Menomalé, Brookland

Posted on November 6, 2012 by Don

In my last pre-hurricane meal, my young dining companion and I returned to Menomalé which we enjoyed before, and we enjoyed it every bit as much this time around.

Matt began with a San Pellegrino Aranciata ($3.00), the blood orange version of these tasty soft drinks that are becoming more-and-more available (this has been around, incidentally, since 1932). I started with a Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar ($7.00) which was very nice, but when I ordered it, I didn’t realize that there was a “half-price” page of beers that they’re trying to move in order to make room for new inventory (the consumer’s advantage to dining in a tiny restaurant!)

We split our order, one Pannuozo and one Pizza. The Buongustaio ($8.00) was a wood-fired round of pizza dough, folded around sausage, proscuitto di Parma, mozzarella di bufala, and maionese <— I’m pretty sure that’s Italian for mayo. With the proscuitto, cutting it in half was easier in theory than in practice. The Quattro Stagioni ($13.00) had San Marzano tomatoes and D.O.P mozzarella di bufala underneath four stages of mushrooms, artichokes, black olives, and prosciutto cotto. The primary difference between the pannuozi and pizze (are these plurals correct?), aside from the prices, is that the pizza toppings are baked, and the pannuozo fillings are added after the baking. From the half-priced beer list, I got a Kurofune Baltic Porter (discounted to $5.00), a tough to find Japanese porter brewed “at the foot of Mt. Fuji.”

This was another good showing for Menomalé which reinforces it as being one of the strongest pizzerias in DC. Although we were stuffed, I was ever-mindful that Matt is 15, and so we got a La Bomba ($6.00) for the ride home. The La Bomba is a dessert-hybrid between the pannuozo and the pizza, with the dough coated with Nutella, baked, rolled (like a cannoli), cut into two pieces, and dusted with powdered sugar. It’s somewhat crepe-ish, and very hard not to like, especially at the price.

On the way out of the restaurant, it was drizzling, and it didn’t stop raining for days. Despite this, Menomalé is maintained as a solid Italic in the Dining Guide.

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Han Sung, Ellicott City, MD

Posted on November 3, 2012 by Don

I’d never before been to Han Sung, but it has always had a special place in my heart as the oldest post in the Baltimore Restaurants and Dining Forum.

I stopped in earlier this week, and since it was before the dinner hour, the restaurant was empty except for two other people. Han Sung is Korean-owned, but has a fairly even split between Korean and Japanese dishes. On the wall is a little blurb about it from the Baltimore Sun, written on June 25, 1998, so the restaurant has been here for awhile under the same ownership.

The staff was as nice as they could be, and even though I wasn’t terribly hungry, I got something to go for later. I originally ordered a HanSung Special which was raw flounder with “special sauce,” but Chef Kang told me that because of the hurricane (this was towards the end of it), deliveries were awry, and so there was no flounder.

Asking him if there was any fresh fish available, he said “tuna, salmon, yellowtail” and I nodded my head with approval. I’m something of a salmon slut, and I think of salmon in much the same way as a college student thinks of pizza (even when it’s bad …). Then he asked me if I liked octopus and skate (raw skate is your tip-off that this is Korean-owned), and I said sure, and so with some trepidation, I got my takeout order of Sasimi [sic] ($10.95). In Annandale, it’s usually a terrible idea to order sushi at a Korean restaurant because it’s almost always lame, frozen fish that’s not kept well at all, but when I arrived at my final destination, I opened the container, and was delighted to see an artfully arranged platter of very nice looking fish. Of course they weren’t swimming the day before, but this is definitely above-average sashimi, bordering on being quite good, and better than most anything I’ve had recently in Annandale (which admittedly isn’t much).

Tuna, salmon, yellowtail, octopus, and an elaborate presentation of skate, all of it well-worth enjoying, and the octopus a particular standout. The picture says it all (albeit in mediocre quality): 12 medium-small pieces for $10.95. I’d happily get this again, and wish I had Han Sung nearby as a lunch option.

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Dogfish Head Alehouse, Chantilly, VA

Posted on November 2, 2012 by Don

I had a couple hours to kill the other evening, so I pointed my car in the direction of Fair Lakes or Chantilly thinking in the back of my mind that I’d be updating one or both of those threads (if anyone has any current information on Dining in Fair Lakes or Chantilly, please, have at it).

I turned off I-66 onto Fairfax County Parkway, drove past the places of my nightmares (Joe’s Crab Shack, Logan’s Roadhouse), sticking out from the trees like scary monsters.

Hitting Route 50 without seeing anything that made me bite, I headed west, toward Chantilly, and came up upon the Greenbriar Town Center (home to the original Total Wine & More (formerly called Total Beverage) in the DC area). I turned in, and traced the periphery looking for an ethnic mom-n-pop.

Then I saw Dogfish Head Alehouse, and thought to myself: ‘well, why not?’ It was a Friday evening, and the place was jumping, with the patio full (with an accordionist playing), and the inside packed to the gills – I considered myself lucky to get a seat at the bar.

