It was never my intention to form a food critique blog. I had originally envisioned this blog to include stories about food, reflections on my favorite foods- even recipes. Thing is, though- I hate my kitchen. Actually, I hate my whole apartment, but that's neither here nor there. The point is- I don't cook much in my own house (mostly due to lack of dishwasher) and the Boyfriend never has any food which to cook in his house. So until I get a better kitchen, I'll probably be posting mostly reviews of restaurants.
However, to keep my original idea somewhat alive, here is a story about food that is not a restaurant review, but I think it does reflect the importance of food.
Lunch is my enemy. I find it to be the most difficult meal of the day because it is relatively undefined. Breakfast is defined by, well breakfast food, and dinner is defined by larger, heartier meals- usually ones served warm. But what defines lunch? A sandwich? Perhaps, but we can't eat sandwiches every day for lunch, now can we? This is the fundamental question behind a problem the Boyfriend and I encounter all too often. It all starts with the question, "Are you getting hungry?"
Now, if it is somewhere in the earlier hours of the day this question poses no problem. Asked in the evening it becomes a question of dinner, and we seem to do okay with that one, too. However, if it is asked during the indisputable lunch hours... there is simply no telling what will happen next.
Well, the question popped up last Saturday and wouldn't you know it- I had an answer! "I am craving a chicken sandwich." I said confidently.
It was decided that we would get a chicken sandwich! Where, though? Well, we had some errands to run... surely there would be some chicken sandwich selling places on our way. That couldn't be too hard, could it? I knew the area where we were going to be had a Chilli's (I know, I know- a foodie like me eating at Chilli's- but I really like their chicken tenders!), but the Boyfriend wasn't in a Chilli's mood. Fine. Again, how hard could it be to find a chicken sandwich?
Getting near our destination we saw a Bennigan's and decided to give them a try- surely they were purveyors of chicken sandwiches. Although the restaurant was only about a quarter full, we were told by the hostess that we would have to wait five minutes (she even held out her hand to show us her five fingers, in case there was a misunderstanding). I assumed they were simply short-staffed and took a seat to wait out our five minutes.
Let's pause the story here to make something clear: I need to eat. Well, everyone needs to eat or they'll starve, but the thing with me is I need to eat. My blood sugar does weird things if I get too hungry and then I get cranky, I get a headache and essentially I just fall apart. I wasn't quite at that point when we walked into Bennigan's but I was definitely hungry.
Back to the story. After our five minutes of waiting were up we were seated and given menus. What do you know- they had a rather yummy looking sandwich. We decided on our orders and chatted while we waited to be served. And we waited. And waited. And waited some more. At no point did anyone come over to our table to even acknowledge our presence. We were being ignored, and I was getting annoyed. We waited a little while longer, but when I realized the people across from us were on their second beverages and still didn't have their food, I knew what kind of service we would get even if we ever were acknowledged. We left.
Between the five minute waiting period and the time spent being ignored at the table I had started to reach the level of dangerously hungry, and we weren't sure where to go from there. We drove and drove but simply found nothing that looked like it served food. Throwing the notion of chicken sandwiches out the window we pulled up to a favorite breakfast place (told you we were okay with breakfast food, didn't I?). It was 2:50 p.m., and the sign on the door said they closed at 3:00. We unanimously decided not to do that to the staff. After all, we like to eat there and would rather the staff not hate us.
Back in the car and driving. I was now well into the danger zone of hunger. Headache was full blown and I was past the point of caring what I ate.
Little did I know, the Boyfriend- that hero of mine- had a plan.
"A Chilli's!" I cried happily a few minutes later as we pulled into the parking lot.
"Yes," he said, resigned. "A Chilli's."
And you know what? That was one of the best chicken sandwiches I've ever had.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Ghost of RW
In my original explanation of Restaurant Week, I neglected a small bit of information: many participating restaurants extend their RW menus for the entire month of January (or August, if it's the summer RW). In actuality, I didn't neglect this info so much as I totally forgot about it. In any case, I had the pleasure of dining at Dino in Cleveland Park last Friday- and they were still on their RW menu.
Dino is right outside the Metro station (yes, across the street from Alero for those of you who are paying attention. I can't say a whole lot about the space itself; it's an awkward space, frankly, as it is a corner spot cut into a triangle. The colors they've used are warm and lovely, and the rustic furniture enforces a comfy, casual atmosphere- but it does remain that the space is simply a bit too cramped.
It's difficult to comment much on the service I get when I'm in a situation like I was at Dino. For those of you who don't know, I belong to a dinner group. There are dinners held by the group on Friday nights, and the reservations are usually for anywhere from 20 to 50 people. When you have 20 people, the service becomes something else entirely. It's often slower and it's not uncommon to get the sense that the wait staff is somewhat overwhelmed. Our waiter at Dino did alright, though. He was a bit slow, but he was never overwhelmed- he was always friendly and willing to answer a question. Aside from the fact that it took a little while to get our orders placed, I really don't feel like we had anything to complain about.
Dino was offering their whole menu (which is delightfully extensive) up for RW. I started with their Bufala cheese. I'm kind of picky about my "buffalo" cheese- the last time I tried some here in DC it was runny and had an oddly tangy flavor. Still, I had a good vibe from Dino. The menu described that the cheese would be served with olive tapenade, tomatoes and basil. (Incidentally, I think the key to good buffalo cheese is serving it with good, fresh basil.) To my delight I was served with a healthy portion of cheese, surouned on the plate by little mounds of the olive tapenade, chopped tomato and roasted red pepper. The tapenade was awesome, the tomatoes were fresh and yummy and the peppers were perfectly roasted.
My entree was "Orechietti ai Funghi"- a cup-shaped pasta served with a creamy mushroom sauce. It was excellent. The pasta was perfectly cooked, and had a texture that clearly indicated to me that it was hand made. Some cream based sauces are very heavy and slightly oily- this one wasn't. It was light and clung to the pasta perfectly, with a strong mushroom flavor. The mushrooms in the sauce actually made it appear gray-ish, but I'm a big fan of anyone willing to sacrifice appearance for flavor.
