Tacos? Topless? No. Spanish Tapas!

Of all the locations for a new Spanish tapas restaurant, why Southside Virginia?

“I was looking for a place to retire, and I found this perfect spot for my chestnut and garlic farm” near Natalie, says Francisco “Paco” Arrocha. “I really liked the area and decided to open a restaurant too.” Located at 306 Main Street in South Boston, it’s called Paco’s Restaurant & Lounge.

 

There’s no questioning his credentials for Spanish cooking. Arrocha operated or cooked in restaurants in Spain for years before coming to this country, opening his own in Miami in July 2000 and another in 2006.  He sold those and came here with his wife, Miriabal Fragas, who helps at the restaurant.

 

So far the response has been quite good to many of his dishes, not normally served in Southside Virginia: Ceviche, cod fritters, piquillos peppers stuffed with beef, octopus and Spanish omelette and some traditional American favorites too.

 

Says Denise Hudson, “the bolinhos de bacalhau is reminiscent of those I have enjoyed in Spain and Portugal.  Grilled octopus is off the chart and perfectly done. Mushrooms with garlic, pork cheeks braised to perfection, beautifully sliced jamon and more. “

Says Alejandra Martinez, “The food we tasted was all phenomenal. Can’t wait to go back.”

The spacious restaurant is full of light, with a long bar not part of the dining room. Spanish paintings adorn the bright walls. Pin lights are hung over each table. Arrocha did a lot of the renovation work on the old building himself. He plans to build a wine cellar.

When my friend Jean Winston told me about the planned restaurant several years ago, I had trouble believing it. I told my wife, Pickett, who was ecstatic.

Pickett spent a year in Spain as a college student and adores Spanish food. She kept in touch with Arrocha and got him to cater three parties at our bed &breakfast for her former classmates. The paellas he served were delicious. And the flan. Ahh!  The group that studied in Spain said that his paella was the best they had ever had. I knew the restaurant would be a success.

Arrocha has brought in three chefs from the Andalusia section of Spain. The serving staff, though, is mostly local, including some high school students.

I told friends about the plans. “Topless? Really? In South Boston?” several of them said. My granddaughter was expecting tacos. “No. no, tapas—they are a variety of small dishes served at the table rather than one plate with all your food.” There are full main courses as well.

I think Paco’s gregarious personality and his heavy Spanish accent will add to the restaurant’s appeal. He seems to be great friends with practically everyone.

Though the restaurant is open now Tuesday through Saturday, 4-10 p.m., a grand opening is planned on Saturday June 1, when the menu is expanded. He plans to change the menu every two weeks, unheard of in Southside. When coming on weekends, I recommend making a reservation (434-471-7025).

Arrocha has other plans: using his porch at the rear of the restaurant for public events and teaching local people Spanish cooking once a month.

The first dish he is likely to teach is tortilla espanol, made up mostly of eggs and potatoes “I want to transmit to the people that preparation of food is very special,” he says. “I am a normal guy with a positive attitude and all the time thinking of the future.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afraid of Being Stuck in the Past

 I’m here to defend to two emerging technologies that everyone hates: Self-driving vehicles and AI.

 

So far I am happy with our one-month free trial of Tesla’s self-driving option. Yes, I know you’ve heard stories about cars crashing out of control in California. But so many cases have been reckless handling of the vehicle. In one fatal case, the driver sat in the backseat. Another was playing a game on his phone during the crash.

 

We were already happy with our Tesla 3, which we got five years ago. Sure, the automatic windshield wipers don’t go on when they should. We worry about running out of fuel. But it accelerates rapidly, requires little maintenance and doesn’t use air-polluting gasoline.

 

Now, with autopilot, the car drives itself while I just rest my hands lightly on the steering wheel. I tried it first on a Sunday morning in South Boston: a lot safer than the Washington beltway at rush hour!