Fully 18 beers were offered on draft, ranging from the 5% ABV Shelter Pale Ale to the fearsome 12% Palo Santo. It was right before Halloween, and the Punkin’ Ale ($6, 7% ABV) caught my eye because of a big, bold sign dangling with a quote from Ale Street News which said this was “the best pumpkin beer we tasted.” I really enjoyed it, with its overtones of clove and nutmeg, and it fit right in with the whole Oktoberfest atmosphere.

There was also a special Oktoberfest menu, and I noticed that they were featuring Lothar’s Sausages (which I had first seen in a restaurant only a few weeks before, at Magnolias at the Mill). From the regular menu, I ordered the Alehouse Bratwurst ($10), two wood-grilled bratwursts (presumably from Lothar’s) on pretzel rolls (baked “just down the road by Bakery de France“) with beer-seasoned banana-pepper sauerkraut. It came with a little bowl of very good chili, and some tortilla chips for dipping.

If I’m making these bratwursts sound good, then I’m writing correctly because they met, then surpassed any possible expectations I could have had coming from the kitchen of such a slammed alehouse. “Because our wood grill imparts a unique, savory quality to the food, the need to garnish it with an over-abundance of sauces and what-nots does not exist,” the menu teased. And sure enough, it was right – I highly recommend ordering anything here that has been simply grilled, especially these sausages.

Dogfish Head’s beer is unpasteurized, and “uncluttered with additives,” a sign says. I asked my friendly bartender, who had introduced himself by name earlier, for something malty, and he gave me a little taste of the Indian Brown Ale ($6, 7.2% ABV), and it was good enough to order a pint. I thoroughly enjoyed both of these beers, and combined with the brats, this meal was better than it had any right to be.

This alehouse takes great pride in being a member of the community. “If your community organization needs help,” write to us, it says on the menu. How many places actually go out of their way to issue calls for charitable help like this? The whole scene was heartening – here was an ultra-high-volume operation, that had just served me a great plate of food, and beers that make Sweetwater Tavern’s look just plain pathetic. Dogfish Head has a huge cult following, and I’ve never been part of the cult, but this evening was giving me pause.

One of the managers came up to a gentleman sitting next to me at the bar, and said, “We’re having a kick-assed night here – there was a 2-hour wait at 5:30!” And I believe it.

I was so impressed with the night that I didn’t want it to end, and wanted to share it with others. So I bought my son the exact same Alehouse Bratwurst as a carryout order (and when I picked him up at 9 PM from his football game, he positively devoured it, and raved about it just as much as I am). And I went ahead and bought a growler of the Punkin’ Ale so I could enjoy another beer in the safety of my home – these growlers are prominently advertised at the bar. “How much are the growlers?” I asked another bartender. She said, “They’re $8 for ones with screwtops, and $25 for the ones with ceramic tops.” Sounded good to me – I live pretty close to the Falls Church Dogfish Head Alehouse, and I’d be going back often to get it filled. The screwtop would be all I needed since the contents wouldn’t survive longer than a couple of days in my possession.

So it was around the time where I had to leave and pick up Matt. I asked for the check, and when it came, everything was fine except one thing: the cost to fill the growler with the Punkin’ Ale was $22. I wasn’t quite processing what I was seeing, but the bartender was standing in front of me, about to take my credit card. The growler was filled, and sitting right next to my carryout order. It was that “awkward moment” when you felt rushed, and felt like something wasn’t quite right, but you didn’t really have a whole lot of time to think. As I handed her my card, I said, “I have a question.” She looked at me and smiled (she had been perfectly friendly the entire evening). “Why is this growler so expensive?”

At that moment, her glance shifted away from my eyes, her smile vanished, and she said, without any hesitation at all, “I don’t know, I’m not the one who sets pricing.”

Okay, so I figured that I was just “missing” something, that the growler was maybe bigger than it looked, or that the Punkin’ Ale was some sort of super-expensive seasonal beer that I had just paid a huge premium for. So I paid the check, left a decent tip (although not 20% for the growler), and walked out to my car.

I looked at the growler, and it was 1.89 liters, or about 64 ounces. That’s a little over 5 bottles of beer. So that meant I paid about $4 per 12-ounce bottle.

Then I thought to myself, ‘My goodness this beer is expensive,’ but when I looked at my check, it was only $6 for a 16-ounce draft, so something wasn’t adding up. Was there a mistake? Did I underpay for the draft?

At that moment, I felt somewhat ripped off, but I wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.

And then the days passed by, and I forgot about it.

Two nights ago, I was in Baltimore, and went to a downright scary liquor store in a run-down strip mall. They had the 90-Minute IPA in 4-packs for $9.99. I bought one, and enjoyed the beer immensely – I really like the 90-Minute much more than the 60-Minute. But that got me thinking about the Alehouse again, and so I did some research.

I called all three area Dogfish Head Alehouses, and asked them about growlers. The Gaithersburg location doesn’t sell them, but both the Falls Church and Fairfax locations do. They are, indeed, $8 for the one with the screwtop, and $25 for the one with the ceramic top. Then I asked about how much it cost to fill it with both the Punkin’ Ale and the 90-Minute IPA. And sure enough, the Punkin’ Ale was $22, but the 90-Minute IPA, at both locations, was $38.