By the time dessert came around I was stuffed. If it hadn't been a RW special I would have skipped the sweets altogether. But it was RW and I can't say no to a dessert when it's included- especially when there is the offer of Tiramasu on the table. To be honest, Dino's Tiramasu wasn't the best I've ever had. Not that it was bad- far from it- but Tiramasu is a delicate dessert, and is often served too heavy, with too much espresso flavoring or with a spongy cake. Again, Dino's didn't committ any of these crimes against Tiramasu, but it just didn't quite hit the nail on the head, either. Honestly though, I was already sold- between the buffalo cheese and the mushroom pasta, I knew Dino was a winner.
It's kind of odd that my best RW meal wound up being after RW had officially ended. Still, I'm just grateful I had one at all. Dino is yummy- if you are in Cleveland Park and are feeling peckish, do check it out.
Dino is right outside the Metro station (yes, across the street from Alero for those of you who are paying attention. I can't say a whole lot about the space itself; it's an awkward space, frankly, as it is a corner spot cut into a triangle. The colors they've used are warm and lovely, and the rustic furniture enforces a comfy, casual atmosphere- but it does remain that the space is simply a bit too cramped.
It's difficult to comment much on the service I get when I'm in a situation like I was at Dino. For those of you who don't know, I belong to a dinner group. There are dinners held by the group on Friday nights, and the reservations are usually for anywhere from 20 to 50 people. When you have 20 people, the service becomes something else entirely. It's often slower and it's not uncommon to get the sense that the wait staff is somewhat overwhelmed. Our waiter at Dino did alright, though. He was a bit slow, but he was never overwhelmed- he was always friendly and willing to answer a question. Aside from the fact that it took a little while to get our orders placed, I really don't feel like we had anything to complain about.
Dino was offering their whole menu (which is delightfully extensive) up for RW. I started with their Bufala cheese. I'm kind of picky about my "buffalo" cheese- the last time I tried some here in DC it was runny and had an oddly tangy flavor. Still, I had a good vibe from Dino. The menu described that the cheese would be served with olive tapenade, tomatoes and basil. (Incidentally, I think the key to good buffalo cheese is serving it with good, fresh basil.) To my delight I was served with a healthy portion of cheese, surouned on the plate by little mounds of the olive tapenade, chopped tomato and roasted red pepper. The tapenade was awesome, the tomatoes were fresh and yummy and the peppers were perfectly roasted.
My entree was "Orechietti ai Funghi"- a cup-shaped pasta served with a creamy mushroom sauce. It was excellent. The pasta was perfectly cooked, and had a texture that clearly indicated to me that it was hand made. Some cream based sauces are very heavy and slightly oily- this one wasn't. It was light and clung to the pasta perfectly, with a strong mushroom flavor. The mushrooms in the sauce actually made it appear gray-ish, but I'm a big fan of anyone willing to sacrifice appearance for flavor.
By the time dessert came around I was stuffed. If it hadn't been a RW special I would have skipped the sweets altogether. But it was RW and I can't say no to a dessert when it's included- especially when there is the offer of Tiramasu on the table. To be honest, Dino's Tiramasu wasn't the best I've ever had. Not that it was bad- far from it- but Tiramasu is a delicate dessert, and is often served too heavy, with too much espresso flavoring or with a spongy cake. Again, Dino's didn't committ any of these crimes against Tiramasu, but it just didn't quite hit the nail on the head, either. Honestly though, I was already sold- between the buffalo cheese and the mushroom pasta, I knew Dino was a winner.
It's kind of odd that my best RW meal wound up being after RW had officially ended. Still, I'm just grateful I had one at all. Dino is yummy- if you are in Cleveland Park and are feeling peckish, do check it out.
Monday, January 22, 2007
A Short History of Me/I Love Mexican Food
If you're reading this blog, chances are you know my story, but for those of you just tuning in here's a refresher: I grew up in New York, lived real briefly in New Hampshire and then moved to South Carolina, where I unexpectedly stayed for about 8 years. I moved to the D.C. area in March of 2006.
If you're not familiar with South Carolina then the distinction between South Carolina as a whole and Charleston means nothing to you. Let me clarify: Charleston is very very different from the rest of the state on many levels. For one thing, Charleston is a mecca for foodies everywhere. Charleston formerly had a Johnson & Wales campus. J&W has left the area, but the niche was filled by an expanded culinary program at a local tech school which, while not having the noteworthy name, is by all accounts an excellent program. As such, the market in Charleston is flooded with great chefs who stick around to take advantage of the high population of tourists, opening one great restaurant after another. For another thing, Charleston is a fairly sophisticated, if tiny tiny city.
Yet the fine dining of Charleston is not what I miss most. I miss the low country cooking of Jestine's, the crepe stand that was always in the farmer's market, the scones of Normandy Farms bakery (oh sweet Lord those were good!) and the ever ready availability of great, cheap Mexican food. Charleston is home to two fantastic places in particular: La Hacienda and Senor Tequila's. These were not fancy places that tried to replicate authentic Mexican cuisine- they were just hole-in-the-wall type places that served burritos, tacos and quesadillas faster than a McDonald's drive through. My former Roommate and I used to swear that the kitchens were staffed with psychics who knew you were coming and what you were going to order- that's how fast the food would come out. The platters were huge and the bill was tiny. It's no wonder we were regulars.
Imagine my dismay when, since moving to the D.C. area, I haven't been able to find a single substitute for these restaurants! I'm not sure I can really convey the difference between a La Hacienda and a Chipotle, but trust me- it's a HUGE difference.
An old buddy from High School (henceforth known as OBFHS) has lived here longer than I have, so I thought he would be the best bet for helping me find a place. He suggested Alero in Cleveland Park, so it was off we went on Thursday night.
