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House call

Dee Dee Hallock moved to Charlottesville from Florida after her son Nicholas fell ill. He began having issues walking in the fall of 2019. Within six weeks, he was fully in a wheelchair. In January 2020, his oxygen levels dropped and he needed to be admitted to the ICU for two months. That’s when he was diagnosed with an ultra-rare metabolic disorder. Soon he needed a tracheostomy to breathe and a feeding tube to eat.

For a single mother of triplets, this was challenging enough. But since arriving in Virginia, Hallock has had to contend with a new obstacle: limited supplies from the durable medical equipment companies that provide the tubes and ventilators Nicholas needs to live at home.

“I’m only one of many thousands of parents in the state of Virginia who this affects,” says Hallock. “It’s my child’s health, it’s his quality of life.” 

An elementary school teacher, Hallock is no longer able to work because Nicholas requires 24-hour care and she has been unable to find a full-time home nurse. She gets her groceries delivered to avoid going out to the store. Getting basic equipment for her son is a challenge, as things like ventilator parts can be delayed for months at a time.

Virginia’s DME companies face multiple problems stemming from the coronavirus pandemic, including supply chain disruptions, backorders, silicon shortages, and inflation. These factors alone have made getting supplies like new feeding tubes difficult for families, but the current Medicaid reimbursement rate has also affected the companies’ ability to attract qualified staff and dispense supplies without operating at a loss. Now, a new budget amendment under consideration in the General Assembly could address the low reimbursement rates that haven’t been able to cover rising costs.

Transitioning a medically fragile child from the hospital to home is expensive, requiring both specialized equipment and expert maintenance. As the ventilator program lead at UVA Children’s Hospital, Michael O’Brien takes care of children who need surgically placed airways in their neck and a machine that breathes for them, and he knows what it costs for parents to take on the task themselves.

“Just in terms of dollars and cents, all of the supplies required for not just the breathing equipment but also the feeding supplies and the actual nutrition is a lot,” says O’Brien. “A monthly bill can range between $10,000 and $12,000 billed to the patient’s insurance.”

While each patient’s insurance covers those exorbitant costs, the actual price of materials and shipping results in the equipment becoming more and more expensive to manufacture. With reimbursement for home health companies unable to meet the changing costs, companies can only supply what keeps them in the black. Parents then have to ration.

“These [supplies] are things that get dirty, because these are things that are always in contact with a patient,” says O’Brien. “And for infection control reasons, we have schedules for routine changing of equipment. My families cannot change those equipment as regularly as we instruct them to because they don’t have the supplies.”

Some families don’t receive the little supplies they’ve been allocated per month, leaving them to buy supplies online.

Michael O’Brien, ventilator program lead at UVA Children’s Hospital, says the cost of a child returning to hospitalization far exceeds the cost of medical supplies. “The incentive for Virginia legislators to increase the reimbursement rate … is to control health care costs in Virginia,” he says. Photo by Eze Amos.

“These surgical airway tubes, these tracheostomy tubes … you might have been able to find one for $50 before the pandemic,” says O’Brien. But if costs rise, there often is no alternative, because only one manufacturer might make a part. “Right now, these surgical airways might be $100, or in some cases several hundred dollars.”

“My institution does not think that changing one tube a month is safe for patients,” he says, which is why they haven’t changed their policy to reflect the supply. “That would be backwards, anyways, letting medical supplies dictate how you practice medicine.”

Last summer, Laura McGrath and her son struggled to get any supplies.

“We went for three months without getting a delivery of food for my son,” says McGrath. “We went for three months without getting the number of tracheostomy tubes that had been ordered for him. They were sending us one a month and saying, ‘Boil it in some water and reuse it.’”

McGrath’s son Finn was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, and requires total care at home. He uses a feeding tube because he has difficulty swallowing, and uses a tracheostomy tube, too, due to neuromuscular issues.

For his meals, Finn receives a pack of food with pre-measured amounts of protein, fat, and carbohydrates. Many children need specific formulas like this.

“When your child has a feeding tube, you kind of go through a formula trial,” says McGrath. “It’s very torturous for both the child and the parent because until you find the medical food that works for your child, your child is going through this period of time, sometimes for months, where they’re gagging and retching and vomiting and not tolerating their food at all, and so they’re not getting fed. It’s extremely stressful.”

When the supply companies can’t provide the right formula, parents have to go through that same difficult process with a substitute. Some parents have resorted to diluting condensed milk as an alternative.

McGrath, like Hallock, is hoping the new budget amendment will defray costs for DME companies and make it easier for parents to care for their children at home. Patroned by Del. Emily Brewer in the House and Sen. Siobhan Dunnavant in the Senate (both Republicans), the amendment would set the reimbursement rate for durable medical equipment to 100 percent of the Medicare rural rate, using $9 million from the general fund and nearly $12 million from non-general funds to support the initiative.

In a statement to CBS 6, Dunnavant said, “Families have not been able to get coverage of items that are necessary to care for their children in the home. … Virginia has made a commitment that the home is the best, most enriching place for children with these extraordinary needs and now we need to be sure they can get the tools they need for care so they can stay at home.”

For Marc Castelo, national director of sales and marketing, HME for Thrive Skilled Pediatric Care, the situation is dire. Thrive transitions medically fragile children home with life-sustaining equipment and services like nursing and physical and speech therapy. He sees the amendment as the only solution that will save his company from pulling out of the commonwealth.

“In Virginia, we are the last pediatric home care company left standing,” says Castelo. “The reason we’re the only ones in the market is that the margins have just become so thin that it’s very difficult to operate.”

Castelo says that even hiring respiratory therapists for the home health care environment has been hard, because RTs get paid more in the hospital. Since it can’t pay a competitive rate, Thrive struggles to attract staff in the state. “Our reimbursement for respiratory therapists is zero,” he says. “There is no reimbursement. So that has to be built into our margin, so that’s another cost.”

“It’s a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.”

On February 25, the General Assembly adjourned without reaching an agreement on the state budget. Republicans and Democrats are in a deadlock, leaving amendments like this one hanging in the balance.

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Welcome to the jam!

Video games are complicated. Even a game as deceptively simple as Pac-Man is composed of a delicate concoction of level design, character art, artificial intelligence, and audio/video signals, all powered by lines upon lines of code. Today, the biggest games in
the industry, which draw revenue eclipsing Hollywood blockbusters, take years to develop and can involve hundreds of artists, designers, and programmers. The Last of Us took four years to make; a project as small as an iPhone game can take months. So when a group of University of Virginia students decided to make two games in just 48 hours, they were shooting for the moon.

Despite such a daunting challenge, students were relaxed as they trickled into UVA’s Rice Hall, home of the Department of Computer Science and the computer engineering program, on a chilly Friday evening. The occasion was the 2023 Global Game Jam, and it was the first that the Student Game Developers would participate in since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

A game jam can take all sorts of forms, from a massive formal competition to a creative exercise in a small office. The annual Global Game Jam, which was founded in 2008 and is managed by the nonprofit of the same name, is among the largest of its kind in the world. But no matter the size, the general idea remains the same: Game jams are about creating an entire video game in an extremely limited amount of time. It’s similar to a hackathon, or the 48 Hour Film Project held each year across the country—solo participants or teams register for the jam and are faced with a singular challenge, like a common theme, and a set deadline to submit their work.

“It’s always fun to just spend the weekend losing all my sleep and making whatever I can.” Ian Harvey, SGD club officer. Photo by Tristan Williams.

Game jams tend to be makeshift affairs—anywhere you can plug in a laptop will do. For this year’s Global Game Jam, around a dozen UVA students gathered in a conference room with two whiteboards and a writable wall. They formed one of hundreds of sites, across more than 100 countries, with participants whose work would sit alongside thousands of others’ creations.

The Global Game Jam kicks off with the announcement of the year’s theme. This time, it was “roots.” Club president Jimmy Connors wrote the word in the center of one of the whiteboards.

How do you turn “roots” into a video game? You start, like with any creative project, by brainstorming.

So, Connors asked, what do we think of when we think of roots? 

“I have no idea where to take that,” he said.