At that moment, I thought back to her glance shifting away from my eyes, her smile vanishing, and her saying, without any hesitation at all, “I don’t know, I’m not the one who sets pricing.”

I didn’t realize it that night, but my bartender had completely disavowed any association with the growlers, and I don’t blame her one bit. Paying $38 for 64 ounces of Dogfish Head 90-Minute IPA is the equivalent of paying SEVEN DOLLARS AND TWELVE CENTS PER BOTTLE. That’s $7.12 per bottle, purchased in bulk, in a growler that you paid separate money for, and are going to consume at home.

In comparison, the 90-Minute IPA I bought in the Baltimore liquor store was $2.50 a bottle.

My next call was to Total Wine & More in Chantilly, about a 50-yard walk from the front door of Dogfish Head Alehouse. A gentleman answered the phone, and I won’t say his name.

I asked to speak with someone who knew about the beer selection, and he assured me he did. I asked him if he had either the Punkin’ Ale or the 90-Minute IPA in stock. He remembered they had just sold out of the Punkin’ Ale, and said they had the 90-Minute IPA. I asked him how much the 90-Minute IPA was, he put me on hold for a minute, then came back and said it was $9.99 for a 4-pack – the exact same price I had just paid in Baltimore.

“I have a question for you,” I said. How is it that Dogfish Head Alehouse is able to sell growlers of the 90-Minute IPA for $38?

He started laughing. “Because they’re insane,” he chortled. I pressed him further, and he responded candidly: “One of the ongoing jokes here is that all of their employees come here to buy their Dogfish Head.” I asked him how they could get away with selling these for so much money. A growler of beer should cost absolutely no more than you’d pay at retail, and the hugely vast majority of the world would think it would cost a great deal less. This is bulk purchasing. It’s shopping at Sam’s Club.

“People go there and have a good time,” he said. “They drink a few beers, and they want to keep the night going, so they buy a growler to take home.” Then he added, “And they have no idea how much they’re getting ripped off.”

The figures speak for themselves: $2.50 a bottle at full retail; $7.12 a bottle if you buy a growler.

They don’t brew the beer in the alehouses; they brew it at Delaware, so you can hardly make “freshness” as the argument for the almost triple-retail pricing.

In the meantime, I have a Dogfish Head growler to give away to anyone who wants it. If I don’t hear from anyone within a week or so, I’m going to recycle it because there’s no other use for it that I can see, and I want it out of my house.

These alehouses are supposedly franchised, so I’m going to give the brewery the benefit of any doubt and absolve them of any responsibility for this blatant consumer rip-off. But hopefully they will at least be made aware of the situation. The night I made full discovery, I got really ticked off and mentioned them in a tweet, but I’m going to delete it because, just as my bartender completely divorced herself from the predatory pricing of these growlers, I’m hoping that the brewery has as well.

Other than that, the play was fine, said Mrs. Lincoln.

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Retro Ray’s at Ray’s The Steaks, Courthouse, VA

Posted on October 26, 2012 by Don

(See the December 31, 2010 Review of Ray’s The Steaks, Courthouse here.)

I went to Retro Ray’s for the very first time last night, and since the drawing card of this new space – which is really just a “third” dining room in the main Ray’s The Steaks location – is “retro pricing,” I decided to supplement our meat cravings with a little experiment.

Since my young dining companion and I usually split everything we order anyway, we decided to get 1) the cheapest steak on the menu, and 2) the most expensive steak on the menu to see how they compared 1) with each other, and 2) with other comparable steaks in the DC area.

The Bistro Special ($23.99) is a limited three-course menu (appetizer, main course, dessert), available only at Retro Ray’s, and only on Sunday through Thursday evenings. Matt chose a cup of Sherried Crab Bisque, a Hanger Steak Au Poivre, medium-rare, seared with black peppercorns, with a port-wine peppercorn cream, and a slice of Key Lime Pie. As with all the Ray’s steaks, this comes with a little bar-snack of spiced cashews, homemade focaccia-style bread, and family-style mashed potatoes and creamed spinach.

I didn’t notice the second page on the menu we received (which may have been on the back), but the one on the internet shows the Hanger Steak Au Poivre, by itself, for $16.99. If this is the case, it would be exactly what’s described in the above paragraph, minus the Sherried Crab Bisque and Key Lime Pie, for $7.00 less.

That was the low end; Ray’s The Steaks now offers several cuts that have broken the $40 barrier, and I ordered the (tied for) most expensive steak on the menu (you also get to choose from the regular Ray’s The Steaks menu at Retro Ray’s), The Delmonico ($40.99), medium-rare, a “Bone-In Ribeye (The Most Famous Steak Of All)” from the “Dry Aged Cuts” section which touts its six different steaks as having “Peerless Flavor and Texture, For the True Connoisseur, Aged In House 45 Days, Butchered and Hand-Trimmed Daily.” Other than the soup and dessert, my order got me all the other items that Matt received: nuts, bread, potatoes, spinach, plus a few grilled onions and a little tub of horseradish cream sauce.

