Smith and Wollensky, Downtown

Posted on October 20, 2012 by Don

I walked into Smith and Wollensky tonight a touch on the casual side. It’s the norm for gentlemen to be in a suit and tie, and I was wearing a polo shirt and slacks (not jeans). After a friendly welcome (and a quick glance), I said I was just going to the bar for a drink, and an older gentleman – perhaps the Maître d’ – “mentioned” that the bar in back was also open. I took the hint (without offense), headed left, and took a seat at a completely empty bar.

It quickly dawned on me that, although this bar was up-and-running, with, I will add, two flatscreen TVs (ahem), this was being used mainly as a service bar – the one where restaurant customers would get their drinks filled. As a result, despite me being the only customer sitting here, the lone bartender was pretty busy. Unfortunately, there’s a pretty good reason he was working the service bar: not much in the way of interpersonal skills, especially considering I was about to be his biggest (and only) tip of the night.

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” he said, and when he finally got around to me, I ordered a draft Goose Island IPA ($7.00 for about a 10-ounce pour), then waited for a menu.

For an appetizer, I decided on something fairly novel for such a stodgy restaurant: Tuna Crudo on a Himalayan Salt Block ($17). This was a nice dish, with high-grade tuna, about six good-sized pieces (the menu says it’s sliced thin, but it isn’t), half of them medium-fatty, the other half quite lean. Accompanied by a salad of what I think was watercress and enoki mushrooms, drenched in olive oil, the whole thing came served on an ingot of Himalayan salt, the size of an Englehard Silver Bar and weighing about 3-4 pounds. Indeed, it was a pure block of salt, but was so hard that it was difficult to scrape any off. Ironically, the salad was undersalted, making me feel like the exact opposite of a man dying of thirst on a raft in the ocean. As Coleridge wrote:

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

To put the service in perspective, when I had finished my appetizer – which I recommend trying if you don’t mind spending the money – I walked upstairs to visit the restroom. Before I left, I said that I’d love a glass of Bulleit 95 Rye ($14) with my entree which I ordered at that time. “Neat or on the rocks?” my bartender asked. “Neat, with one ice cube on the side,” I said. When I came back down, several minutes later, the bartender was behind the bar, not working on any service drinks, and both my empty plate and empty beer glass remained right where they were, my napkin was on the chair where I left it, and there was no glass of rye to be found.

I took a seat, my bartender replaced my silverware, and I said, “I’d love that glass of Bulleitt when you get a moment.” He put the glass down on the rubber matrix thing behind the bar, alongside a second glass with two ice cubes, and tilted the bottle to pour my drink. As he was pouring, I said to myself, “Your tip’s on the line. Your tip’s on the line. Your tip’s on the line.” After an unbelievably miserly pour, he stopped, and my heart sank. Then, he pulled the oldest bartending trick in the book: he “decided” to top it off with a second pour, and just as my heart began to rise again, he stopped, the second pour amounting to only a dribble. It was a cheap, crummy pour, and I was his only customer of the night. Yeah, you know, I hate to sound petty, but that pissed me off. He was hoping the pour was small enough where I’d order a second one, but I wasn’t going to. Also, for the first time in memory, a bartender finished pouring a drink, then walked away and started doing something else, leaving it on the rubber matrix, and not offering it to me. I honestly didn’t know what to do: should I reach across and take it, or would that be rude? Well, after about fifteen seconds, I reached across and took it.

My appetizer was good enough where I decided to make it a tuna evening. Wasabi Crusted Tuna ($32) was a plate of three *huge* pieces of tuna – each the size of a petit filet mignon – cooked slightly above the rare doneness that I’d requested, and served with bok choy and carrots on top of a pomegranate black garlic sauce, with a little tub of needless wasabi (which seemed powdered) on the side. Although I had a strong preference for my crudo, this was a good dish, and despite the price, was a good value for the money – it was a humongous portion of tuna. The runner who served me my entree asked me if I’d like a glass of ice water. I said yes, with genuine appreciation, and wondered why I hadn’t gotten one thirty minutes before.

My bill, before tax and tip, was $69 for two drinks, an appetizer, and an entree. My bartender got a $13 tip, as opposed to the $14 I’d normally leave. It was a subtle swipe, but a swipe nonetheless. He could have, and certainly should have, been more attentive to his only customer of the evening. The food at Smith and Wollensky on this evening was pretty good; the service left much to be desired. Let me make myself clear here: my bartender seemed like a decent fellow; he just wasn’t a very good bartender.

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Reston Kabob, Reston, VA

Posted on October 20, 2012 by Don

I suspect most readers of this have never heard of Reston Kabob, much less been there (you have to really be looking for it to find it).