Alero is so easily accessible it's almost silly; it's literally right across the street from the Cleveland Park Metro station. The space is very small, but not unpleasantly appointed, and we were lucky enough to snag seats overlooking the street from the second floor. The food came quickly and was hot when it arrived. I had a taco plate that came with three tacos filled to the brim with beef and a side of rice. The food wasn't bad, although it was just a tad on the bland side. The bill wasn't so bad, either. I do recommend Alero if you are in the mood to drink cheaply: they have very inexpensive house wines and sangria. I didn't try the sangria myself on this trip, but at less than $10 for a half-decanter, I'd say it's worth sampling.
I can't say Alero is the restaurant at the end of my quest for great, cheap Mexican food, but it will do in the meantime. At the very least, I'll use it to get my fix until I find someplace even better.
If you're not familiar with South Carolina then the distinction between South Carolina as a whole and Charleston means nothing to you. Let me clarify: Charleston is very very different from the rest of the state on many levels. For one thing, Charleston is a mecca for foodies everywhere. Charleston formerly had a Johnson & Wales campus. J&W has left the area, but the niche was filled by an expanded culinary program at a local tech school which, while not having the noteworthy name, is by all accounts an excellent program. As such, the market in Charleston is flooded with great chefs who stick around to take advantage of the high population of tourists, opening one great restaurant after another. For another thing, Charleston is a fairly sophisticated, if tiny tiny city.
Yet the fine dining of Charleston is not what I miss most. I miss the low country cooking of Jestine's, the crepe stand that was always in the farmer's market, the scones of Normandy Farms bakery (oh sweet Lord those were good!) and the ever ready availability of great, cheap Mexican food. Charleston is home to two fantastic places in particular: La Hacienda and Senor Tequila's. These were not fancy places that tried to replicate authentic Mexican cuisine- they were just hole-in-the-wall type places that served burritos, tacos and quesadillas faster than a McDonald's drive through. My former Roommate and I used to swear that the kitchens were staffed with psychics who knew you were coming and what you were going to order- that's how fast the food would come out. The platters were huge and the bill was tiny. It's no wonder we were regulars.
Imagine my dismay when, since moving to the D.C. area, I haven't been able to find a single substitute for these restaurants! I'm not sure I can really convey the difference between a La Hacienda and a Chipotle, but trust me- it's a HUGE difference.
An old buddy from High School (henceforth known as OBFHS) has lived here longer than I have, so I thought he would be the best bet for helping me find a place. He suggested Alero in Cleveland Park, so it was off we went on Thursday night.
Alero is so easily accessible it's almost silly; it's literally right across the street from the Cleveland Park Metro station. The space is very small, but not unpleasantly appointed, and we were lucky enough to snag seats overlooking the street from the second floor. The food came quickly and was hot when it arrived. I had a taco plate that came with three tacos filled to the brim with beef and a side of rice. The food wasn't bad, although it was just a tad on the bland side. The bill wasn't so bad, either. I do recommend Alero if you are in the mood to drink cheaply: they have very inexpensive house wines and sangria. I didn't try the sangria myself on this trip, but at less than $10 for a half-decanter, I'd say it's worth sampling.
I can't say Alero is the restaurant at the end of my quest for great, cheap Mexican food, but it will do in the meantime. At the very least, I'll use it to get my fix until I find someplace even better.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
No Great Shakes
Well, truth be told, I did two more RW events last weekend. You haven't seen the reviews on here for two reasons: primarily, I am lazy; secondarily, neither were fantabulous. So I shall give the briefest of run-downs.
Friday night the Boyfriend and I went to the Fourth Estate at the National Press Club. I had been during August's RW and had a fantastic time. This time, not so much. We weren't exactly treated rudely, rather we were treated indifferently while those dining around us were treated to a much warmer hospitality. Understandably, this left us feeling a bit awkward and out of place. The food was yummy, though. I started with a salad that was drowned in too much vinegar, but recovered over a delightfully prepared and presented duck. It was served with parsnip mashed potatoes (my favorite!), a mushroom sauce and fresh currants. I've always wanted to try a fresh currants because they are just so pretty! I know that sounds silly, but really- what a gorgeous berry! Actually, this dish was the epitome of dinning out: it was presented beautifully AND it was tasty. (Maybe I should think of taking pictures? Hmmm... ) The Boyfriend had a steak, which sadly he did not enjoy as much as he had hoped. However, the sauce with the steak- a mushroom burgundy which he allowed me to sample- was simply divine. When our dessert came it was brought by a different server who was very warm and friendly, informing the Boyfriend that the dessert he had chosen was a personal favorite. After an hour of icy service it was almost shocking to be acknowledged that way, but in a nice way. I wish the whole meal had come with that kind of atmosphere.
Saturday night we dined at Bombay Club, a downtown Indian eatery. My love affair with Indian food is a fairly recent development, despite having grown up in a town highly populated with Indian families. I'm Irish by background, you see, and can rarely handle anything hotter than table pepper. But I'm learning, really I am! About a year ago I discovered three things: 1) One can learn to appreciate spicy food, 2) Spicy food can be adjusted to be less hot for wimps such as myself, 3) Indian food is some of the best on the planet! Since then I've been keen to try as many different Indian restaurants as possible, and Bombay Club has a very good reputation. It also has an expensive reputation, hence the RW reservation!
Sadly, Bombay Club was doomed not to impress. The food was excellent and the service was perfectly attentive. The problem, you see, is that I have become accustomed to a little place over in Clarendon called Delhi Club, which serves wonderful food in a lovely atmosphere at half the price of Bombay Club. The Boyfriend and I definitely enjoyed our meals, but we both confessed afterward that we would never choose Bombay Club over Delhi Club. (Yes, I do promise to do a write up of Delhi Club on this blog the next time we eat there!)
The one thing that I can really remark on from that meal was the dessert. We both had the same thing, a kind of saffron infused ice cream. I'm a big fan of savory ice cream, having sampled basil flavored ice cream in Charleston a few years ago. If you've never tried this, you should. I can't recommend you will love it, but it's a fascinating experience in which your taste buds and your brain go back and forth in a conversation something like this:
Taste buds: "Wow! That's really basil-y!"
Brain: "That can't be right- it's ice cream. Try again!"
Taste buds: "Hmmm... yep! Still really basil-y! But sweet, too!"