Note also that Ray’s now features several “Steaks For Two” that run as high as $68.99. The legendary “Cowboy Cut” remains at $36.99, but I have to wonder whether that cut has shrunk because some of the ones that I’ve had in past years were indeed sized for two people. I suspect the Cowboy Cut is a lot like (or identical to) my Delmonico, which was quite large, with the difference being that it’s not dry-aged.

The steaks arrived, Matt proffered me a goodly wedge of his Hanger Steak, I cut him off a hunk of my Delmonico, and the meat-fest began.

Let me cut right to the chase: the steaks here are (still) fantastic. And the really good news is that they were both fantastic – that hanger steak, at $16.99 (assuming you can get it for that) is one of the most amazing deals in town considering it comes with potatoes and spinach. Getting this au poivre is a great way to order it, and the sauce, simple though it may have been, worked beautifully with the black peppercorn crust. We both agreed my Delmonico was better, and it was also bigger, but it wasn’t *so* much better that you should feel forced to drop $40+ here when you can get a fine steak dinner for $17 (*).

For our beverages, Matt got a Diet Black Cherry Cheerwine ($2.50) while I got a temptingly priced glass of 2010 Radio Boca Tempranillo ($5.00 for a generous pour) from Valencia, Spain. Poured from a 750 ml bottle, this wine was a little bit “meh” on the first sip, but all it took was one spiced nut, and all unpleasantries quickly resolved – it goes just fine with the food. Five dollars for a glass this large is such an attractive deal that I ordered a second glass – two glasses of wine with a steak dinner is nothing for me, but these pours are large enough (probably a good five ounces) that I didn’t even finish my second glass.

As hard as it is to imagine, all of this food cost us a total, with tax, and a 20% pre-tax tip, that was still in the two-digit price range, but not by much: it was $99.95, and the check was made all the more sweet by two complimentary pieces of Tiger Butter.

And as far as comparing these steaks with comparable steakhouses in the DC area, well, I’d love to, but Ray’s is the only place where I can afford to do the comparison. I can tell you in no uncertain terms that you won’t find a better hanger steak for $16.99 than what we had last night, and you probably won’t find a better steak than my Delmonico at any price.

(*) For a 6:15 AM breakfast, on his way to school this morning, Matt happily cross-tasted the sizable remnants of both steaks in the car, which had been packaged up with some extra mashed potatoes, and microwaved for 60 seconds, and preferred the hanger steak.

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Thai Noy, Arlington, VA

Posted on October 26, 2012 by Don

(See the July 11, 2011 Review here.)

In 2006, Rebecca Roberts hosted an hour-long radio show at WETA in Shirlington called “The Intersection.” On one of the episodes, she interviewed Tony Bourdain for the first half, and me for the second half – I was discussing “neighborhood restaurants.” (I have the hour-long program saved on a CD somewhere, and will be happy to upload it in case anyone wants to listen – WETA has since switched to an all-classical format (plus, I was their restaurant blogger, earning all of $40 a week for my time), so I can’t imagine they’d care). I remember one question I stumbled on was when Rebecca asked me to name one restaurant that I thought typified what a neighborhood restaurant is – one really good example. My mind raced like a slot machine, thinking about all the neighborhoods around DC, before finally settling down and coming back to my own. When that happened, I thought of it in about two seconds: “Thai Noy,” I said.

For all the times I’ve lauded Thai Noy over the years, it is *amazing* that it doesn’t have its own thread on donrockwell.com. I remember the summer of 2011, when I drove four teenage kids 600 miles back from Indianapolis, only to get tantalizingly close to home on I-70, and to find out that my main artery back to Arlington, I-270, had been *shut down* north of Germantown. I cut down U.S. Route 15 through Point of Rocks, only to run into a particularly nasty thunderstorm, struggling to even see, then eventually dropping off the four kids (which itself took an extra hour), limping into my house, pouring myself a gin and tonic, and collapsing onto the couch after about the 12th hour. When I laid there, unperturbed, for about 30 minutes, and began gaining my strength back, I knew I was too tired to go out anywhere, and it was pushing 9 PM. I wanted comfort food, and so I called Thai Noy for carryout.

For two different reasons, I didn’t want to go out on Tuesday and Wednesday nights of this week, and was also craving comfort food both evenings. On Tuesday I was exceedingly sleep-deprived, and on Wednesday, I was upset over losing one of our members. And so I had back-to-back carryout dinners at Thai Noy.

Tuesday evening, I ordered two of my stalwarts:

Emerald Curry with Chicken ($14.00) – Sauteed, sliced chicken in spicy [not that spicy] green curry sauce with green veggies, purple Thai eggplant, and fresh basil.

Keng Ped Yang, ($18.95) – Boneless, roasted duck cooked in red curry and coconut milk, pineapple, tomatoes, basil, and green and red peppers.

