly svelte... but I fit into an airplane seat. The person next to me, however, did not. I felt horrible feeling annoyed by this, but I think it's because I was not feeling well and my patience was worn thin. Because my neighbor was spilling over onto me, I was spilling out into the aisle. Because of this, my little overhead fan was not hitting me and I was burning up. So, I spent the flight from Atlanta to Birmingham doubled over with my chin in my hand like The Thinker, praying to make it without barfing or fainting. I was able to nod off a couple times, only to be slammed into by someone walking down the aisle. Oh, and did I mention the turbulence?

Finally, I land in Birmingham only to wait at baggage claim in vain... my bag is lost. I have no idea where it is. I head back to Montgomery. Normally I would be angry as Hell, but I am so resigned right now. My roof could cave in and I would probably start laughing hysterically.

Despite today being Lousyville (not to be mistaken with Louisville), I have a lot of good things to write about. I was VERY impressed with Charleston, and took a lot of photos which I will post in the next few days. There were some things I didn't like about the city, but that's going to be anywhere. Still, I'll be making a list of pluses and minuses when I evaluate the transfer offer. Charleston is a beautiful town with a lot to offer for its small size. So, yes, more on that when I don't feel like a dying slug. Because I want to do justice to all the fabulous things going on in my life right now that have me so very happy and excited for the future.

Almost Heaven

This is Yeager Airport in Charleston, West Virginia.



Do not be fooled that there is a terminal named after a Rockefeller. That would imply that this is a big airport; an airport which commands the naming of terminals. This is not a big airport, although it is larger than Montgomery's "Winn Dixie Regional" airport. In fairness to Montgomery, our airport underwent some remarkable improvements over the past couple years and it no longer feels like flying out of a Winn Dixie.

Back to the original point of my story: After I de-planed, picked my bag off the sole baggage carousel and walked outside, I heard the gentle strains of John Denver's Country Roads playing all Muzak-stylez like a gentle breeze for all to groove to as they waited for ground transportation. No lie.

That's right up there with Louis Armstrong International playing, you guessed it, Louis Armstrong the first time I ever flew to New Orleans.

I wonder if the airport authority in Detroit has chosen Don't Stop Believing as their official welcome music?

Anyway. I'm in Charleston, WV until Sunday. So far, so good. If first impressions count, this is a lovely and charming little city. Beautiful, with a dash of funkiness for good measure. I'd write more, but I am spent, there is one helluva rain/thunderstorm going on outside, and I have HBO and a gas fireplace in my room. More later!