Brain: "What? Oh, I'm so confused..."
Taste buds: "Well? Do we like this or what?"
Brain: "I'm not sure! Just keep eating it and I'll get back to you..."
I make absolutely no guarantees that your experience will be exactly like that, but I promise you it will be interesting.
There are my two reviews from the final RW experiences of January '07. Not one "this was fabulous!" among them. Sigh. Still, I look forward to August! I plan on trying more new places in August and re-visiting ones I've already been to less. Have no fear, though- there will be lots of reviews written between now and then!
Up this week: Cleveland Park goes Mexican... and then turns around and goes Italian the very next day!
Friday night the Boyfriend and I went to the Fourth Estate at the National Press Club. I had been during August's RW and had a fantastic time. This time, not so much. We weren't exactly treated rudely, rather we were treated indifferently while those dining around us were treated to a much warmer hospitality. Understandably, this left us feeling a bit awkward and out of place. The food was yummy, though. I started with a salad that was drowned in too much vinegar, but recovered over a delightfully prepared and presented duck. It was served with parsnip mashed potatoes (my favorite!), a mushroom sauce and fresh currants. I've always wanted to try a fresh currants because they are just so pretty! I know that sounds silly, but really- what a gorgeous berry! Actually, this dish was the epitome of dinning out: it was presented beautifully AND it was tasty. (Maybe I should think of taking pictures? Hmmm... ) The Boyfriend had a steak, which sadly he did not enjoy as much as he had hoped. However, the sauce with the steak- a mushroom burgundy which he allowed me to sample- was simply divine. When our dessert came it was brought by a different server who was very warm and friendly, informing the Boyfriend that the dessert he had chosen was a personal favorite. After an hour of icy service it was almost shocking to be acknowledged that way, but in a nice way. I wish the whole meal had come with that kind of atmosphere.
Saturday night we dined at Bombay Club, a downtown Indian eatery. My love affair with Indian food is a fairly recent development, despite having grown up in a town highly populated with Indian families. I'm Irish by background, you see, and can rarely handle anything hotter than table pepper. But I'm learning, really I am! About a year ago I discovered three things: 1) One can learn to appreciate spicy food, 2) Spicy food can be adjusted to be less hot for wimps such as myself, 3) Indian food is some of the best on the planet! Since then I've been keen to try as many different Indian restaurants as possible, and Bombay Club has a very good reputation. It also has an expensive reputation, hence the RW reservation!
Sadly, Bombay Club was doomed not to impress. The food was excellent and the service was perfectly attentive. The problem, you see, is that I have become accustomed to a little place over in Clarendon called Delhi Club, which serves wonderful food in a lovely atmosphere at half the price of Bombay Club. The Boyfriend and I definitely enjoyed our meals, but we both confessed afterward that we would never choose Bombay Club over Delhi Club. (Yes, I do promise to do a write up of Delhi Club on this blog the next time we eat there!)
The one thing that I can really remark on from that meal was the dessert. We both had the same thing, a kind of saffron infused ice cream. I'm a big fan of savory ice cream, having sampled basil flavored ice cream in Charleston a few years ago. If you've never tried this, you should. I can't recommend you will love it, but it's a fascinating experience in which your taste buds and your brain go back and forth in a conversation something like this:
Taste buds: "Wow! That's really basil-y!"
Brain: "That can't be right- it's ice cream. Try again!"
Taste buds: "Hmmm... yep! Still really basil-y! But sweet, too!"
Brain: "What? Oh, I'm so confused..."
Taste buds: "Well? Do we like this or what?"
Brain: "I'm not sure! Just keep eating it and I'll get back to you..."
I make absolutely no guarantees that your experience will be exactly like that, but I promise you it will be interesting.
There are my two reviews from the final RW experiences of January '07. Not one "this was fabulous!" among them. Sigh. Still, I look forward to August! I plan on trying more new places in August and re-visiting ones I've already been to less. Have no fear, though- there will be lots of reviews written between now and then!
Up this week: Cleveland Park goes Mexican... and then turns around and goes Italian the very next day!
Friday, January 12, 2007
What a Boar!
There are three main facets to the dining out experience: the food, the presentation, and the service. I think if you have been following along with my culinary adventures thus far you will not be surprised to hear me say that presentation falls at the bottom of my list of importance. Yes, it is neat be presented with a plate of some artistic looking dish, but in the end you're just going to chew it up anyway. After all, some of the worst looking dishes are some of the best tasting ones.
I would be hard pressed, however, to try to determine whether the food or the service is more important in the experience. In the end, I think it depends on the situation. If you are hosting an important business dinner, a restaurant which provides you with outstanding service and unremarkable food is better than a restaurant full of rude servers and stellar food.
It came to pass that the Boss invited me to lunch one day this week. She really wanted to experience RW, but not having sampled as much of this city's offerings as I have, she wasn't sure where to go. We would set out with my knowledge and her credit card and have at it. I chose Urbana, a restaurant I had visited once in September and longed to return to.
My memory of Urbana was of excellent service and superb food. It has been said, however, that if you have a truly great memory of an establishment you should never go back there, lest your second experience taint the memory of your first. I wish I had heeded this advice.
Located down in Dupont Circle, Urbana has the flash of trendiness with none of the pretension. The space is semi-underground, providing for very few windows. It is tastefully decorated in understated dark and earth tones with very bright spot-lighting thrown in here and there to create a fun, interesting effect. We were seated at one of their booths, which I don't particularly like by the way; I'm a big fan of booths but the ones at Urbana force the occupants to sit at the very ends of the seats, as far away from one another as possible while your coats, bags, etc. get to languish in the large empty space in between. Very strange. Upon sitting, the first thing I noticed was lipstick all over one of the pre-set wine glasses. I pointed this out to the gentleman who sat us (the use of "maitre d' " here seems too grand) and he apologized, quickly whisking the glass away and returning with a fresh one, but it was an ill omen.