But ideas came fast from around the room: family roots, square roots, trees, plants, linguistic roots of words, root canals, hair roots, rooting for a sports team, musical roots of chords. The board filled up fast as participants played off of each other’s suggestions.

“You could do a game where you control a plant whose roots are continually growing, and you have to steer it into nutritious deposits.”

“The farther down you go, the rockier it gets and the harder it gets.”

“Well, there’s that restaurant, Roots.”

“So, trees can communicate through mycorrhizal networks, which are just root networks. So we could do some tree communication game that involves roots and networking.”

“Game that teaches you the basics of networking.”

“You control the roots of a tree and you can then discover things like fossils, like an archaeology game. You can pass by bones or discarded items.”

“A mystery deduction game where you’re trying to trace back the roots of what led to whatever event.”

“You want to guide the tree roots towards water, you want to guide them towards mineral deposits.”

“There are pollution spills that you have to steer away from.”

“And your score at the end is how deep your roots got.”

“A genealogy game?”

“The root of a computer. Think plants growing on a computer chip.”

“You have a little character that’s navigating in the computer file system, and you’re trying to get to the root of the computer so you can hack it.”

“Oh, trying to get root access!”

Connors went around the room again and again, whittling down everyone’s ideas. One by one, different roots were crossed off, until they had two promising concepts to pursue: a game about growing roots in a pot, and a game about exploring a computer as if it were a dungeon. The group would need to split up and complete both of these games by Sunday at 5pm.

But so many questions still lingered. How are they going to manage two projects? Who in the room can program? Who can create artwork, like characters and backgrounds, for the games? Who can write background music? And, most importantly, who has time to devote to the game jam? When can people drop in over the weekend to work?

Some people had homework and exams to prepare for. Others weren’t experienced in Unity, the popular game development software the club used for the jam, which meant they’d need to spend time learning it.

There was so much to deliberate over. But first: pizza. They’d begin working in earnest Saturday morning.

Day two started with a Bodo’s run, which Connors considers crucial to the success of the game jam. “Food is big and good,” he says. “As an SGD president, sometimes it’s hard to get people to show up to make games for 10 hours on a weekend. Bodo’s helped a lot with getting people in the room.”

It was heads-down work in the conference room as the two teams set about designing and coding each game. The first, titled Overgrowth, would be about carefully drawing roots in a planter as they get longer and longer. It was inspired in part by Snake, a game famous for coming pre-installed on Nokia phones, in which the player controls an ever-growing snake in a constrained space. The second game, Root Access, would be about exploring a maze-like computer system resembling a dungeon and cleaning out the viruses mucking up the place. This was inspired by another game jam game, The Binding of Isaac, which tasks players with navigating a procedurally generated series of rooms.

Oliver Mills, a third-year computer science student, worked on the textures for the roots in Overgrowth. This was his first game jam with the Student Game Developers, which he joined so he could learn to make his own game. “I’m working on a little self-project right now that reflects the weather, that has some realtime reflection of the weather in a game,” said Mills. “And I realized that I had no clue how to do anything with games.”

Fellow third-year CS student Ian Harvey is an officer in the club, and designed the computer terminal for Root Access, where players can input slash commands that trigger various effects. “We’re basing it around the idea of what is a computer’s structure, what the traversal may be in a theoretical world where you’re trying to get to the root of the computer,” said Harvey. A challenge his team faced was in filling the game with things to interact with. “It comes down to assets, or actually making a dungeon that feels like it’s fun to traverse. Assets are one thing, being able to [code] a bunch of enemies to do specific things.”

Harvey is a seasoned game dev for an undergraduate, having directed a game in the club and worked on many others. Though he’s participated in other game jams, this is his first with the Student Game Developers. “I typically do one game jam a year in the summer,” he said. “I never do well in it, but it’s always fun to just spend the weekend losing all my sleep and making whatever I can.”

Catherine Xu, a second-year CS major, joined the event as her first game jam. On Root Access, her focus was on character movement and designing “mobs,” or mobile objects, like enemies. Some of the programming already existed for these elements; her job was then to assign them animations.

“The challenging part is trying to balance where we want the player to explore, but then also the necessary set path of actions they need to take to unlock the rooms [and] get to the destination,” said Xu. “So, we want it to be somewhat challenging, we want them to have fun exploring, but we also don’t want it to be too easy to figure out how to open doors and passwords and stuff.”

The final projects, available to play on the Global Game Jam website, reflect the project management skills, prioritization, and quick thinking of both teams.

In the finished version of Overgrowth, the player is presented with a cross-section of a houseplant as it first starts to take root. The player’s job is to click and drag the snaking roots to fill the limited space in the pot. Once each root reaches its maximum length, two more roots will sprout from it, which can also be dragged and drawn out to fill the pot. A bar rises on the right side of the screen to track the player’s progress, and at specific intervals the plant will be repotted and a new larger level will begin.

Root Access took shape as an action game, where the player navigates a virus-riddled computer as if it were a treacherous dungeon. Using the WASD keys to move from folder to folder, the player needs to eliminate bugs—represented as flies and spiders—from files. A computer terminal can be brought up with the forward slash key, where the player can input various commands that allow them to teleport to different locations or switch weapons.

Both feature all sorts of sensory flourishes, from the colorful hand-drawn aesthetic of a growing plant in a sunny greenhouse to the gritty pixel art representing an infected computer. Pensive music accompanies the leisurely atmosphere of Overgrowth, while pounding techno thumps behind the intense gameplay of Root Access.

As president, Connors was most concerned with making sure the Global Game Jam was a fun and worthwhile event for everyone involved. But, personally, he was nervous about how developing a game as a team would play out. He’d only ever jammed by himself. How would splitting up roles work? Would the files all break each other if they were separated between different computers? 

To his surprise, everything worked out fine.

“Definitely both [games] were constrained,” says Connors, who will graduate this spring. “I think that’s basically always true for game jams. You always have to cut half the stuff you thought of. … But that’s kinda how game jams are. It’s all about doing stuff quick, learning a bunch, and working with other people, doing cool things.”

You can play Overgrowth at globalgamejam.org/2023/games/overgrowth-3 and Root Access at globalgamejam.org/2023/games/root-access-4-1.

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News

Tales from the chicken strip

How much do I want fried chicken?

That question haunted me. It began as a simple test of endurance: How long was I willing to sit in traffic to get lunch? But as I initiated that test again and again, at different hours and on different days, the question began to transform—to molt, much like a chicken sheds its feathers, and take on new meaning. Truly, I wondered, how much do I want fried chicken?

I had a lot of time to be in that headspace, to consider that question and ponder other mysteries of life, as I waited in the drive-thru line at Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers. The Cane’s drive-thru is one of the great wonders of Charlottesville: a big disruptive living landmark that’s become equal parts meme and public nuisance. Cane’s is the first of three chicken restaurants on Emmet Street (Route 29), just a stoplight away from a crowded highway interchange with US 250. At peak hours, the drive-thru line will snake out onto Emmet and clog up traffic all the way to Hydraulic Road.

Raising Cane’s is well aware of the problem; the franchise has an official sign politely asking drivers not to block traffic (they do it anyway). City police patrolled the line at times last year, but now the drive-thru is monitored by armed private security. 

Photo by Tristan Williams.

In truth, it’s not just a Charlottesville issue. When visiting my sister in Herndon, I witnessed another Cane’s drive-thru with an absurdly long line that reached across multiple parking lots. And on a recent “Saturday Night Live,” we got the signal that this was a national problem.

“You gotta get hard in that left lane,” Andrew Dismukes shouts in a sketch about avoiding the traffic, aping a harsh Texas accent and pounding his fist into his other hand for emphasis. “’Cause if you stay even one second in the right lane, you’ll get stuck in the massive overflow line for the new Raising Cane’s.”

“This restaurant is prohibitively popular, y’all,” shouts James Austin Johnson. “The line backs up to the light, on to the offramp, and into the highway. Do not stay in the right lane!”