I set the car’s GPS for home, and sure enough: the car  waited patiently for the little traffic to pass and made a left turn entering the highway all by itself, even managing the turn signals. Spooky! I screamed with excitement. While I just sat in the driver’s seat, the car came to a halt at two stoplights and a stop sign. It started up again when all was clear.

 

After driving south on U.S. 501, It made a right turn as scheduled on Cluster Springs Road, traveling exactly at the speed limit.  It even turned into the lane from the road to the house and stopped at the end of the driveway. Then the only trouble came on the way to the store later. It had trouble with the parking lot and the stopped at the dumpster. I guess it didn’t know where the entrance was. The car is supposed to find a parking place and park the car for you, but I haven’t figured that out yet.

 

I felt that the self-driver is safer than I am. When I accidentally ran a stop sign on Edmunds Road 10 years ago, I hit another vehicle.  I don’t think the self-driver would have allowed that. But am I going to spend $100 or more per month for this feature? Don’t think so!

 

Now let’s look at AI (artificial intelligence.) Yes, there are a lot of problems: It steals content from newspapers like this one. Its ability to spread misinformation is worrisome. It makes lots of mistakes.  (On Tuesday April 2, Chat GPT repeatedly insisted it was Sunday April 3, for example.) I think solutions are coming, as in the music industry, which was chaotic at the time of Napster but settled down to iTunes and Spotify.

 

AI can’t be beat for quickly responding to simple questions with plausible answers. I often pick up my phone and ask Bing’s co-pilot questions like “Who were the 10 best quarterbacks of all time?” “What time does the Food Lion open in Clarksville?” “Does the TV I am shopping for contain Bluetooth?”

 

You can ask questions about your washer/dryer, your mobile phone or your lawn mower without opening an owner’s manual. It is so much easier than going to Siri or Google and having to select a website that may or may not have what you want. It can summarize long documents.  I can insert my column into Co-Pilot and have it quickly edit out my typos.

 

Math teachers didn’t like pocket calculators. Blacksmiths probably didn’t like automobiles. Seamstresses hated textile machines. Telegraph operators didn’t like the telephone. Movie studios were frightened of TV.

 

Technology snafus make better copy. As a media person myself, I know how news works. You can appeal to old-fashioned readers and get more clicks with horror stories about self-driving accidents and AI mistakes. Success isn’t as interesting.

 

I don’t want to be an old stick-in-the-mud who hates everything new. I don’t listen to conversations that start with, “In my day…” I never respected people who stuck with their typewriters and refused to switch to a computer. Did you know anyone who ever switched back?

 

Like it or not, both technologies are inevitably here. Rather than complain about them, I think we should make use of them and embrace their potential.

Cooking: the Husband’s Point of view

 I need to say this up front: I hate to cook.

But early in our relationship, there was a non-negotiable demand: “You have to do half of the cooking.”

“Anything, sure!”

Of course, that meant we could have hamburger steak, a baked potato and frozen peas every other night.

Wrong. “I like Thai food. And Indian food is fine too.” Oh.

Pickett took great pains to teach me how to cook. She has taught maybe 100 children at her pre-school and her children and foster children too. If our daughter and a foster child were present, that meant I would only have to cook every fourth night!

I’m told I was the most difficult pupil of them all. Well, maybe the kids don’t mind being told what to do!

“What are you doing?” I asked her one time while I was cooking. “Oh, I am putting more water in the pot. You didn’t put in enough.” Arghhh!

We made a truce: She leaves the kitchen while I cook, but I may go ask her for advice (if I am desperate.)

I do fine with oven-grilled salmon, salads, chicken dishes and casseroles if they are easy.

Lots of men I know do their cooking on a grill outside on Fourth of July or special occasions. I just don’t like fooling with the grill and coals and cleanup process.

After I dutifully cooked what I could get away with for years, Pickett asked me, “Why don’t you cook something you really like?”

What a novel idea! Real men don’t eat quiche, but I do anyway. I found an easy recipe for vegetable quiche, relatively healthy. But cooking it once every week or two didn’t cut it. I had to find more.