Both dishes were just as they are at least 80% of the times I’m here: very good to excellent. Thai Noy will rarely leaving you shaking your head in awe, but it will come through as “very good to excellent” nearly every time. The prices are high, but the portions are quite large, and they don’t skimp on proteins. No MSG is added to any of the dishes because they don’t need it.

A couple other dishes I regularly get here are Eggplant Basil or Tofu Basil (both vegan, and both satisfying), and Beef Penang. I’ve also been known to get Tom Yum Gai, an order of steamed rice, and when I get home, I dump the rice into a bowl, and pour the Tom Yum Gai on top of it. The starch in the rice thickens the broth and makes for a very satisfying, hearty bowl of soup. The papaya salad here is spicier than the norm, and is very good with the Keng Ped Yang.

I walked in to pick up my order on Tuesday night, and the gentleman (the owner?) working the register recognized me, saying, “You come in here regularly, don’t you.” I replied, “Yes, I’ve been here about 30 times before.” He then added, “Yeah, I recognize you because you get a lot of the same dishes.” Well, I guess that’s the comfort food aspect, but it got me thinking, why not expand my horizons the next time I order? So the next night, I did it again, and got two dishes I’ve never gotten before:

Shrimp Chu Chee, ($16.95) – Sauteed shrimp in chu chee curry paste, coconut milk, served on steamed vegetables.

Wild Boar Basil ($14.95) – Pork loin stir-fried with mushrooms, bamboo shoots, eggplant, green peppercorns, in a Thai spicy sauce.

And both dishes were as good as my usual go-tos, the shrimp in particular having an extremely generous amount of shrimp in the dish.

Sandwiched between Lost Dog Cafe and Lebanese Taverna, it’s easy to see why Thai Noy gets forgotten, but it shouldn’t. It’s a lovely, reliable neighborhood Thai restaurant, and may just be the single restaurant where I’ve eaten the most number of times during the past year or so. Always good, sometimes excellent, almost never anything more than that. It defines what a “neighborhood restaurant” is and should be. Try it sometime – you’ll thank me!

I should add that I’m initializing Thai Noy in Italic, and ranking it #2 in the North Arlington section of the Dining Guide (which doesn’t include neighborhoods such as Ballston, Clarendon, Courthouse, or Rosslyn), right behind Layalina, and I could just as easily flip these two around and have Thai Noy ranked #1.

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Al Tiramisu, Dupont Circle

Posted on October 24, 2012 by Don

Sometimes, when you read restaurant reviews, a reviewer will close with “I’ll be back soon” (and then they never end up going back). But I really, really want to go back to Al Tiramisu soon, and here’s why:

I’d been here 2-3 times in the past, but it had been at least several years, probably more than five, and my knowledge of the restaurant is both hazy and outdated. This is a local haunt Tom Sietsema enthusiastically recommended for awhile, but based on his 2012 Fall Dining Guide, it’s not currently one of his 40 favorites.

When local restaurant aficionados hear mention of Al Tiramisu, the first thing many of them say is, “Watch out for the specials!” A few years ago, Al Tiramisu developed a reputation for reciting a list of specials without prices, and when the bill arrived, sticker shock ensued. This had happened to me also, and even Tweaked had mentioned it on eGullet back in 2004. I heard awhile back that they were no longer doing this, but thinking about it, I haven’t heard much at all about Al Tiramisu lately. It has faded into the dusk of modernity.

Or has it? This past May, The Reliable Source ran a column about George Clooney “secretly” frequenting Al Tiramisu on a regular basis. (I assure you that, perhaps more often than not, it’s the restaurant owners themselves who contact this column, hoping for a bit of free publicity). The chef, Luigi Diotaiuti, is not a man who shies away from celebrity or publicity - witness this gallery on their website.

I had a late lunch at Al Tiramisu yesterday. They are in a minority of fine-dining establishments (and yes, Al Tiramisu absolutely qualifies as fine dining) in that – to the best of my knowledge – they don’t lower their prices (and presumably don’t reduce portion sizes) for lunch.

As a solo diner, I was thoughtfully seated at a corner table, looking outward. There was one other table of extremely knowledgable gentlemen discussing political policy (this is a quiet restaurant when it’s empty, and I could not help overhearing – plus, their conversation was both intellectual and fascinating). I was offered “bottled, or house” water, and asked for ice water (which sounds so much more elegant than “tap water,” don’t you think?) and a Diet Coke ($3.50) which I sipped while perusing the fairly limited menu. I’d made my decision, closed the menu, and the server came to take my order.

“We also have some specials today,” he said, and then proceeded to rattle off what must have been close to a dozen specials, in various categories, not mentioning anything about prices. In Al Tiramisu’s defense, with a recited list of specials this long (and believe me, it is long), it would be somewhat awkward to include the price after each. I can easily see disagreement with this opinion, but aside from that, I think a better solution might be to have a typed list of specials, with prices. That could be a nuisance for the restaurant to have to produce every day, plus some of them will invariably get 86d as the day progresses, but when you’re dealing with rat-a-tat recitation of this length, half of it goes in one ear and out the other, and the list, as a whole, is not very useful to the customer.