But perhaps unique to Charlottesville is Cane’s positioning at the beginning of what’s been derisively deemed “chicken alley” or the “chicken strip”—that tight stretch of road where Cane’s, Popeye’s, and KFC all reside (not to mention Zaxby’s, Cook Out, Arby’s, and Cava across the street). However, the same lines don’t plague these other chicken restaurants; just take a look, their drive-thrus are bare. I spoke with a manager at KFC, who told me that the way the chicken strip is laid out, with the Cane’s queue at the front and a stoplight at the end, it directly affects their business by making the right lane largely inaccessible. A drive-thru server at Popeye’s concurred.

C.J. Ghotra, co-owner of Milan, the restaurant that precedes Cane’s on the strip, says they often receive complaints from customers who are unable to get to the parking lot during rush hour, and that the obstruction has cost them business.

So, I wanted to know: Why Cane’s? Is its chicken so good that people are willing to burn away fuel and time waiting to get it? Before this story, I had never eaten at a Raising Cane’s. We had one in Richmond, right by the VCU campus, which was never as busy as the Charlottesville drive-thru. I was determined to find out what made this one so special.

Photo by Tristan Williams.

It takes me 12 minutes to get from my apartment to Cane’s. I got there around 1:30pm on a Saturday, poised to experience the dreaded wait, but I was surprised to see the drive-thru line had yet to extend into the street. I was the last to enter the parking lot, just narrowly pulling the rear of my car in. Anyone who wanted chicken after me would be out on the road.

The dining room was open, a change from the height of the pandemic when drive-thru was the only option. I thought that would perhaps explain the not-so-bad traffic. But the line was slow. “Proud Mary” blasted over the outdoor speakers. I saw a Chick-fil-A bag in a trash can outside—signs of the chicken multiverse—and a security vehicle standing by while two armed guards hovered nearby, each clad in black with sunglasses and tough boots.

I rounded the bend and saw the menu. Raising Cane’s serves one meal—chicken fingers, fries, and Texas toast—four different ways. You can order three, four, or five fingers, or throw three on a bun and call it a sandwich. That’s it. It’s a simple menu.

I ordered Our Favorite, the Box Combo: four chicken fingers, crinkle-cut fries, Cane’s sauce, Texas toast, coleslaw, and a fountain drink. The server who handed me my food said, “You look like Clark Kent.” 

“Do you turn into Superman when you take off your glasses?”

I said, “Maybe!”

I got my food, parked to eat, and immediately realized I’d made a grave mistake. Two o’clock was evidently the witching hour. Cars were honking and the road was blocked. An endless line began to form behind me. A security guard roamed up and down the queue. I was trapped in the parking lot with no room to back up. I did not feel like Superman. I felt like Clark Kent.

Why couldn’t I just wait to eat at home? Because I wanted to have my meal fresh, to give it a fair shake.

But before I say anything about Cane’s food, I need to make one thing clear: I am not a chicken expert. I don’t have a white or dark meat preference. I’ve never fried chicken at home, so I don’t have any hot takes on seasoning or sauces. I couldn’t tell you whether bone-in wings or boneless wings are superior. (I prefer boneless because I don’t have to navigate my teeth around something I’m going to throw away.)

That said, Cane’s is fine. Yet I don’t understand what all the hubbub is about, why people are so gaga for this chicken.

“Chicken tasted like it was made by my Auntie,” writes Keyonna Adkins in a Google review of the Charlottesville Raising Cane’s.

“Best chicken ever!” writes Greg Morris.

“The chicken fingers I got were crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside, and that’s the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it!” writes Oliver C. on Yelp.

But not everyone is convinced.

“Raising Cane’s affirms my belief that bistros that strongly tout their own sauce, are probably using that sauce to compensate for a rather bland product,” writes Kimberly-Gretchen B. on Yelp.

One constant refrain, of course, was the very long line that spills onto Emmet Street. Many Google and Yelp reviews—both positive and negative—reference the line, or, even worse, accidents on the road. According to VTrans interactive map data, which visualizes transportation data across the commonwealth, 19 accidents happened on US 29S specifically on the chicken strip between January 2022 and January 2023, with at least one injury marked as “severe.”

“No chicken is worth a life,” writes Traci E. on Yelp.

The issue isn’t solely Cane’s. The restaurant clearly doesn’t have a big enough lot for its drive-thru traffic. And according to CBS19, it’s the result of a curious zoning issue. Restaurants in the area require a special city permit to be a drive-thru business, working with the city traffic engineer to make sure there’s enough space for a considerable line. The building housing Cane’s predates that requirement.

“There’s really not a whole lot we can do in this particular location,” Brennen Duncan, Charlottesville’s city traffic engineer, told CBS19 in November. “We can’t shut down a whole lane of travel and designate it as the drive-thru lane, nor would we want to.”

That leaves the task to the Virginia Department of Transportation, which “has put some money into” solutions, says Lee Kondor, the chairman of the city’s Citizens Transportation Advisory Committee. CTAC and VDOT, Kondor says, are well-aware of the backup on Emmet Street, but proposals that would alleviate the congestion tend to hypothetically break the bank.

“No question, it’s expensive,” he says. “VDOT says it’s too expensive and they’re the ones that are in control of the situation.”

VDOT has considered a number of solutions for the chicken strip, such as making some improvements to Angus Road, just south of KFC, and adding a connector road behind the restaurants (which didn’t go anywhere).

Right now, its biggest and brightest idea to address the traffic problem is to eliminate left turns from Hydraulic Road onto US 29. But to Kondor, that creates a whole other set of problems. In his proposal for a much more elaborate solution—a new flyover road option that would travel up over Hydraulic, over Angus Road and connect to the 250 Bypass—he writes that, “Eliminating left turns from Hydraulic Road onto US 29 means that the traffic that would have turned left has to proceed straight across US 29, make a U-turn, proceed back to US 29, and turn right.” To address this new problem, roundabouts are proposed at particular intersections affected by the U-turns. The whole thing just sounds like a mess.

“If you’re westbound on Hydraulic and want to turn onto 29 southbound, I don’t know what you’ll do,” Kondor says.

His proposed flyover didn’t exactly soar.

“I estimated that would cost $50 million,” he says, “which is about what VDOT is proposing to eliminate the left turn off of Hydraulic.”

Apparently VDOT’s engineers took a look at his idea and came back with a new price tag that had a couple more zeros. It wasn’t going to happen.

Right now, says Kondor, the only funding available is for minor changes to US 29 and the Hydraulic Road intersection, like eliminating that left turn. That’s all that’s on the horizon for the next five or 10 years. If you want something more substantial, the 2050 Long-Range Transportation Plan might be your best bet, if you’re willing to wait that long.

I went back to Raising Cane’s several times after my first excursion, eager to see the drive-thru line at its biggest and baddest. But soon I realized that my research, my attempt to sample every chicken restaurant on the strip, was only contributing to the problem. As my car hung out into the street, a woman in a Mini Cooper threw her hands up behind me, trapped in chicken purgatory. She laid on the horn as she went around me.

It made me wonder why I was doing this—what was the point? To annoy myself? To annoy others? Everyone knew that the line was long, that it was for subpar chicken, and that it wasn’t getting any shorter. But I was here to experience it, to try to understand why it was so damn long.  

My final journey to the chicken strip was my greatest in scope and potential danger. I planned to round all three drive-thru lines at Cane’s, Popeye’s, and KFC, and order chicken fingers from each establishment to compare. Each combo’s calories tallied into the quadruple digits. My body shuddered at what it’d have to digest. I thought I would be eating leftovers for a while, so I braced my stomach—and fridge—for impact.

The distinct peppery smell of Popeye’s wafted down the wind on a chilly Sunday evening as I stood outside for photos, clutching my takeout bags in each fist. And there it was: as the sunlight faded, I finally saw the full length of the Cane’s line with my own eyes. It was backed up all the way to the Hydraulic intersection. The way the road slopes up north gave me a full view of the traffic, as drivers honked their horns in staccato rhythm. Trapped in the right lane as the middle and left lanes zoomed by, there was no escape, whether you wanted chicken or not.

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Culture Food & Drink

A brunch to remember

The first episode of “The Big Brunch” opens on chef Antwon Brinson. He stands almost in silhouette over a hot pan, stirring a sauce that coats some delicious-looking meatballs. Brinson is framed by his steel teaching kitchen, an everything-you-could-need creative cooking space at his business Culinary Concepts AB, located just off Barracks Road. In this HBO Max reality series, Brinson’s voice is the first we hear: “As a chef, you wear three hats. You’re a mentor, you’re a coach, and then you’re a chef.”