I came across an Indian keema (spicy ground meat) recipe that we both like. I can never cook that too much. I know it is a success if the hot chilis bring tears to her eyes.

I love spanakopita! Greek spinach pie. I eat it every chance I get. I looked up the recipe online and figured out how to layer the phyllo dough carefully to make the crust.

After a few tries, it turned out wonderfully. It is now my signature dish. When company is coming, sometimes she’ll say, “Why don’t you make your spanakopita?” This from a gourmet cook who operates a bed & breakfast. I’m flattered. Yes!

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Two recent theatrical productions blew me away. First, the musical “Bright Star,” by the Clarksville Community Players. And “Lady Day at Emerson Bar & Grill” at the Kirby Theater in Roxboro. The directors, Josh Glasscock in Clarksville, and Fred Motley in Roxboro sure know how to find talent!

Rocky Return to the Boig Cityy

My recent visit to Washington, D.C., makes me realize I don’t belong in a big city anymore.

 

The timing in late April was terrible. On the first day, I unwisely selected a restaurant near the White House with a friend. Our Uber got stuck in traffic. The driver and I couldn’t figure out how to change our destination on my phone.

 

The next day I left a jazz concert to go to the bathroom. When I came back, I opened the wrong door—the stage door. And it was locked going back.

 What was I going to do? I could have blown everyone away with  “Fly Me to the Moon,” I guess, but I didn’t think the performers would have handled it well. Instead I found a stagehand to help me out.

 

Later, I complained bitterly when the hotel doors were locked, until I was told you needed your key card to get in. What key card? I left my glasses at the breakfast buffet, but I gave the busboy who found them a nice tip.

 

I deliberately didn’t drive to D.C.  because of the traffic. Many of the roads inside the Beltway have changed or I can’t remember how to navigate them. But oh, I did quite well on the Metro—at least until I left my 49ers hat on a seat.

 

So much has changed in just four years. I might as well have been in Budapest or Kyoto.

 

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I promised one reader that I would report on the bus ride to Washington via Virginia Breeze Bus Lines. The trip went quite well: only eight people on the bus each way and adequate accommodations. The scheduled five-hour ride from South Boston only stops in Farmville and Richmond on the way.

 

The ride north on a Saturday was delayed by traffic on I-95, but the trip south was smooth, with the Express Lanes open in our direction. I did have trouble finding the return bus at Union Station, and it was hard to read and sleep on the bouncy bus. I still prefer the train from Lynchburg or Danville.

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We will miss Rev. Susan Davis when she retires this week after 28 years directing music at First Baptist Church in South Boston. For the past 10 years she has been associate minister. I’m not a member, but Susan got me into her Community Choir in summers and in Easter and Christmas cantatas.

 

Congrats to 90-year-old Nan Oliver, pianist at Mt. Carmel Presbyterian Church in Turbeville, which we attend regularly. Despite recent hip surgery, Nan has been playing piano there for about 50 years!

 

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Here’s a shout-out to the staff at Sentara Halifax Regional Hospital. They did a great job the nights I spent there May 3 and 4 suffering from dehydration after an 11-mile bike ride in hot weather. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

 

 

 

 

Growing Old Without Fear

I opened my mother’s china cabinet as I made arrangements for her 90^th birthday party.  “Oh, no,” she said.” “The china is for something special!”

 

Was she holding out for 100? Well, she almost made it.

 

Fortunately, I have eight years to go to 90, but I learned from my mother, Agnes Doan, that it isn’t all bad.

 

She started boasting about her age when she reached 90, proud to still be around.

 

Her book group always met at her house so that she wouldn’t have to travel.

 

The church assigned a friend for her, knowing most of hers were gone.

 

Employees at the supermarket were very helpful. But they panicked when a can of vegetables fell from a shelf on her head. She got special attention again when she fell harmlessly off a stool at a slot machine and hit her head on the casino floor.  (They were afraid of getting sued.)