Recently, I’ve been to Crystal City’s Kabob Palace several times (they’re open 24 hours, and I’ve been working into the wee hours of the morning – even went at 5 AM once). Although what I’ve had at Kabob Palace has ranged from “good” to “average,” even the very best item would fall short in a comparison with the terrific dinner I had at Reston Kabob last night.

I’m not quite sure what, exactly, Reston Kabob is (other than a kabob house). It has a nice little website, advertising that they serve only Halal meat, has been open for ten years, but it doesn’t come across to me as Persian, Pakistani, or really of any particular nationality, although it’s listed on some websites as Afghan. I asked for Must-o-Kheyar on the telephone, for example, and the girl on the other end didn’t understand what I was saying.

Nevertheless, any skepticism I had evaporated when I opened my styrofoam treasure trove. Therein sat my #5 Kabob Platter ($14.99) of Kobeeda [Tory spelling] and Chicken. It was as if a virgin had unzipped John Holmes’ pants. The “kobeeda” was enormous, so big that it didn’t fit into a straight line when triangulating the square container – it was probably a good 14-15 inches in length, with more than average girth.

Along with it, atop the mound of basmati rice, were about five or six outsized chunks of boneless chicken, and a throwaway green salad with lettuce and two slices of tomato. I made the mistake of noticing a drawer full of tubs containing white sauce which I mistook for yogurt, and asked for two of them to go along with my green sauce. Well, they turned out to be sweetish poppy seed salad dressing, but I was too late with the first one (which went atop my rice); the second went atop the salad, the green sauce went atop the meats, and a joyous meal was had by all.

Restonians rejoice! You have a fine local kabob house in your midst.

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Cafe Berlin, Capitol Hill

Posted on October 20, 2012 by Don

Cafe Berlin is a forgotten restaurant, mostly associated with the tourist industry, but I was here a couple years ago and thoroughly enjoyed my liter of beer, so I had another go at it.

The tiny bar isn’t worth it, nor is the ugly bar area (there must surely be an upstairs here, although I’ve never seen it). However, the patio, like that of its next-door neighbor, Bistro Cacao, is a delightful place to have a meal, and is where I chose to celebrate this Oktoberfest during this wonderful Indian Summer we’ve been enjoying this week. I keep telling myself, “This is your last al fresco meal of the year,” and I keep proving to be wrong, so no predictions from this point forward.

Nobody will remember this, but I’ll say it anyway: 25 years ago, Spaten was a wonderful brewery, and in particular Spaten Oktoberfest was, not just good, but flat-out amazing. I’ll never forget one day, back in the late 1980s, when my friend Curtis and I went to “Steak Night” (I think on Mondays, they offered a steak for something like $11.95) at The Saloon (now called The Saloun due to a legal battle over the name) in Georgetown. Anyway, it was during Oktoberfest, and we both ordered a half-liter mug. I will never forget the two of us taking our first sip at the exact same moment, and both of us looking up at each other, in complete awe and disbelief over how amazing this keg of beer was. The look on his face is forever etched in my memory – Spaten Oktoberfest used to be a thing of wonder; no longer.

Nevertheless, I started my meal with a half-liter of … guess what … Spaten Oktoberfest ($7.50), and in retrospect, I really wish my (otherwise friendly) server had given me the option of a full liter (he didn’t ask what size I wanted, although I suppose I could have spoken up – I was pretty sure I’d end up ordering two, which I did). Sadly, the beer is now a very mass-produced product, and tastes like it. It’s “okay,” but completely unrelated to the glorious beer that it used to be a quarter-century in the past. I don’t often pine away for the “good old days,” but my palate memory, if I do say so myself, is nothing short of remarkable, and I ask people to believe me when I tell them that this beer used to be flat-out awesome.

Cafe Berlin’s menu had a separate Oktoberfest insert, and both of my items were ordered off that list.

Bayerische Kartoffelcremesuppe ($7.95) was a bowl of Bavarian cream of potato soup with marjoram, served warm, but about 10 degrees not hot enough (I could have sent it back for reheating, but it was right on the border of being enjoyable). Along with it came a bread basket, served warm from a cut loaf consisting of six pieces, somewhat frozen tasting, all still attached to each other because they had only been sliced 95% of the way through. The basket came with an attractively piped tub of garlic butter. There was something starchy in the soup, other than the widely dispersed potato chunks, and I think it may have been bread.

Bayerischer Schweinebraten mit Kümmelsoße ($22.95) was three slices of roast pork loin drenched with caroway sauce, served with two terrific biscuit-shaped bread dumplings, and a side bowl of marinated red cabbage. Although a touch on the expensive side, this was a very tasty dish that screamed Bavaria. It was a starch-heavy meal for sure, so much so that I reluctantly passed on the dessert menu which included a homemade apple strudel with vanilla sauce.