We were presented with the RW menus. Every restaurant handles RW differently, with some allowing the whole menu as an option and others offering a more limited selection. Urbana is one of the strictest menus I've seen, with only two appetizer choices, two entree choices and one dessert. With the exception of the dessert (creme brulee) I had no idea what some of the other options were. I ordered an appetizer that I could only figure out had something to do with eggs and olives, and the wild boar entree. (The other entree was salmon, but I don't eat fish, and as long as it's not fish I'm willing to try almost kind of unusual meat.)
The Boss ordered a tomato soup and the boar as well, along with a glass of red wine. The wine came back to the table with bits of cork floating in it. For a place that bills itself as a "wine bar", as Urbana does, I just couldn't believe they had actually served a glass that way. They weren't small bits of cork, either- big floating chunks they were. I pointed this out to the server and she returned in a moment with a fresh, cork-free glass.
My appetizer turned out to be a poached egg served over some hard, crouton-like chunks of bread mixed with scallions, onions and other herbs. I moved the egg off gingerly (what is such a picky eater doing writing a food blog, eh?) and sampled the stuff underneath. It looked quite plain but was really very tasty. I might complain that there weren't enough olives, but then again, I'll always complain that there aren't enough olives. The Boss remarked that her tomato soup was fine, but not noteworthy.
Next came the boar. I was presented with a plate of wide noodles covered in a ragout containing large chunks of meat. If I hadn't known better I would have said it was beef. I sat politely, eagerly waiting for my Boss to get her plate so I could dig in and sample this stuff- it smelled great. A few minutes went by but no food came for her. Finally we flagged down the server who said that she didn't realize my Boss had ordered an entree as well. So much for the great service of my first Urbana experience; lipstick on the glass, cork in the wine and a forgotten entree. Ah well.
The boar ragout was wonderful! The flavors were intense and gamy, but not overwhelming at all. The texture of the meat is hard to explain, although I was using the word rough to try to convey it. It wasn't tough, but it wasn't tender either. It was stringy, but not hard to chew. Hmm... Yep, can't do any better than that. It boils down to this: if you have the opportunity to sample some wild boar, I do recommend it.
After our plates were empty and taken away, we were presented with the dessert of butterscotch creme brulee. I am a big fan of creme brulee, and as such I'm kind of picky about it. One spoonful of Urbana's delicious, creamy version, covered with the signature crispy, slightly burnt outer layer, and I was momentarily transported to another world. I would rank this as one of the top five creme brulees of all time- and that is saying something.
Still on our sugar high, we prepared to settle the tab and set off gloomily for our office once more. When the check finally came it wrongly listed three entrees rather than two. When it was finally corrected it took far too long for the server to come retrieve it; she walked several times through the dining room without once looking around at her tables and even stopped to chat with the bartender for a few minutes. By the time we had paid and gotten the credit card back, the server was irredeemable in our eyes. The truly sad thing about that is our grumbling is what left us with Urbana- not our memories of the wild boar and yummy creme brulee.
It wasn't the lunch it should have been. The food was excellent but we had received what I would rate as just plain bad service. I'd be willing to give Urbana another try though, even if only for one more crack at their creme brulee.
I would be hard pressed, however, to try to determine whether the food or the service is more important in the experience. In the end, I think it depends on the situation. If you are hosting an important business dinner, a restaurant which provides you with outstanding service and unremarkable food is better than a restaurant full of rude servers and stellar food.
It came to pass that the Boss invited me to lunch one day this week. She really wanted to experience RW, but not having sampled as much of this city's offerings as I have, she wasn't sure where to go. We would set out with my knowledge and her credit card and have at it. I chose Urbana, a restaurant I had visited once in September and longed to return to.
My memory of Urbana was of excellent service and superb food. It has been said, however, that if you have a truly great memory of an establishment you should never go back there, lest your second experience taint the memory of your first. I wish I had heeded this advice.
Located down in Dupont Circle, Urbana has the flash of trendiness with none of the pretension. The space is semi-underground, providing for very few windows. It is tastefully decorated in understated dark and earth tones with very bright spot-lighting thrown in here and there to create a fun, interesting effect. We were seated at one of their booths, which I don't particularly like by the way; I'm a big fan of booths but the ones at Urbana force the occupants to sit at the very ends of the seats, as far away from one another as possible while your coats, bags, etc. get to languish in the large empty space in between. Very strange. Upon sitting, the first thing I noticed was lipstick all over one of the pre-set wine glasses. I pointed this out to the gentleman who sat us (the use of "maitre d' " here seems too grand) and he apologized, quickly whisking the glass away and returning with a fresh one, but it was an ill omen.
We were presented with the RW menus. Every restaurant handles RW differently, with some allowing the whole menu as an option and others offering a more limited selection. Urbana is one of the strictest menus I've seen, with only two appetizer choices, two entree choices and one dessert. With the exception of the dessert (creme brulee) I had no idea what some of the other options were. I ordered an appetizer that I could only figure out had something to do with eggs and olives, and the wild boar entree. (The other entree was salmon, but I don't eat fish, and as long as it's not fish I'm willing to try almost kind of unusual meat.)
The Boss ordered a tomato soup and the boar as well, along with a glass of red wine. The wine came back to the table with bits of cork floating in it. For a place that bills itself as a "wine bar", as Urbana does, I just couldn't believe they had actually served a glass that way. They weren't small bits of cork, either- big floating chunks they were. I pointed this out to the server and she returned in a moment with a fresh, cork-free glass.
My appetizer turned out to be a poached egg served over some hard, crouton-like chunks of bread mixed with scallions, onions and other herbs. I moved the egg off gingerly (what is such a picky eater doing writing a food blog, eh?) and sampled the stuff underneath. It looked quite plain but was really very tasty. I might complain that there weren't enough olives, but then again, I'll always complain that there aren't enough olives. The Boss remarked that her tomato soup was fine, but not noteworthy.
Next came the boar. I was presented with a plate of wide noodles covered in a ragout containing large chunks of meat. If I hadn't known better I would have said it was beef. I sat politely, eagerly waiting for my Boss to get her plate so I could dig in and sample this stuff- it smelled great. A few minutes went by but no food came for her. Finally we flagged down the server who said that she didn't realize my Boss had ordered an entree as well. So much for the great service of my first Urbana experience; lipstick on the glass, cork in the wine and a forgotten entree. Ah well.