 

Best of all, she was considered an expert when it came to the history of Placerville, Calif. She had lived there since 1910 except for about 50 yers in the SanFrancisco Bay Area.

 

Her family had settled in Placerville, 9 miles from the gold discovery site, at the height of the Gold Rush in 1851. The family mined for gold and opened a hardware store and a bank. That should have made them rich, but the next generation lost both businesses by making bad loans.

 

She enjoyed being asked to talk about her experiences. She also complained bitterly when a news article omitted my grandfather’s part ownership in a clothing store on a its 100th anniversary.

 

What was her secret to long life? Genes, I suspect. (I hope.) She was quite religious and had a positive attitude about life.

 

Well before she died in 2008 at age 98, I asked her if she worried about death. “I never think about it,” she said. Neither do I.

 

Postscript: Now we serve my mother’s china to our guests. We tell them we use it only for something special: them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sports Scandals of Yore (And a Revolutionary War Book)

 

What’s this? A Scandal? If it’s not politics, it must be sports.

 

So much money is involved that the temptations are staggering.

 

The latest involves the highest-paid player in baseball, Shobei Ohtani, who is both one of the greatest pitchers and one of the greatest hitters in the sport.

 

Ohtani’s  interpreter and close friend ran up such huge gambling debts that he used $4.5 million of the star’s money to help pay them off. Whether Omani gave him the money or the interpreter stole it is in dispute.

 

Now that’s not a lot of money for a player with a $700 million contract over 10 years with the Los Angeles Dodgers. But sports betting is illegal in California, and it makes the player vulnerable to shady characters.

 

The incident brings back memories of so many scandals of the past:

 

—Lance Armstrong secretly took performance-enhancing drugs to win seven Tour de France championships. I felt cheated.

 

—All-time great Pete Rose bet on baseball, including wagers on his own team. Rose never admitted it—until he wrote his own book. That inflamed Hall of Fame voters, who still won’t let him in.

 

—In the “Black Sox” scandal, Chicago White Sox players were paid to blow the 1919 World Series. “Say it ain’t so, Joe” is a famous quote. Well, he couldn’t.

 

—Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, and Mark McGwire used steroids in setting records for home runs. I was sickened by McGwire’s congressional testimony: “I’m not here to talk about the past.” Really? Why else are you there?

 

—The New England Patriots stole the other teams’ signals. Sorry! I have never seen anything wrong with that. If your signs are being stolen, you need to come up with a better way of hiding them.

 

—The NFL suspended Tom Brady for getting the Patriots to partially deflate footballs used on offense to make them easier to grip. I’m not shocked, shocked, shocked.

 

—The New Orleans Saints paid players a bounty for injuring opponents. That sounds criminal.

 

—Gaylord Perry and others moistened the baseball with saliva or jell to make it do weird things. Though he admitted it, Perry made it to the Hall of Fame anyway.

 

With sports betting now legal online and, in most states, look for more scandals to come.

 

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Subhead: New Info About an Old War

 

I really enjoyed local author William Guerrant’s book: “Let a Pillar Arise: A Novel of the Revolutionary War,” published in 2022. We talked about his book recently at the Halifax book club.

 

The book covers the war in North Carolina and the Crossing of the Dan, in which Patriots were able to keep the British from marching into Virginia. Besides battles, it tells fictional stories of local people who took both sides in the war. One was a British spy in Halifax County who pretended to be a Patriot. One true story in the book I had never heard before: A militia formed by pro-British men in this country thought they were reporting for duty to a British commander. But it was really a Patriot colonel, Henry “Lighthorse Harry” Lee, who welcomed them. Completely fooled, they were about to be captured, but a melee broke out and many of them were killed.

 

Guerrant lives in Keeling, (Pittsylvania County), where he grew up on the family farm. After a life of practicing law, he returned to the farm in 2010. I asked him what prompted him to write this book: “I’ve been interested in the Revolutionary War events that occurred near here (the Race to the Dan and the Battle of Guilford Courthouse) for a long time. I started out researching a possible history of the Cowpens.”