That balance is a guiding principle for Brinson, whose culinary career has shifted from navigating the precise world of fine dining to running his five-week cooking program in Charlottesville. The bootcamp at Culinary Concepts AB is a cooking crucible that prepares novices and experts alike for a career in the restaurant industry, meeting a tangible need for qualified staff in town. But the culinary bootcamp does more than just teach students how to dice and sauté; it teaches them how to set goals and meet them.

“I want you to walk away from this and feel like, ‘I’ve learned a lot about myself. And I feel confident going out into the workforce and with the skills that I’ve gained here,’” says Brinson. “And it may not even be cooking, it may be something else, but you found yourself through this journey.”

Chef Antwon Brinson. Photo by Eze Amos.

Brinson embarked on a new journey himself when he joined the inaugural cast of “The Big Brunch,” a new cooking show executive produced and hosted by Dan Levy that premiered last fall. The competition’s variously themed challenges tested Brinson’s culinary acumen by asking him to cook in a totally unorthodox way.

“When you think about cooking, you think about cooking from the context of, ‘What cuisine am I gonna cook? What protein am I gonna use? Is this a vegetable dish? Is it a seasonal menu?’” says Brinson. “You don’t think about cooking from the perspective of, ‘A dish that inspired you through your childhood,’ or, ‘A dish that speaks to where you are currently on your journey.’”

Those sort of abstract directives center each episode of “The Big Brunch,” which, true to its name, tasks contestants with reimagining brunch through their own personal lens—first with a starter item, and then with the main course.

“It challenged all of us to cook from a place that none of us had ever cooked from before,” says Brinson. 

In that first episode, we meet chef after chef from across the country: a proud cook of Cantonese cuisine from Asheville, North Carolina, a sprightly Long Island baker, a vegan auteur from El Paso, a self-taught Richmond restaurateur, and on and on. There are 10 in total (three from Virginia!), and it’s clear from the moment we meet the judges that these earnest chefs will be duking it out for cash—$300,000, in fact.

But this isn’t “Chopped,” despite the tears shed each episode. “The Big Brunch” is a big love-fest, a celebration of the art of cooking that specifically centers each chef’s community-focused passion project as the beneficiary of the grand prize. The leisurely timed hour-long episodes encourage the audience to get to know each chef, to learn about their drive and ambition and identity. And the production of the show allowed the chefs to get to know each other better, too.

“I would have never imagined that I would go on a show and meet people and say they’re gonna be my friends for the rest of my life,” says Brinson. “We’re cooking from a place of, ‘I want to change my community, I want to make this industry better.’ … To be in a room with nine other contestants that feel the same way that you do about their community, and they’re expressing themselves with food that way, it was remarkable.”

Balance is a guiding principle for chef Antwon Brinson, whose career has included everything from fine dining to teaching a bootcamp cooking course at his Culinary Concepts AB. Supplied photo.

As the competition heats up and contestants get eliminated one by one, it’s evident the chefs are competing not against each other but against themselves. Each one has a comfort zone—like a tried and true banana bread or a predilection for mushrooms. Judges Levy, Sohla El-Waylly, and Will Guidara sniff this out quickly, and steadily push the chefs to refine or expand their repertoire. In one brunch, the contestants play a challenge so safely that the judges call a mulligan and order them to start over from scratch, to really push themselves. As a result, the contestants return with dishes so outstanding the judges can’t bear to eliminate anyone. “That was a comeback for the ages,” says Guidara.

It’s in that same episode that Brinson very publicly embraces his love for Ethiopian food, a cuisine he cooks regularly at home but has shied away from professionally.

“In my career as a chef, in all the places that I’ve worked, I’ve never put Ethiopian food on the menu. Never,” he says in an interview segment on the show. “It was fear. ‘It’s not familiar. Will the guests like it?’ And being here, this competition has really helped me grasp an identity.”

“I love learning about my culture because I didn’t grow up with it,” Brinson told C-VILLE. “So I just started cooking Ethiopian food on HBO. … That’s what they [the judges] were able to do, they were able to pull this out from all of us, had us all cooking from a place of vulnerability.”

Originally from Niagara Falls, New York, Brinson says he didn’t grow up thinking he would be a chef. He didn’t have a strong culinary presence at home—but he did know that when his grandmother was baking desserts for the holidays, it brought the whole family together. He found that food was an equalizer: It’s at the center of many memorable moments in his life. That belief in the unifying power of food led him to join his high school’s cooking team (where he made it to state competition on his first try), and eventually to the Culinary Institute of America, where he refined the skills he would use as a high-end chef in kitchens from the Virgin Islands and Hawaii to Palm Springs and San Francisco. His latest stop in Charlottesville saw him take on the role of executive chef at Common House, before leaving the restaurant biz entirely to open his cooking school.

Throughout his travels, Brinson held tight to the adage that food helps people connect and build communities. He immersed himself in each location’s culture to become a better chef—“I knew that if I understood the culture it would give me a profound understanding of the cuisine,” he says—which means he learned to cook food from a wide variety of culinary traditions. He came to “The Big Brunch” confident that he could pull a range of recipes from his pocket at a moment’s notice, but the competition’s time crunch and increasingly abstract expectations actually had him cooking much like he does at home: in a freeform, improvisational way.

Dan Levy (right), host, judge, and producer of “The Big Brunch,” pushed Brinson to refine and expand his repertoire. Supplied photo.

At home, Brinson opens the refrigerator without a plan, and takes stock of what he can cook with and what he can salvage from leftover ingredients. It’s an experience that he says harkens back to his youth, when his mother always seemed to be missing one key ingredient he’d need to make a sandwich. He made do, and his quick thinking served him well on HBO Max as the timer marched on.

“Challenge three, the farm-to-table challenge, is really where I just changed,” says Brinson. “The challenge was, like, cook one vegetable. And I just literally went ham. I had four or five different techniques on the plate, I had mushrooms throughout it with different textures. … In that moment, I realized, I’m just gonna fucking cook. I’m gonna stop trying to dig deep. What is the food saying to me? What do I feel in this moment? And that’s what I’m gonna go with. That’s what got me through the competition.”

Though there are similarities between how Brinson cooks on TV and how he cooks at home, his tenure on “The Big Brunch” was anything but familiar. Cameras swooped around him as he prepared his dishes, and interview questions flew at him fast while he was working. He and the contestants were urged to only interact on set, so that their most authentic thoughts and feelings could be captured raw. And after each brunch, the chefs were subjected to 15- to 20-minute critiques (often shortened to barely 30 seconds in the show).

There’s no TV magic on “The Big Brunch”: Each episode is a truncated version of a 12-hour shoot, and every dish served up is exactly representative of what the chefs were capable of in that challenge. Things can and do go wrong, and when Levy rings the bell to signal everyone to stop cooking, the chefs better be ready to present whatever they have—even if it’s missing ingredients or portions.

“You got one shot,” says Brinson. “You literally have one shot to nail it. If you fuck it up, well, that’s what you get.”

As much as he enjoyed the experience, the Charlottesville chef isn’t dying to get on another cooking show.

“I was gone for a month,” he tells me, sitting at a table in Culinary Concepts AB. Brinson is surrounded by the stations that his students use in culinary bootcamp, the same kitchen that we see him cooking and teaching in at the beginning of the show. “I think that if I was to do another cooking show it would have to be more focused around what I’m currently doing, it has to be in line with my mission. Something that highlights the work, something that highlights the students, something that really highlights the outcome. I would want it to be less about me and more about the inspiration that happens when you create a space like this.”

Brinson’s dedication to his new role as a business owner and teacher is an outgrowth of the tireless, laser-focused work ethic that powered him through his career in high-end resorts. He draws considerable inspiration from his mother, who was a foster parent while he was growing up.

His mom suffered from back pain, but “then she gets a foster kid that’s an emergency placement that could possible die because they’re on a ventilator,” says Brinson, “and all of a sudden she has no back pains, anything, and she is determined to make sure this kid makes it through the night.” Her hyperfocus and vigilance continues to inspire the chef to “find a focal point and go hard,” a lesson he passes on to his students.