The boar ragout was wonderful! The flavors were intense and gamy, but not overwhelming at all. The texture of the meat is hard to explain, although I was using the word rough to try to convey it. It wasn't tough, but it wasn't tender either. It was stringy, but not hard to chew. Hmm... Yep, can't do any better than that. It boils down to this: if you have the opportunity to sample some wild boar, I do recommend it.
After our plates were empty and taken away, we were presented with the dessert of butterscotch creme brulee. I am a big fan of creme brulee, and as such I'm kind of picky about it. One spoonful of Urbana's delicious, creamy version, covered with the signature crispy, slightly burnt outer layer, and I was momentarily transported to another world. I would rank this as one of the top five creme brulees of all time- and that is saying something.
Still on our sugar high, we prepared to settle the tab and set off gloomily for our office once more. When the check finally came it wrongly listed three entrees rather than two. When it was finally corrected it took far too long for the server to come retrieve it; she walked several times through the dining room without once looking around at her tables and even stopped to chat with the bartender for a few minutes. By the time we had paid and gotten the credit card back, the server was irredeemable in our eyes. The truly sad thing about that is our grumbling is what left us with Urbana- not our memories of the wild boar and yummy creme brulee.
It wasn't the lunch it should have been. The food was excellent but we had received what I would rate as just plain bad service. I'd be willing to give Urbana another try though, even if only for one more crack at their creme brulee.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
My Two Cents About Two Bites
For my first RW experience of January 2007 I accepted an invitation for a girl's night out. The restaurant chosen would not have normally been one which appealed to me; it's not exactly Metro accessible and I had a feeling it would be a very frou frou experience. Frou frou is, of course, a fairly flexible term, so let me define it here in this context: any restaurant wherein the menu is so elaborate as to almost defy comprehension is frou frou; any restaurant wherein the food is served in spectacular ways which make it look more like art than a meal is frou frou; a restaurant that serves half a shrimp on an 8 x 10 plate with a single carrot and calls it your entree is frou frou. So you would not normally have found me at Farrah Olivia in Alexandria. However, I knew that no matter the turnout of the meal, the company would be excellent. Besides- it's RW, right?
The interior of Farrah Olivia is small but tastefully decorated. It is in a corner space, which provides two walls of windows looking over the outskirts of Old Town. Our server proved to be a young man who oscillated throughout the night between pretentious and friendly, but who overall looked out for us; we had one diner who was allergic to shellfish and another allergic to nuts and he diligently made sure that both women had allergen-free meals. He carefully explained what each course was and even stopped by to show us the fun new pen he had just picked up. I suppose in light of all this I can forgive him for responding to my inquiry about the ingredients of "orchard caviar" by telling me quietly that an orchard was where fruit grows. Okay, well, I can almost forgive him.
The menu was, as I expected, outrageously fussy. Numerous items where "foamed" prompting many jokes at the table about feeling as though we were on "Top Chef". Some items where "gelled" or made into liquids (beet liquid anyone?). I found myself puzzling most over the entry "Duck Confit/Monkfish Foie Gras/Warm Teapot Jus". I'm not certain I even want to know.
Then there were the powders and "caviars". At almost every course at least one of the four of us would find that there was a small mound of powder on our sparse plate. The first mound of white powder which accompanied the scallops turned out to be "bacon powder", the red mound with the tuna was "red wine powder". Each powder did, in fact, taste like it's namesake, but after the initial novelty of this wore off, I couldn't help but wonder "what's the point?". The man-made "caviars" turned out to be pureed ingredients encased in little gel capsules that greatly resembled actual caviar except for the color. There was a little pyramid of clear mint "caviar" and the pink orchard "caviar", which was of course, made of fruit. I found the flavors of these items to be fun and intense, but I honestly could have dealt without the strange gummy gel texture of the casings. Once again, I'm not entirely sure what the point was.
As I had predicted, the courses turned out to be very small portions. I began with a bowl of roasted squash soup which was adequate if not exceptional. For my entree I had a piece of pork tenderloin which was as small as my cell-phone, served on a plate with a very yummy chocolate-Merlot sauce and an itty-bitty helping of raisin-apple crumble. The dessert, a narrow strip of french toast served with fresh berries, orchard "caviar" and a decadent vanilla ice-cream, was delicious, and I won't say it was too small lest I be perceived as a glutton. Okay I can't help myself- it was too small!
What little food was presented was exceptional, but I simply do not understand the point of this style of dining. Is it to prove how suave we are that we don't need to eat food? Is it to prove how decadent we are by spending large sums of money for very little food in return? I have the feeling someone is going to say something about the point of this being appreciation for the food, as in "a wonderful meal should be served in small portions so that you may appreciate the craft by savoring it". Yeah, I hear you, really I do, but let me say this: I don't want to spend money on a meal which leaves me craving the drive through at Wendy's after. I would estimate that if it were not RW we could easily have spent $60 per person at Farrah Olivia, and if I had spent $60 and left feeling hungry I would imagine I would have resented the experience.
As it was, we had a lovely night. We laughed too loudly, made inappropriate jokes which earned scandalous glances from other tables, and spent a few minutes trying to figure out if a fellow diner was a transvestite (the consensus said no). In the future, though- I'd rather spend that time having a few glasses of wine in someone's living room than dishing out the dough on such an unsatisfying meal.
The interior of Farrah Olivia is small but tastefully decorated. It is in a corner space, which provides two walls of windows looking over the outskirts of Old Town. Our server proved to be a young man who oscillated throughout the night between pretentious and friendly, but who overall looked out for us; we had one diner who was allergic to shellfish and another allergic to nuts and he diligently made sure that both women had allergen-free meals. He carefully explained what each course was and even stopped by to show us the fun new pen he had just picked up. I suppose in light of all this I can forgive him for responding to my inquiry about the ingredients of "orchard caviar" by telling me quietly that an orchard was where fruit grows. Okay, well, I can almost forgive him.