I had decided to order either pasta or risotto, so at the end of the recitation, the only thing I remembered was that there were two pastas and one risotto. I asked about the prices of those three items. Along with the five pastas on the regular menu, there were eight total, all of them being homemade except the linguini. And here were the prices (most rounded up by a dime for ease of presentation):

$19
$20
$21
$22
$25
$27
$31
$31

Guess which ones the three specials were?
Correct.

Deciding to stick with my original game plan, I ordered the Ravioli Ripieni di Ricotta e Spinaci in Burro e Salvia ($20.90), round ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese in a butter and sage sauce.

As I waited for my meal, sipped my Diet Coke, and continued perusing the menu, out came a basket with four slices of bread accompanied by a generous tub of olive tapenade. Although this came from a standard “Italian loaf,” the quality of this bread was noteworthy. And not only was it very good bread, the olive tapenade was just about as good as olive tapenade can possibly be. Italian bread and olive tapenade doesn’t sound all that exciting, but these were exceptional.

Then the ravioli came – eight of them on a round plate, nice and hot, and bathing in a large amount of butter and sage sauce. The sauce would make or break this dish. Unfortunately, it was so good that I now had the conundrum of how to allocate my four slices of bread: tapenade, or sauce swipe?

I employed my recently developed injera strategy, maximizing the amount of tapenade employed with each bite of bread, and doing the same with the butter and sage sauce. The raviolis themselves were of Cesare Lanfranconi quality, and what I was experiencing was a meal of very simple ingredients, expertly prepared and cooked. This was old-school, traditional Italian cooking that, in the hands of a lesser talent, can be (and almost always is) heavy, leaden, and absolutely not worth the calories; these were heavy, yes, but so balanced and delicious that I threw caloric concern to the wind, and finished every crumb of my bread, every speck of my tapenade, and every drop of my sauce. It was as if a pack of jackals had scavenged a carcass, and there was nothing edible that remained in front of me.

Several minutes earlier, one of the gentlemen had ordered a tiramisu, and it sounded perfect to me at the time; but there was no room, and no need, for any dessert after this meal – one of the most satisfying vegetarian (forgot about that, didn’t ya!) meals I’ve had in memory. After such a perfectly executed, teasingly small example of what this restaurant may be capable of, do you see why I really, really want to go back to Al Tiramisu soon?

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The Chesapeake Room, Barracks Row

Posted on October 23, 2012 by Don

(See the December 8, 2010 Review here.)

I’d been to The Chesapeake Room three times in 2010 (July 8th, August 3rd, December 7th), and it slowly worked its way up my food chain (sorry) in quality, finally being raised to Italic and eventually ranked as my #1 restaurant in Southeast Capitol Hill before being elbowed aside when Brian Wilson became the new chef at Montmartre. What surprised me over the past year were the disagreements I received (several, from different people) about the high placement in the Dining Guide. When I hear from several disparate people that I’ve over- or under-rated a restaurant, it usually means they’re correct, and so I made a mental note to go back and reevaluate The Chesapeake Room, finally getting there last night.

Having already had a surprisingly ample snack at Fusion Grill, I didn’t have space for a full meal, so The Chesapeake Room became part two of a mini-progressive dinner.

I didn’t realize that Brewer’s Art Resurrection ($5) was sold in cans, but I guess I should have because of this post. This is a good beer, and I’m going to tell you something about it that will surprise you. Guess where it’s brewed?

Nope, not in Baltimore. It’s brewed in Royersford, PA at Sly Fox Brewing Company, and I was every bit as surprised as you are.

Chef Gregorio Martinez was working last night, and I simply couldn’t resist the call of autumn: Veal Autumn Stew ($15) was the most appealing thing to me on a still-stodgy menu (stodgy in terms of how it “reads”). However, the execution of this pleasant, peasant dish was anything but stodgy: large, bite-sized chunks of veal were mixed in with roasted root vegetables (turnip, carrot, onion), and served atop good, garlicky mashed potatoes (the fourth root vegetable) with a veal gravy reduction. What impressed me the most about this dish was the quality of the veal. This may not sound like much upon first thought, but if I were blindfolded, and took a bite of this meat, I’m fairly certain I would instantly recognize it as veal. Not chicken, or pork, or goat, or duck, or lamb, or some other type of beef, but veal.

Based on this small, but meaningful, sample, The Chesapeake Room is maintained right where it was: squarely in Italic, and right behind Montmartre. Nothing I saw on this evening led me to believe it should be otherwise; about the only nitpick I have is that it seemed like the kitchen was a bit slow in getting orders out, but that observation is based only on a couple of times when I looked around the room, so there may not be much to it.

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Fusion Grill, Barracks Row

Posted on October 23, 2012 by Don

I was very leery walking into Fusion Grill on this beautiful autumn evening on Barracks Row (perhaps a contradiction in terms) – compared to the surrounding restaurants, it was relatively empty, with only about a half-dozen customers inside.