“What we’re doing here, man—restaurants and food service providers all around the world need something like this,” says Brinson. “People need something like this. And our goal is to scale this thing across the nation. And that’s the vision.”

Want to see how Antwon Brinson did in the competition? Check out “The Big Brunch” on HBO Max, where all episodes now streaming.

Categories
News

The Year in Review

#1

Chef’s choice

V.34, No. 1 – January 5–11

The first issue of the year was also our most popular, with a mouthwatering cover that featured Chimm Street’s basil stir-fry chicken. The story inside, however, was more than just a picture of scrumptious food—it included delicious descriptions of local chefs’ favorite dishes. Will Ham spoke with staff at Champion Brewing Company, The Ivy Inn, The Pie Chest, and more to discover what they chow down on when they’re not serving customers.

Baker and C-VILLE contributor Chris Martin picked the kale Caesar from Plenty as a favorite, saying, “Della Bennett is a dressing and sauce master, using acid and salinity to create one of the best Caesar salads I’ve had.” Chef Ian Redshaw gave a shout-out to the city’s food trucks, while Jay Pun of Chimm and Thai Cuisine & Noodle House was in love with takeout. Others praised their peers at KITCHENette sandwich shop and Petite MarieBette.

Photo: Eze Amos.

#2

Heartbreak

V.34, No. 46 – November 16–22

On November 13, a shooter opened fire on a bus filled with University of Virginia students who’d just returned to Charlottesville, killing three football players and injuring two others. The violence forced the university into lockdown as police went on a manhunt for the suspect, and emergency personnel tended to victims. Eventually, the student suspected of committing the shooting was located in Henrico County outside Richmond and arrested.

During this active shooter emergency and shelter in place order, students were terrified—including writer Kristin O’Donoghue, who wrote about some of the experiences on UVA Grounds during the police search for the shooter. Two UVA Alert system messages warned of shots fired at two locations, wrote O’Donogue. “The third message urged students to ‘RUN. HIDE. FIGHT.’”

Included in this news feature were three profiles of the young men killed—D’Sean Perry, Lavel Davis Jr., and Devin Chandler—as well as interviews with survivors of other mass shootings, who offered their advice and reflections on how to recover and come together after tragedy.


#3

Die, beautiful lanternfly!

V.34, No. 42 – October 19–25

The menacing spotted lanternfly is actually a cute little thing, with red wings and beautiful spots. But the lanternfly is also an invasive species that devours crops, and in Virginia its taste for grapes, apples, and hops threatens local wine, cider, and beer production. The fly first landed in Virginia in 2018, wrote Paul Ting, and was spotted in Albemarle County in July of 2021. Farmers have yet to endure the scourge of the pest, but most say it’s a matter of time until the lanternfly descends on the commonwealth’s crops.

While some winemakers feel that other regions’ strategies for dealing with the bug have helped them better prepare for the insect’s arrival, others fear this is another infestation that will get out of control. According to Grace Monger, Virginia Tech’s associate agriculture and natural resources extension agent for Nelson County, you can help stop the spread by participating in citizen science projects to track the spotted lanternfly, and by checking your vehicles for insects before moving them.

The lanternfly. File photo.

#4

On the other side

V.34, No. 29 – July 20–26

Jesse Crosson spent nearly two decades of his life incarcerated. Now, in his writing and videomaking on TikTok (@second_chancer), he’s sharing that experience with the world. And for C-VILLE, he wrote about what it was like returning to Buckingham Correctional Center to pick up his friend Grahm Masters—one of thousands who became eligible for early release due to the expanded Earned Sentence Credit program, first passed as House Bill 5148 in 2020 and implemented in July.

But Crosson, who was sentenced to 32 years in prison—twice the maximum sentencing guidelines—shortly after his 18th birthday, also railed against Gov. Glenn Youngkin’s Budget Amendment 19: Just days before individuals were set to be released, it rolled back eligibility for about 8,000 people. “It’s not as if the amendment permanently stopped the release of those who are no longer eligible,” wrote Crosson. “They are still getting out, just not when they were told they would be. When they do get out, they’ll likely be even more skeptical and mistrustful of a system that promised them one thing and then quickly reneged.”

Grahm Masters and Jesse Crosson. Photo: Courteney Stuart.

#5

Umma be, Umma be

V.34, No. 31 – August 3–9

The new restaurant Umma’s was on everybody’s tongues this summer, as it served up stellar Japanese and Korean dishes in Charlottesville that shattered preconceived notions of what “authentic” cuisine looks like. For this feature, writer Matt Dhillon spoke with founders and chefs Kelsey Naylor and Anna Gardner about their journey from running a food truck to a brick-and-mortar business.

Umma’s means “mom’s” in Korean—an ode both to the role mothers have played in Naylor’s life as a chef, and a reflection of the homestyle, from-scratch cooking both chefs take pride in. “If we can’t make something the right way, we’re just not going to make it,” says Naylor. One of my personal favorites from Umma’s was the Big Mac Bokkeum-bap, which Dhillon describes as combining “an icon of American pop culture with the traditional rice stir-fry in a hot stone bowl.”

Photo: John Robinson.

#6

Good enough

V.34, No. 43 – October 26–November 1

In the midterms, Democratic challenger Josh Throneburg took on incumbent Republican Bob Good in a race for Virginia’s 5th Congressional District. With the election on November 8, this issue offered readers profiles on both candidates, comparing their platforms and careers. Throneburg, an ordained minister and small business owner, has no political experience and leans slightly more progressive than a typical Democrat. Good, on the other hand, proudly identifies as a “biblical conservative,” and has aligned himself with the fringes of the Republican party during his tenure in Congress. Ultimately, Good went on to defeat Throneburg to keep his seat in VA-5.


#7

Collect ’em all!

V.34, No. 33 – August 17–23

When we asked artist Steve Keene to paint the cover for this issue, we should have known he would send us eight different options. After all, the incredibly prolific painter produces 50 pieces a day. To mark the occasion, we decided to publish three different covers for this edition of C-VILLE, which could be found in different boxes and racks around town.

The feature, by Sarah Sargent, marks the release of Keene’s career retrospective: The Steve Keene Art Book. Over 265 pages, readers are treated to six years worth of materials collected by author Daniel Efram, and hundreds of Keene artworks submitted from around the world. With more than 300,000 of the artist’s paintings out there, everyone seems to own one; so we asked our readers to submit photos of their own beloved Keenes.

Steve Keene. Photo: Daniel Efram.

#8

High-rise

V.34, No. 27 – July 6–12

Housing costs and rent were both rising this summer, so Katie Kenny took to the pages of C-VILLE to write up an overview of how the city planned to make housing more affordable. How bad has it gotten? Well, Charlottesville’s median gross rent from 2016–2020 was $1,188; during that same time, in notoriously expensive Boston, median gross rent was $1,685. And median home prices have jumped $75,000 in just two years.

To combat ballooning costs, City Council adopted a Comprehensive Plan that addresses land use and zoning, and eases restrictions on housing density while expanding affordable housing options. But problems remain, such as UVA’s ever-expanding student housing, which looms over public housing developments like Westhaven.

Photo: Stephen Barling.

#9

Trailblazing

V.34, No. 16 – April 20–26

Though lighting up was expressly prohibited at the High Arts Cannabis Festival at Ix Art Park, jokers, smokers, and midnight tokers alike were welcome to trade small ounces of weed with each other as they met home growers and vendors at the April event. Accompanied by live music and art, the festival was the latest development in Virginia’s slow legalization of marijuana, which is set to be lawful for sale at retail in 2024. 

Shea Gibbs wrote about the organization of High Arts, and its framing by Ix Art Park Executive Director Alex Bryant as an “educational [rather] than recreational” experience. “There is so much misinformation,” said Albemarle Cannabis Company’s Joe Kuhn, who was a consultant for the festival. “We just want to bring the conversation to curious folks to learn more about cannabis and get away from the negative connotation.”

Alex Bryant. Photo: Eze Amos.