The menu was, as I expected, outrageously fussy. Numerous items where "foamed" prompting many jokes at the table about feeling as though we were on "Top Chef". Some items where "gelled" or made into liquids (beet liquid anyone?). I found myself puzzling most over the entry "Duck Confit/Monkfish Foie Gras/Warm Teapot Jus". I'm not certain I even want to know.
Then there were the powders and "caviars". At almost every course at least one of the four of us would find that there was a small mound of powder on our sparse plate. The first mound of white powder which accompanied the scallops turned out to be "bacon powder", the red mound with the tuna was "red wine powder". Each powder did, in fact, taste like it's namesake, but after the initial novelty of this wore off, I couldn't help but wonder "what's the point?". The man-made "caviars" turned out to be pureed ingredients encased in little gel capsules that greatly resembled actual caviar except for the color. There was a little pyramid of clear mint "caviar" and the pink orchard "caviar", which was of course, made of fruit. I found the flavors of these items to be fun and intense, but I honestly could have dealt without the strange gummy gel texture of the casings. Once again, I'm not entirely sure what the point was.
As I had predicted, the courses turned out to be very small portions. I began with a bowl of roasted squash soup which was adequate if not exceptional. For my entree I had a piece of pork tenderloin which was as small as my cell-phone, served on a plate with a very yummy chocolate-Merlot sauce and an itty-bitty helping of raisin-apple crumble. The dessert, a narrow strip of french toast served with fresh berries, orchard "caviar" and a decadent vanilla ice-cream, was delicious, and I won't say it was too small lest I be perceived as a glutton. Okay I can't help myself- it was too small!
What little food was presented was exceptional, but I simply do not understand the point of this style of dining. Is it to prove how suave we are that we don't need to eat food? Is it to prove how decadent we are by spending large sums of money for very little food in return? I have the feeling someone is going to say something about the point of this being appreciation for the food, as in "a wonderful meal should be served in small portions so that you may appreciate the craft by savoring it". Yeah, I hear you, really I do, but let me say this: I don't want to spend money on a meal which leaves me craving the drive through at Wendy's after. I would estimate that if it were not RW we could easily have spent $60 per person at Farrah Olivia, and if I had spent $60 and left feeling hungry I would imagine I would have resented the experience.
As it was, we had a lovely night. We laughed too loudly, made inappropriate jokes which earned scandalous glances from other tables, and spent a few minutes trying to figure out if a fellow diner was a transvestite (the consensus said no). In the future, though- I'd rather spend that time having a few glasses of wine in someone's living room than dishing out the dough on such an unsatisfying meal.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Food and Belly Dancers
The other night the Boyfriend and I decided to finally try the little Moroccan place in his neighborhood. We had seen it before and discussed going there, but for some reason we never made it through the front door. Perhaps it was because the pub is only one door down and the call of pints and half priced wings has been too hard to resist in the past. Whatever the case, I'm glad that on Saturday we managed to find ourselves in "Taste of Morocco".
From the exterior, I always had the impression the place might be a little shady. That is simply not the case- the dimly lit dining area is both clean and inviting. There is a television on one wall which is turned to the English Al Jazheera- something I thought was a nice touch. Having never seen a single soul entering or leaving the establishment, we were surprised to find the place packed. There were a few empty tables, though, and we were kindly directed to one of them and given extensive menus for perusal.
Having never experienced Moroccan food beyond my own clumsy attempts at preparation, I was keen to discuss the night's options with the Boyfriend. Unfortunately, that was when the Belly Dancer arrived in the center of the floor for what I think is her hourly show. The woman was a very able belly dancer, with the perfect body for the style and a gorgeous traditional costume. If I'm going to say anything bad about the evening though, it has to be this: for the dancer's performance they turn the music so loud that it is impossible to pay attention to much else, let alone conduct a conversation with your table mate. That would have been endurable for one or two songs, but the performance seemed to last forever. I would estimate that about fifteen minutes went by before she finally swept off the floor and normal restaurant chatter volume resumed.
Once the ringing in our ears stopped we were able to get back to the really important stuff: the food. Pricing made it clear that the best option was one of the "feasts" the restaurant offers; five course meals for two at about $40. Our first course was a trio of salads; there was a cucumber salad, a carrot salad and a small, dark, squishy-yet-tasty salad which we could not recall the ingredients of.
Soup followed quickly after the salads with a very satisfying lentil soup for me and a harissa that the Boyfriend said was not spicy at all, although I can not attest to the veracity of this statement because I was too scared to sample it myself. The soup was served with a bowl of delicious bread, which was unfortunately taken away too soon. Next came the basilla. The basilla deserves its own paragraph...
I remember trying to make my own basilla about five years ago. It failed terribly, although the idea of the chicken and spice concoction wrapped up in philo dough has always remained intriguing. The basilla itself as served by "Taste of Morocco" is about the size of a hockey puck and liberally sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. After a single bite I could not speak for almost a full minute. To put it quite simply, this was the best thing I had ever tasted. I'll not even try to expound upon the notion; if there is a Moroccan restaurant anywhere near you go right now and may your basilla be as delicious as what I tasted on Saturday night.
Next came the tagine course. I had chicken with almonds and raisins, which was tasty if a bit dry, while the Boyfriend had lamb cooked with root vegetables, which was frankly more satisfying than my chicken dish. Next came the famous Moroccan mint tea, served with a flourish out of a tiny silver tea pot into ornate blue glasses. The dessert course consisted of a well thought out plate of mini-pastries including a very good sticky sweet baklava, but disappointingly missing the famous almond cookies of Morocco. Finally the fruit course arrived. By that point we were both so full that I hardly minded to find that the finale was no more than a lackluster apple, a bruised banana, and an orange served on a plate with a knife.
So there you have it. My first real food review for this food review blog. Now, go run and find yourself a basilla- you don't know what you are missing.
