Visiting The Baton

I visited the Baton in Richmond Saturday, and after I got done annoying her with behavior born out of the displeasure with the long-distance relationship, it turned out to be an excellent visit. That was a long sentence.

If you've ever been to Richmond, and I bet either you have or you haven't, then you need to hit the bank machine and roll down to The Hard Shell.

From the minute we arrived, it felt like Jennifer and I were in for a good time. The host, James, was entertaining a departing couple, and in that conversation I heard him reveal that he's also the manager or maybe a co-owner or some shit. He estimated a 30-minute wait, so we hit the bar and grabbed a drink. A pleasantly bejeweled and overall friendly bartender, also named Jennifer, served us a drink and before we were more than a few sips in, James came over to tell us a table was ready earlier than he'd anticipated.

Sure we were at a nice seafood joint, but we each grabbed a big fat steak and split a glass of red wine. Actually I had a couple of sips and Jennifer finished the rest.

Our server was working only her third night, but she was solid and outgoing, as was her trainer, who was as sharp as my dude Barry but kept any shit-his-pants stories to himself.

We went back to the Baton's house, where it didn't take long to find the Buckeyes ahead comfortably over Iowa.