#10

Dead ringer

V.34, No. 7 – February 16–22

“I see a dead body at least once a week,” wrote Finn Lynch in the cover story. Lynch’s essay is about their job as a funeral assistant, and features beautifully morbid imagery about dressing a corpse according to the wishes of the deceased’s family. In one instance, a daughter requests that her father be buried with his favorite mint candies in his pockets—a couple sweets for the spectral road ahead.

“My job is hardly ever a pretty one,” wrote Lynch, “and only sometimes a happy one, but the work I do is nevertheless humanizing and loving. It shows me how much people care for one another—love can be stored in little mint candies.”

Finn Lynch. Photo: Eze Amos.
Categories
News

Free play

I grew up playing video games on my mother’s lap. We had all four Microsoft Entertainment Pack collections on our Windows 95 Gateway PC, from Minesweeper to Chip’s Challenge. Tetris was a favorite—still is—as the satisfaction of clearing lines in a never-ending falling block puzzle seemed to have a grip on some primal part of our brains. As I grew tall enough to reach the mouse and keyboard on my own, I explored other games like SkiFree and the digital conversions of Hearts and Solitaire. Soon enough, as I saw other kids catching ’em all with Pokémon Red and Blue, I asked for my own Game Boy Color so I could trade and battle with friends.

I’ve played video games with so many different people in my life, but ultimately I trace my love of games to my mom, who sank countless quarters into arcade and pinball machines during nursing school and played Atari with her brothers growing up, competing to stack up the most extra lives possible in Pac-Man. To be introduced to so many blinking lights and whooping sound effects by her was to be granted a kind of inheritance, a call to carry my family’s love of social games forward. In the same way that my older relatives would pack into my grandmother’s back room in Queens and argue in Spanish over smoky games of dominoes, I’ve since gathered my mom, uncle, and sister’s fiancé together for tense rounds of the cooperative restaurant management game Overcooked.

So when I moved to Charlottesville, I naturally turned to games to stay connected with people. Online matches of Halo Infinite are weekly fixations with my closest friends, and the latest Pokémon title has kept another good friend and me talking for weeks. But as I started to explore the city, I noticed something: Charlottesville loves games, too. Like, more than many people realize, and perhaps even more than my hometown of Richmond. There’s a deep vein of pinball machines and arcade games running through the city, from the vintage to the exceedingly modern. Miller’s, Champion Brewing, and Lazy Parrot each celebrate the classic bar pairing of alcohol and pinball. Firefly’s game room wows with a thoughtfully curated mix, while Bowlero dazzles with cutting-edge machines and prize dispensers. You can take a tour of the entire history of arcade amusements with the staggering selection of games at Decades, and discover more ways to play at Brightside Beach Pub and Dürty Nelly’s.

Firefly’s Out Run cabinet is a stand-up variation of the influential driving game, which changed the genre forever. Players race against the clock in a Ferrari Testarossa Spider as they head down forking paths for one of five possible finish lines. Image: Eze Amos.

I have no doubt that there’s even more out there—every time I stepped into one place, someone would tip me off to two others.

But any old watering hole or laundromat can set up shop with a Ms. Pac-Man cabinet. It takes an intentional choice of machines to really make a game room stand out. Firefly’s lineup is one of the most famous in town because it hits all the right notes with its array of classic and well-loved titles.

“Our games are a little bit on the older side. Vintage, retro, whatever word is appropriate,” says Melissa Meece, owner of Firefly. “You’ve got the parents coming and saying, ‘Oh, I remember Out Run,’ right? … And if you have kids, you wanna bring them in and say, ‘Hey, play this game that I played when I was your age.’”

Firefly’s Out Run was actually the first thing that tipped me off to Charlottesville’s gaming scene. I was out at dinner when I noticed Sega’s classic driving game, which I had sunk hours into at home but had never seen in the flesh, squeezed between Donkey Kong and Centipede. I couldn’t believe it: a true blue Out Run cab. It’s a monumental piece of video game history, perhaps the first game simply about the thrill of driving—a racing game so stylish it opens not with a starting grid but with a radio dial so you can pick your tunes.

Inspiring such delight seems to be the theme for Firefly’s game room, which has been a feature of the restaurant since it opened in 2014. Meece recalls that her partner Mark Weber envisioned Firefly from the outset as a blend of craft beer and old-school arcade games. It was his longtime passion project, one crafted during a bout with cancer that ultimately took his life just two months after the downtown spot opened. 

Though Weber had never run a restaurant before, he tapped into something essential about arcade games: their undeniable connection to bars. Long before the advent of the “barcade,” video games were market tested and ultimately flourished in the hands of bar and restaurant patrons, who could challenge each other to games of Pong or Space Invaders between sips. That tradition is alive and well in Charlottesville, where you can play the No Fear, Monopoly, and Harley-Davidson pinball machines in the smoky game room at Miller’s, or head to Champion Brewing and cozy up to their five flashy LCD panel-equipped pinball games themed after Jurassic Park, Deadpool, and more. It’s really something watching scenes from “The Munsters” play intermittently on its appropriately ghoulish table.

Champion Brewing’s cozy game room features five modern pinball tables with LCD displays, which play animations and video clips on each respective machine. Image: Eze Amos.

Nowadays, rather than being a testing ground for new games, Charlottesville restaurants are looking to keep guests coming back for the games they know and can master. Patrick McClure, owner of Lucky Blue’s and Brightside, says the games in the beach pub were selected because “we wanted some of those throwback machines.”

“Golden Tee and Buck Hunter used to be the big machines, especially on the Corner,” says McClure, who hopes to get a Big Buck Hunter machine in Brightside someday. “That was like the thing we all got really good at 10, 15 years ago.”

If you can’t wait to try Buck Hunter and don’t mind driving up 29 North, you can play it alongside the blisteringly modern selection at Bowlero, where the norm is ceiling-high screens for eye-spinning games like Space Invaders Frenzy and huge car seats for over-the-top racers like Cruis’n Blast (which only features a gas pedal because it’s so intense that there’s no reason to brake). Of course, Bowlero fills another classic gaming niche: the bowling alley plus arcade.

But perhaps no place attracts pinball and video game devotees like Decades. The only true arcade in town, Decades is built on the personal collection of Dr. Paul Yates, an ophthalmologist at the University of Virginia. Fittingly, the arcade features machines from across the ages, with an impressive collection of early pinball dating back to the 1950s with Gottlieb’s Silver, up to the modern day with a Stern machine themed after the Disney+ show “The Mandalorian.”

I’ve been to Decades twice, and each time I’m in awe at its veritable museum’s worth of historic games in tip-top condition. Its vintage pinball machines are mechanical marvels that jitter and shunt into action as they start, resetting counters and feeding in a metal ball to ready up a new game. Classic ’80s video games are completely intact with their unique hardware: Zaxxon uses a flight stick to control your spaceship; Turbo has a wheel, pedal, shifter, and even faux gauges; Reactor has its rolling trackball; and Arkanoid has its spinning paddle. And there are fascinating oddities like Baby Pac-Man, which combines a physical pinball table with a video screen of traditional Pac-Man maze chase gameplay, swapping between the two as you play.

Craft brews and gaming unite at Firefly, where guests can play arcade games, board games, and fan-favorite pinball machines like The Addams Family. Image: Eze Amos.

Some of these games I had only ever read about—and yet here they were in Charlottesville.

“We really are passionate about being a teacher in the community,” says Lindsey Daniels, who joined Decades as arcade manager after a career in restauranteering. Daniels has meticulously laid out each space in the arcade by theme, era, tech, and popularity. “A lot of what we have in there is part of history, not only from the history of gaming but also from the history of STEM, like what was happening in computers and electronics at that time, and then just actual American history. … I like to group by when things happened. I have worked on the pinball room to pretty much do that, so that each row makes sense as to a decade.”

“I look for things people will like, but also things where they have no idea it existed,” says Yates, who began Decades as Paul’s Pinball Palace in 2018. Yates says the business acquires many of its games broken, but he sources parts to repair the machines to their original form. It’s common for arcade game collectors to swap out old finicky cathode ray tube monitors with LCD screens, but Yates wants to remain faithful to the game’s engineering. “That’s how I played the game to begin with, and that’s how I want to continue to play the game. So, I will go repair whatever needs to be done on the CRT until it’s literally on its last legs and you just can’t use it anymore. And in that case I will find another CRT.