From the exterior, I always had the impression the place might be a little shady. That is simply not the case- the dimly lit dining area is both clean and inviting. There is a television on one wall which is turned to the English Al Jazheera- something I thought was a nice touch. Having never seen a single soul entering or leaving the establishment, we were surprised to find the place packed. There were a few empty tables, though, and we were kindly directed to one of them and given extensive menus for perusal.
Having never experienced Moroccan food beyond my own clumsy attempts at preparation, I was keen to discuss the night's options with the Boyfriend. Unfortunately, that was when the Belly Dancer arrived in the center of the floor for what I think is her hourly show. The woman was a very able belly dancer, with the perfect body for the style and a gorgeous traditional costume. If I'm going to say anything bad about the evening though, it has to be this: for the dancer's performance they turn the music so loud that it is impossible to pay attention to much else, let alone conduct a conversation with your table mate. That would have been endurable for one or two songs, but the performance seemed to last forever. I would estimate that about fifteen minutes went by before she finally swept off the floor and normal restaurant chatter volume resumed.
Once the ringing in our ears stopped we were able to get back to the really important stuff: the food. Pricing made it clear that the best option was one of the "feasts" the restaurant offers; five course meals for two at about $40. Our first course was a trio of salads; there was a cucumber salad, a carrot salad and a small, dark, squishy-yet-tasty salad which we could not recall the ingredients of.
Soup followed quickly after the salads with a very satisfying lentil soup for me and a harissa that the Boyfriend said was not spicy at all, although I can not attest to the veracity of this statement because I was too scared to sample it myself. The soup was served with a bowl of delicious bread, which was unfortunately taken away too soon. Next came the basilla. The basilla deserves its own paragraph...
I remember trying to make my own basilla about five years ago. It failed terribly, although the idea of the chicken and spice concoction wrapped up in philo dough has always remained intriguing. The basilla itself as served by "Taste of Morocco" is about the size of a hockey puck and liberally sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. After a single bite I could not speak for almost a full minute. To put it quite simply, this was the best thing I had ever tasted. I'll not even try to expound upon the notion; if there is a Moroccan restaurant anywhere near you go right now and may your basilla be as delicious as what I tasted on Saturday night.
Next came the tagine course. I had chicken with almonds and raisins, which was tasty if a bit dry, while the Boyfriend had lamb cooked with root vegetables, which was frankly more satisfying than my chicken dish. Next came the famous Moroccan mint tea, served with a flourish out of a tiny silver tea pot into ornate blue glasses. The dessert course consisted of a well thought out plate of mini-pastries including a very good sticky sweet baklava, but disappointingly missing the famous almond cookies of Morocco. Finally the fruit course arrived. By that point we were both so full that I hardly minded to find that the finale was no more than a lackluster apple, a bruised banana, and an orange served on a plate with a knife.
So there you have it. My first real food review for this food review blog. Now, go run and find yourself a basilla- you don't know what you are missing.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Restaurant Week
By now you should be asking yourself, "What is this Restaurant Week thing, anyway?"
RW is a bi-annual festival of food involving restaurants from all over the D.C. metro area. Restaurants from the entire food spectrum- pricey/cheap; ethnic/American; modern/old fashioned- get involved in restaurant week, and it's all to the benefit of we the foodies!
This is how it works: A participating RW restaurant agrees to serve a three course meal (appetizer, entree, dessert) during the week for the price of $20 for lunch and $30 for dinner. Actually, it's the $ amount plus a few pennies to acknowledge the year; this year's dinners cost $30.07. Are you with me so far? Good!
From that point it gets a little hazy as each restaurant can make its own rules. I have been to some places that offer their whole menu up for the RW special, others create a smaller menu from which you can select a few options, and yet others still (like tapas places) do a kind of all-you-can-eat smorgasbord.
Restaurant Week is usually held in January and August of each month. If you are in D.C. this week and you want to see what's still available, I strongly recommend checking out opentable.com .
RW is a bi-annual festival of food involving restaurants from all over the D.C. metro area. Restaurants from the entire food spectrum- pricey/cheap; ethnic/American; modern/old fashioned- get involved in restaurant week, and it's all to the benefit of we the foodies!
This is how it works: A participating RW restaurant agrees to serve a three course meal (appetizer, entree, dessert) during the week for the price of $20 for lunch and $30 for dinner. Actually, it's the $ amount plus a few pennies to acknowledge the year; this year's dinners cost $30.07. Are you with me so far? Good!
From that point it gets a little hazy as each restaurant can make its own rules. I have been to some places that offer their whole menu up for the RW special, others create a smaller menu from which you can select a few options, and yet others still (like tapas places) do a kind of all-you-can-eat smorgasbord.
Restaurant Week is usually held in January and August of each month. If you are in D.C. this week and you want to see what's still available, I strongly recommend checking out opentable.com .
Food as truth...
It has occurred to me recently that food is the one universal truth. In the past I have heard it said that music might be, or even love- but no; I'm pretty sure it's food. All people eat, and as such all cultures have developed their own food-based personalities. You can go to India without speaking the language, but you can enjoy the food. A trip to France would just be wasted if you didn't indulge your inner gastronomic snob while you were there, right? Even Adam and Eve succumbed to the call of food.
Well, I might not be going to India, France or Eden any time soon, but I am planning on bringing you the very best (and worst) of my food encounters right here on this very blog.
What's more, it's Restaurant Week here in the fair city of Washington, D.C.. What better time to start a food blog than this, eh?
This week I shall set out to review an old favorite as well as some new places. Restaurant Week is a great time to sample everything from Indian to classic American to Moroccan- and I plan on doing just that.
Oh, incidentally, I don't advise reading this blog without a snack at hand.
Well, I might not be going to India, France or Eden any time soon, but I am planning on bringing you the very best (and worst) of my food encounters right here on this very blog.
What's more, it's Restaurant Week here in the fair city of Washington, D.C.. What better time to start a food blog than this, eh?
This week I shall set out to review an old favorite as well as some new places. Restaurant Week is a great time to sample everything from Indian to classic American to Moroccan- and I plan on doing just that.
Oh, incidentally, I don't advise reading this blog without a snack at hand.
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