Never having been here before, I decided to “dip my toe into the water” rather than take the plunge, so I ordered risk-free and delicately.

The few people at the bar seemed to all know each other, and my bartender was perfectly friendly and attentive, in a mellow, dreadlockian sort of way.

I started off with a bottle of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA ($5.95), and sipped as I read the menu carefully.

At home, I’d noticed that Fusion Grill seems to be proud of their crab cakes, so I ordered one Jumbo Lump Crab Cake ($12.95) as an appetizer, served with Asian slaw and Chinese mustard vinaigrette. Also, the Sweet Potato Tempura ($4.25) to round out part one of a two-part meal.

Well, surprise! I enjoyed both my dishes very much. The crab cake arrived first, about the size of a large plum, or slighly smaller than a tennis ball. Indeed, it was jumbo lump, with minimal binder that resulted in almost zero structural integrity – it buckled and collapsed upon the first fork cut, leaving me a flattened round of lump crap in a somewhat salty mustard sauce (there were three small pools of a pale green vinaigrette on the plate that didn’t seem necessary, but didn’t interfere with the dish). This was a good crab cake that was no bargain, but was fair value – made better because of its very good homemade slaw, consisting of cabbage, red pepper, and carrot strips, dressed in a semi-sweet Asian vinaigrette.

On the other hand, the sweet potato tempura, at $4.25, was sensational for the price – seven large strips of battered sweet potato (probably adding up to an entire skinned potato), looking something like battered fish sticks, but having freshly baked cuts of sweet potato inside instead of fish, and served with an important tub of soy-based sauce for dipping. If you’re a tempura aficionado, you may be disappointed, but in the genre of “battered, deep-fried sweet potato,” it was really very good. And along with the crab cake, made a nice small meal for a total of $17.20 without beer. The sweet potato was enough to provide filler without being boring, and the crab provided you with your protein splurge, the slaw adding the occasional bite of acidic sweetness.

Two gentlemen sitting to my left appeared to order chicken with black bean sauce, and if I lived in the neighborhood and wanted carryout, I’d roll the dice on this.

I know that Fusion Grill hasn’t gotten much attention, but based on this one visit, I’m raising it a few notches in the Barracks Row Dining Guide – not to Italic, but up from where it was before. Color me pleasantly surprised.

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Jaleo, Crystal City, VA

Posted on October 22, 2012 by Don

“Dad, I have a question for you,” Matt said as he came back from washing his hands. We had just played tennis, and pointed our car in the direction of Crystal City, thinking we’d go somewhere on 23rd Street. As we approached, driving down Route 1, I asked if he’d like to try Jaleo. We parked in the garage, and before we even got to the host stand, we saw the name José Andrés pimped on the windows in bright red letters, twice, cookbooks and some type of videos for sale, and more peddling of “José the Product” on the host stand itself – it was as garish as it could be, and in completely poor taste.

“Is Jaleo considered a joke in the restaurant world?” he asked.

“No. It’s food for the masses, but it’s generally considered to be decent. Tom Sietsema just gave the downtown Jaleo 3.5 stars in his recent dining guide,” I added. Based on my previous visit to the downtown Jaleo (review here), Tom and I are apart by a fairly wide margin.

We were led to a table against the back wall, and I had a good overview of the restaurant which became fairly crowded during our meal.

Our friendly server took our drink order, and my young dining companion asked if they had any non-alcoholic cocktails, and they didn’t, so he got a small glass of Melon Juice ($4.50) which was fresh, pulpy, and tasted as if a cantaloupe had been put through a juicer. Instead of paying $5 for a tiny glass of Hidalgo “La Gitana” Manzanilla Sherry, I opted for the entire 500 ml bottle ($26) which is 2/3 the size of a standard bottle of wine. Sherry by the glass is often poured into a copa (that’s Spanish for “thimble”), and it’s a better value if you can spring for the bottle, especially since Jaleo will wrap the unused portion to take home. La Gitana (“The Gypsy”) is a mass-produced but highly regarded and inexpensive Sherry, easily recognized by the gypsy woman on the label, and can be found at most retail wine stores for under $15 ($26 at a restaurant is a fair price for this, and I recommend ordering it). Remember also that the Crystal City Jaleo has its own retail wine store upstairs.

We ordered five tapas, each of us taking a turn choosing one, and all ended up ranging between $7.00 and $8.50.

Ensalada Rusa ($7.00) is described as “the ultimate Spanish tapa,” and is a cylinder salad of potatoes, imported canned tuna, and mayonnaise – this version was dotted with green peas as well. It was pretty much as you’d expect, and my first bite made me really glad I ordered that Sherry – the pairing works well.

Dátiles con Tocino ‘Como Hace Todo el Mundo’ ($7.00) is my go-to tapa at Jaleo, and these were a fairly good rendition. I couldn’t quite figure out what the sauce was until I looked at the menu this morning – the bacon-wrapped fried dates are served skewered with a toothpick, and piled atop an apple-mustard sauce (I thought it was some type of eggplant with apple cider vinegar). The vinegary sauce didn’t work well with this, but it was on the bottom of the plate so it was optional, and it wasn’t bad by any means.