“You can’t just sit on a couch playing a [PlayStation 5] and replicate what I’ve got there.”

On a Sunday at Decades, as I fiddled around with a new Alien-themed pinball table, a group of about six kids streamed in. After getting their wristbands, they excitedly peeled off to different rooms, hands ready to play games several times their ages. I feel like one of them when I tilt a joystick or pull the plunger on a pinball machine. It’s a raw thrill shooting through a wild nerve that connects me to something timeless, something generously passed down to me by another generation. 

Categories
Culture Food & Drink

Savoring the seasons

A menu is a canvas for Executive Chef Alicia Simmons, who presents Through the Seasons, a thoughtfully crafted dining experience, every three to four months at Tavola. The seasonal one-day-only dinner is filled with the restaurant’s recent daily specials, prepared in collaboration with chef de cuisine Kendall Moore. Simmons typically handles the dessert course, while Moore flexes his skills on the mains, both supported by a talented line of cooks.

At their most recent dinner in September, the first plate—an “amuse” or quick appetizer—consisted of a homey and warm English muffin with anchovy butter, a salted tomato and shiso taco, crisp in taste and soft in texture, and a fragrant and bold cannoli of squash and mascarpone. It was all paired with a sparkling red Patrick Bottex Bugey-Cerdon La Cueille wine, and my palate was ready for the sumptuous flavors to follow.

In the Tavola kitchen: Janey Gioiosa, Ryan High, Brandon Miller, Alicia Simmons, and Kendall Moore. Photo: Tristan Williams.

The antipasti offered multiple options, including roasted oysters with tomato caper relish and crispy calamari with grilled peaches, blistered shishito, Meyer lemon, and caper aioli. The oyster was so buttery and smooth that I wanted to sip it right out of the shell, and the pairing of a Domaine Michel Brégeon Muscadet was a nice soft companion with a pleasant silky taste. By contrast, the calamari, tender on the inside, was delicate and bursting with flavor from the caper aioli. Grilled peach was an inspired element, adding some playful fruity notes, while the shishito peppers were savory and welcome, commanding my attention. This colorful dish was paired with a funky, bright, and slightly sour Sono Montenidoli Tradizionale.

For the entrata, I was treated to grilled halibut with heirloom caponata and basil and fennel salad, and a roasted duck breast with local cabbage and duck jus. The halibut was moist, tender, brusque, and delicious—flavorful but not in your face. Sweet in some places, the dish entertained my entire mouth, and paired nicely with a glass of Tenuta Terraviva MPH, a wine with mango and pineapple flavors and a clean finish. The roasted duck arrived with a strong, salty fragrance, a fatty cut with smooth texture and warmth, swimming in savory jus. The veggie pairings, dark and wispy, contrasted with the wilder duck, and came alive with a strong pour of Davide Carlone Boca.

Finally, the dolci, a blackberry mousse cake with chocolate cookie crumble was paired with an espresso Manhattan. The mousse, bright, fluffy, crunchy, and oh-so chocolatey, was a perfect match for the iced latte-like cocktail. I left with a fond memory of soft, whipped mousse and a bold coffee flavor—a whiff of an Italian café.

Categories
News

Good enough?

As Bob Good’s two-year term comes to a close, the representative for Virginia’s 5th Congressional District has reason to feel secure in a potential victory on November 8—VA-5 has elected Republicans for years, with the last Democrat winning by a hair in 2008.

For this article, C-VILLE Weekly wanted to hear Good defend his record in his own voice. However, after multiple attempts to speak with the representative, the candidate didn’t return our calls by press time. So, because Bob Good won’t talk to us, here’s what we dug up on him.

Raised in the Lynchburg area, Good, 57, paints a portrait of his early life that places his family at the edge of poverty.

“I knew what it was like to be in the free lunch line at school,” he said at a candidates forum in 2020, “or to walk a mile down the street to the grocery store because we didn’t have a car, and to buy groceries with food stamps.”

In order to attend his private Christian high school, Good accepted financial assistance, and earned a partial wrestling scholarship to cover his tuition at Liberty University, where he earned his bachelor’s degree in finance and his master of business administration degree. Wrestling became a fixture for him—his scholarship came after he won a state championship—and he eventually became a coach and administrator of the sport. After working for CitiFinancial for 17 years, he returned to Liberty as an associate athletic director.

Good’s faith is a focus of his life and his politics—he identifies as a “biblical conservative.” But his platform rests with the most far-right members of the Republican party. Before he announced his congressional candidacy, he served on the Campbell County Board of Supervisors from 2016 to 2019, where he elbowed his way to the front line of the culture wars. According to The Washington Post, Good joined his fellow county supervisors in condemning the Supreme Court’s 2015 decision legalizing same-sex marriage, and used his position to advocate for state laws denying gender-affirming bathroom use. He also sought to make Campbell County a “Second Amendment sanctuary.”

In his campaigning and during his first congressional term, Good has stayed in lockstep with former president Donald Trump and his ilk. Good has called the COVID-19 pandemic “phony,” and joined notorious GOP members like Marjorie Taylor Green in calling for Anthony Fauci’s firing.

While Good did condemn the storming of the U.S. Capitol Building in January 2021, he also was one of more than 100 Republicans who objected to the Electoral College votes submitted in the 2020 presidential election. Specifically, Good wished to reject EC votes from six states: Arizona, Georgia, Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin, all of which Joe Biden and Kamala Harris won. When legislation was introduced to award Congressional Gold Medals to members of the U.S. Capitol Police and D.C. Metropolitan Police for their defense of the Capitol building and the lawmakers inside, Good voted against it.

Though the ’21 insurrection would result in the death of nine people, Good said just months earlier that the threat of violence could only come from one side of the political aisle. “They’re calling for revolution,” Good said about the “radical left” at a private campaign event in fall 2020. “So, the threat is clearly to our democracy, to our republic, to our freedoms is coming from the radical left. I don’t see any evidence of a threat from the conservative side.”

As of October 24, Good has sponsored 37 pieces of legislation, which he told Cardinal News earlier in the month made him “the leader among Virginia Republicans in this Congress with the most bills sponsored.” Many of his proposals attack hot-button issues, such as a September bill supporting a “private right of action” for parents to oppose the teaching of “racial discrimination theory” or “radical gender theory” in schools, and a January 2021 bill denying asylum to undocumented migrants convicted of a crime. None of Good’s bills have made it out of committee.

During Biden’s tenure, Good has only voted in line with the president 3.1 percent of the time, according to FiveThirtyEight. Specifically, Good has been in favor of just three things: repealing the 2002 authorization of military force against Iraq in 2021, extending pandemic-era Medicare telehealth flexibilities this past July, and modifications to merger filing fees and the disclosure of foreign merger subsidies.

Good has voted no on bills that appear to align with his platform, giving a thumbs-down to three September 2022 measures that would support law enforcement agencies across the country. One measure offered agencies funding to investigate unsolved homicides and nonfatal shootings, another aimed to financially assist governments in training mental health professionals to respond to appropriate emergency calls, and a third sought to provide grants for agencies with under 125 officers. (However, these votes are consistent with his fiscally conservative platform.) All three passed the House.

But Good loves to talk, and that may be a big appeal for his voters, especially in the more conservative South Side of the 5th District. “Good is basically a complainer,” says J. Miles Coleman, associate editor of Sabato’s Crystal Ball at the University of Virginia Center for Politics. “You look at his Twitter feed, all he talks about is ‘This nation is going to hell under the Biden administration.’ He talks about cultural issues often.”

Sabato’s Crystal Ball has VA-5 as a safe Republican seat this year, says Coleman.

Read part one of C-VILLE’s election coverage here.

Categories
News

Private matters

On the evening of October 11, Danielle Keats Citron took the stage in the Swanson Case room at the downtown library to speak about her latest book, The Fight for Privacy: Protecting Dignity, Identity, and Love in the Digital Age. The event, organized by Cville Dems, put Citron in conversation with her friend and peer William Hitchcock, a UVA history professor and co-host of the “Democracy in Danger” podcast.