The Battle of Guilford Courthouse was a turning point in the war. Though neither side won the battle, the British were so badly crippled that it wasn’t long until they surrendered at Yorktown. I have rarely read a war book that makes the battle plan and logistics of the fighting so clear.

 

No Politics in This Space

 

A political operative? What’s that? I guess someone behind the scenes who makes things happen.

 

I had been an editor at several Republican and Democratic national political conventions but had never gotten my own hands dirty in politics.

 

I had my chance in the U.S. Senate race in 2014 in South Dakota. I knew next to nothing about the state, but a friend, Larry Pressler, asked me to help his candidacy.

 

Pressler had served as a Republican senator there from 1979 to 1997 This time he was running as an independent.

 

At first I only ran his Facebook page, but I thought it would be fun to hit the campaign trail, so I flew to Sioux Falls on my own dime. Retired as a journalist, it was now OK for me to work on a campaign and take sides.

 

I had never seen Larry so vibrant as in a political campaign. I remember him visiting an event where tractors were on display and being thanked profusely for getting a woman’s mother federal benefits.

 

The big break came when one of the polls showed Pressler running neck and neck with Gov. Mike Rounds, a Republican, and Democratic Rep. Mike Weiland. Suddenly, his candidacy was national news. Larry’s biggest selling point was his reputation for honesty. During the Abscam investigation of Senate corruption, he was the only member of Congress in a sting operation to flatly turn down a bribe.

 

I think my biggest contribution was in contacting the FBI agent who led the probe and helping persuade him to come to South Dakota to campaign for Larry. He paid his own way out and gave at least one speech, but poor health forced him to leave the campaign, and he died a few years later.

 

Perhaps the oddest moment came in an appearance at a Sioux Falls library. As we sat down to hear the speeches, one of the candidates disclosed that he had a weapon—maybe a gun—with him. Apparently, the library scanners can detect overdue library books but not weapons. I was appalled, but most of the people there took it in stride.

 

Pressler lost the election to Rounds, hurt particularly by his support for President Obama in a very Republican year nationwide.

 

So for two weeks I was a “campaign operative.” Does that qualify me as a political expert who will pontificate about the national issues of the day? Not in this column. Nope!

 

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Subhead: Party Time in the Capital

Sports fans have the Super Bowl. Churches have Easter. The Washington media have several big dinners. Presidents often attend, making self-deprecating jokes to endear themselves to the press. Liquor flows, and so do unfortunate remarks.

 

I was at a Washington Press Club dinner that made national headlines in 1985, when a drunken John Riggins, Washington Redskins’ running back, slid under the table. Nearby was Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor. “Come on, Sandy, baby. Loosen up. You’re too tight!” he is said to have uttered, though I didn’t hear it.

 

At another, I had the more serious honor of helping carry James Brady and his wheelchair to the head table when I was the club’s secretary. Brady had been partially paralyzed in the shooting attack on President Reagan.

 

The challenge for members of these groups has been to invite the most prestigious guests to impress their bosses. This has gotten even worse now, when they are expected to bring rock stars and movie stars as well as politicians.  I hated this, hesitating to beg news sources for favors.  What would they want in return?

 

My favorite guest was Rep. Millicent Fenwick, the cigar-smoking congresswoman who was the inspiration for Lacey Davenport, a character in Doonesbury. Another who accepted my invite to the White House Correspondents Association dinner was the deputy Treasury secretary, but he bowed out at the last minute. The Treasury’s public relations director, Anne Dore McLaughlin, sent her husband, a Roman Catholic priest, in consolation. My bosses, who were looking forward to the other guy, were disappointed when the priest sat down.

 

But he made good conversation even if he wasn’t well known. Within a few years, the priest became one of the most famous TV pundits of the era. He was John McLaughlin, host of the McLaughlin Group!