And then came the dynamic duo:

Tortilla de Patatas Al Momento ($7.50) is a Spanish omelet with potatoes and onions, cooked to order, and presented in a circle about the size of a pancake. This was a delicious, moist omelet that was good by itself, but the flavors became stratospheric when placed side-by-side on the same plate as it’s companion tapa.

Pimientos del Piquillo Rellenos de Queso ($7.00) were two tiny little piquillo peppers stuffed with Caña de Cabra goat cheese. Taken by themselves, they were uneventful, and terribly expensive for two such small peppers; placed atop the omelet, however, they became a necessary condiment that brought the combination into high synergy. We cut the omelet in half, and each took one of the peppers, so we had our own plates. At $14.50 for the pair, this was simply too expensive, and yet the flavors were irresistible. If the price doesn’t bother you, give this combination a try.

And to finish:

Butifarra Casera con Mongetes Daniel Patrick Moynihan ($8.50) was a fairly large, single link of house-made pork sausage atop sautéed white beans. Why this dish is named after Senator Moynihan is a mystery to me, but I really enjoyed the beans which were curiously desiccated (in a pleasant way). We both agreed that the sausage was the weak “link” in the meal, about on a par with one you’d buy at Whole Foods (which is no great insult, as Whole Foods sells pretty decent sausages).

After the meal, I said to Matt that I thought everything was good to very good, and asked him what he thought. I value Matt’s opinion highly because he has a phenomenal palate, having been to literally hundreds of restaurants and having his aesthetics influenced by his old man. More importantly, he is completely unbiased, and is usually dead-on with his assessments.

“I’d agree with that,” he said. “I’m a fan.”

Well, there you go, José – you impressed the toughest food critic in town: my son. I’m raising the Crystal City Jaleo to Italic in the Dining Guide.

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Famous Luigi’s, Downtown

Posted on October 21, 2012 by Don

(See the January 9, 2011 Review here.)

This may sound a bit daft, but after my tuna-based meal at Smith and Wollensky last night, I wanted a bit of cheese, but didn’t feel like running my tab beyond three digits.
So I went next door for a carryout “cheese course” at Famous Luigi’s, the Washington DC area’s oldest pizzeria, in operation since 1943.

Like Smith and Wollensky, it had a pretty decent crowd on a Saturday night. I ambled up to the bar, and very much unlike Smith and Wollensky, I got a smile, service within a matter of seconds, and a glass of ice water poured without asking the first minute I was there.

I’ve been to Famous Luigi’s perhaps ten times in my life, and although I’ve never loved it, I’ve never hated it either, and last night was no exception. For my cheese course, I ordered a carryout Cheese Pizza for 1 Person ($7.50) which consists of nothing more than pizza crust, tomato sauce, and melted cheese. I had no desire to finish it; I merely wanted a few bites of cheese to round out my dinner.

While I waited, I ordered a bottle of the reliable Moretti La Rossa ($5.75) which I like because of its maltiness, and as I saw it sitting on the bar, I remembered that this beer is exactly what I ordered the previous time I was in.

So I finished my La Rossa just as my pizza came out. I paid my check, left a nice tip to the friendly bartender, walked out to the car, put on Beethoven Op 12 No 2, and began driving home. The pizza was super hot, so I opened the box for a minute to let it cool, but there was no way I was going to make it home without my cheese course, so I began.

One thing I noticed, for the very first time, is that the underside of Famous Luigi’s crust has no char. Zero. It’s blanched white, with diamond-shaped indentations in the bottom of the crust. Although I can’t be certain, this tells me that it’s placed on some type of metal screen, and perhaps sent through a top-heated conveyor belt system (although I suppose it could be a top-heated non-dynamic oven) – the cheese is abundant, gooey, and beautifully browned which is clearly the main drawing card of the pies.

Even though the bottom had no char whatsoever, the pizza was still cooked (I didn’t feel like I was eating raw dough), so whichever method they use, they’ve got it down pat.

The cheese was gooey and satisfying; the crust was nondescript and I didn’t eat much of it – certainly none around the periphery (at $7.50, I have no problem wasting unexciting pizza crust). The tomato sauce tended towards being slightly sweet, but didn’t steal the show – it’s a benign pizza, undoubtedly loved for it’s gooey, well-browned cheese which I have to admit has a certain appeal.

By the time I got home, I was pretty well stuffed. I took the box, the remaining crust of the pizza, and the napkins, and walked directly to my recycling bin, where everything is sitting outside right now for a morning pickup.

At $7.50, there was nothing to complain about, but for the first time in my life, I realized why I’ve never loved Famous Luigi’s pizza: it’s the baking method. Well, okay, the crust is nothing to write home about either. But I certainly got my money’s worth, so I have no complaints. The pastas I saw when I walked around the restaurant looked like the restaurant didn’t skimp on meat sauce, so there is a primal appeal to this restaurant that (along with it’s relentless advertising campaign in key publications) is very attractive to customers, and especially tourists.

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