Citron, the Jefferson Scholars Foundation Schenck Distinguished Professor in Law and Caddell and Chapman Professor of Law at UVA, won a MacArthur “genius grant” in 2019. For years, her work has focused on the intersection of law and technology—an area she believes is in dire need of reform.

“Law does a bad job,” said Citron. “Law is inadequate to the task” of protecting our private lives.

At the outset of the talk, Hitchcock—one of the first to read the book in manuscript form—warned the crowd that Citron would both dazzle and frighten with her tales of privacy violations.

In writing The Fight for Privacy, she interviewed 60 women around the world who had intimate details of their lives spread online without their consent. In one instance, a woman she calls Joan stayed in a hotel on a work trip, and upon returning home got an email from someone who had sent her a PornHub link to a video of her undressing and using the bathroom in the hotel. Accompanying the link was a threat that the sender would distribute the footage to her family, friends, and co-workers if Joan didn’t respond with sexually explicit videos of herself.

When Joan didn’t reply, the sender made good on the threat. This attack, with what Citron identifies as “nonconsensual pornography,” upended Joan’s life and career because her real name was embedded in each posted video, and scrubbing it off the internet was impossible.

“Victims have told me it’s an incurable disease,” said Citron. “You can’t sue the platforms, they’re immune from responsibility, there are over 9,500 sites … their entire business model is nonconsensual intimate imagery.”

These sites are protected by what’s simply known as Section 230—a part of the Communications Decency Act—which shields online platforms from being treated as a publisher of user-uploaded content. And scenarios like Joan’s are similar to the trend of “revenge porn,” where jilted ex-partners share intimate imagery of someone without their consent.

“We figure ourselves out through our bodies,” said Citron. “We need to enjoy human dignity, social esteem, to be seen as fully integrated selves. But when we’re just a photo of a vagina online, we become a fragment. We’re not subjects or objects.”

Citron believes intimate privacy is central to human and civil rights. She’s written about the topic since 2008, studying the laws surrounding it. And she’s determined that existing laws don’t do enough to protect individual privacy in the 21st century. HIPAA, she uses as an example, can’t protect user searches on WebMD, or seal the data captured by a period-tracking app. Instead, privacy is viewed in the United States as a “consumer protection matter”: If companies are transparent about what they gather, they’re not liable for misleading users. Why they collect that data isn’t a question they’re compelled to answer.

“The notion is it’s part of the market data flow. It’s efficient, it’s profitable,” said Citron. “There isn’t anything standing in the way of the data broker business. We have to change that.”

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News

Digging in the archives

As soon as I sat down with Eva Surovell at Grit Coffee, I realized that I had no questions prepared. Normally, for me at least, this would be a terrible start to an interview. But as we were placing our orders, the editor-in-chief of The Cavalier Daily revealed herself to be so personable and eager to speak that I thought this meeting could simply be a conversation between two editors, a chance to talk shop—to just chat.

“I tell people I run the biggest gossip chain on Grounds,” Surovell said proudly. And what gossip she has! I asked to meet her for coffee the day she published her article on Bert Ellis Jr.’s role in inviting a prominent eugenics advocate, William Shockley, to speak at UVA in the 1970s. Ellis, one of Gov. Glenn Youngkin’s recent appointees to the university’s Board of Visitors, was already a controversial figure, but this stunning and well-researched story utilized the power of UVA’s Albert and Shirley Small Special Collections Library to shine a light on his divisive actions from nearly 50 years ago.

I was curious to know how she did it—how she was tipped off to this story and how she got ahold of people who hadn’t spoken to The Cavalier Daily in decades. But I also wanted to know more about her job, especially as I’m still fresh in my role as editor-in-chief at C-VILLE.

Today, Bert Ellis Jr. is a member of UVA’s Board of Visitors. In 1974, he was the tri-chairman and spokesman for the student-run University Union. Supplied photo.

“I like to say that I failed upwards at Cav Daily,” she said. “I quite literally got both of my jobs, news editor and managing editor, because someone else stepped down, not because I ran for them and won them. Editor-in-chief was the first Cav Daily election that I ever won, which is really weird.”

Maybe that’s a humblebrag—Surovell, a double major in English and French, clearly worked hard to be where she is now, and her appointments to each position show that her colleagues trusted her to do the work. She said she came to UVA with a plan: work at the student newspaper, join a sorority, and run for student council. But The Cavalier Daily was the only thing that stuck, and she’s poured her life into it.

“I just wanted to write,” she said. “That’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. Journalism seemed like a fun way of doing it.”

Transitioning from her first role as a sports reporter up the editing ladder came naturally, she said. But the personal sacrifices she’s had to make to fit everything together has left her unsure if she’d serve as an editor-in-chief at another paper. Because of the workload, she can’t take a full slate of classes. And when the buck stops at the top, there’s no one else to rely on when she can’t do something herself.

“The transition from writing to editing wasn’t as hard as the transition from editing to managing,”  Surovell said. “Managing is hard. I like to write, and I don’t get to do that much of it.”

But, sometimes, she does. The Ellis story started with a message from the Cav Daily’s anonymous tip line before the semester started. Surovell was at home in northern Virginia at the time, and figured she would look into it when she was back on Grounds and could sift through the archives. But curiosity gnawed away at her.

While she was watching a Jane Austen movie with her mother, she Googled “Shockley Bert Ellis controversy.” (“I am notoriously a terrible movie-watcher,” she said. “I cannot pay attention. I’m always on my laptop or doing something else.”) The first hit was a class taught by Claudrena N. Harold, titled Black Fire: The Struggle For Social Justice and Racial Equality at the University of Virginia, 1960-1995. There, on the course website, was a PDF of The Cavalier Daily from 1974 with the headline, “BSA Will Ask Union to Cancel Debate.”

“I clicked on it and my jaw just dropped,” said Surovell. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, it’s real.’”

The next morning, Surovell drove back to UVA and headed into the archives to take photos, documenting the back-and-forth between a young Ellis—then the tri-chairman and spokesman for the now-defunct student-run University Union—and other organizations like the Black Student Alliance. For Surovell, who’s always been fascinated by UVA’s 1970s history, the conflict both fit with her conception of what the university was like at the time, and stood out as a significant event she had never heard of before.

Surovell made a list of every person mentioned in the coverage who she could find, and set about trying to contact them.

“It proved extremely difficult, ’cause some people have passed away, most of the women had changed their names,” she said. And on a personal note, “a lot of these people were figures that were very iconic in UVA history, in 1970s history, and I was intimidated about reaching out to them.”

Many of the sources she contacted didn’t even know that Ellis was on the Board of Visitors.

Naturally, next came writing the story. Surovell writes on the floor (“I’m a floor girl”). But what comes after that? “Well,” she said, “I had to email Bert and Youngkin.”

They never responded. But the wait to hear back from them left Surovell nervous. She had just moved onto the Lawn, and her name was on her door. Considering that Ellis had already gone to a Lawn student’s door to cut down a sign with a razor blade, she was concerned that there would be personal backlash from him.

“I knew that he was on Grounds too, ’cause I had met him,” she said. “I met him probably two days before this article came out.” By chance, Surovell and Ellis had crossed paths at Grit Coffee while he was in town for a BOV meeting. “I was sitting there quite literally working on the article about him and he was sitting like 10 feet away from me.”

One of Surovell’s quirks as a writer is that she has a three-song playlist she listens to before publishing a stressful article—when we spoke, the last time she played it was before posting the Ellis story. “I played it like four times, and then I went on an anxiety run,” she said. “And then I played it again, and then I published it.” 

The Cavalier Daily and Surovell received glowing praise for the article, with professors and other professional journalists reaching out to compliment the work. In particular, staff from UVA Library’s Special Collections were pleased that their resources were used in such an extensive way.

“It’s just information that needs to be out there,” Surovell said about the “disappointing, not surprising” news on Ellis. “I’m glad that it’s out there—there’s work left to be done, for sure.”

Read the August 18, 2022, article “Ellis at center of controversy over eugenicist speaker while at U.Va., archives show” by Eva Surovell at cavalierdaily.com.