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Abay Market, Bailey’s Crossroads, VA

Posted on October 19, 2012 by Don

I had lunch at Abay Market yesterday because I’d been craving meat. As before, there are only about five tables, and the place is a complete, total dive. It is in a long strip of shops and restaurants that I believe is the most dense strip of Ethiopian shops in the DC area, including Little Ethiopia downtown. The signage of some of these places is so vague that it’s hard to tell if they’re markets, cafes, stores, or a combination of the above. But I think it’s safe to say that within a 150-yard-long strip of stores (maybe a two-minute walk down the two side-by-side strip malls), there are a good dozen places serving Ethiopian food.

You walk into Abay, and there’s a cash register in front of you, 6-7 different types of injera for sale right next to it (from five different local producers – I counted), and right behind that, a small seating area with about 4-5 cheap tables and chairs. It’s about as bare-boned as it gets.

The proprietors, one man (proprietor Yonas Alemayehu) and one woman, were bemused to see me ask for a menu. There was one other table of Ethiopian gentlemen enjoying a soccer match on TV, and I was handed what I guess could be called a “menu,” which listed exactly five different meat courses, and then some type of special on the inside of the menu, along with 2-3 pages of aging reviews.

I wanted raw meat, and not much of anything else, and that’s precisely what I got. My Kitfo ($16.35 (*)) was translated as “Stake Tatar,” finely chopped sirloin with kibe (purified butter) and mitmita (Ethiopian seasoned pepper), and can be served raw, medium, well-done, anyway you want it. After I put my order in, I walked up to the cashier and asked if they had any injera made with teff, and the Mr Alemayehu didn’t quite understand me. “You want the dark one?” he asked. “Sure,” I said.

Before I left, I perused the injera selection, and they all list teff as the primary ingredient, with “self-rising flour” as the second ingredient – all of them did. I don’t know if “self-rising flour” is wheat, or something else. I had reached the limits of my knowledge, and as I type this, I still don’t know if my injera was made with 100% teff, or simply with teff as its primary grass. Well, regardless, I got “the dark one” and it was very good.

The kitfo arrived, on a platter of injera, with one extra piece rolled up alongside. I got a subtle reminder from Langano a couple weeks ago not to overload on injera, so on this day I employed a “biting strategy” that involved picking up the kitfo with injera, but then only biting 2/3 of the way down instead of putting the whole thing in my mouth. This way, the same piece of injera can be used several times over, and you can maximize the meat aspect instead of filling up on bread.

And it’s a good thing, too, because the amount of sirloin I got was so huge that it was clearly meant for two people. A huge, softball-sized pile of raw sirloin, with just enough kibe to hold it together, offered with a small pile of homemade Ethiopian cheese, and some extra mitmita powder alongside. Other than these two things, it was essentially a gigantic portion of meat – spicy, too.

I really hadn’t planned on eating such a large lunch, as it was getting close to 1 PM, but there was no way I was going to waste this. It was so good I couldn’t believe it – far and away the best kitfo I’ve ever eaten. If you’ve never been here, then no matter how good you think the kitfo you’ve tried has been, I’m pretty sure this will be better. It was just about perfect, and with my “save the injera” technique, I managed to finish every bite before leaving, stuffed to the gills.

Mr Alemayehu, clearly amused that someone like me had ordered such a thing, asked me if I knew Anthony Bourdain (sigh), and that he’d been into his market. “Yes, I actually just heard this today,” I said. But what I didn’t know is that he apparently comes back, without cameras, and enjoys the kitfo on his own sometimes when he’s in town. And I don’t blame him because it’s terrific.

(*) I’m assuming the price was $16.35 because the bill I got at the register (which included tax) was the odd amount $17.17. I believe Bailey’s Crossroads is in Fairfax County, but not Falls Church City, which means the sales tax is 4% state + 1% county – that would make the kitfo $16.35. Regardless, it was too cheap, and I felt guilty not having any space on the receipt to leave a tip. So I took out what I had – a five-dollar bill – and just told him to keep it. This was surely a pound of meat, freshly prepared, and it was robbery at that price.

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Dukbaeki Maeul / Suldoga, Annandale, VA

Posted on October 18, 2012 by Don

We were thinking of going to Gooldaegee last night, but as I was driving, I shouted, “Charcoal barbecue!” as I noticed a new restaurant was open in the old Chung Dai Kam space.

The sign outside says Suldoga, but the menu inside says Dukbaeki Maeul Suldoga, so I was at something of a loss. However, all it took was a bit of Google-digging, and loku.com cleared it right up. There’s also an annandaleva.blogspot.com article about the pre-restaurant days.

Sadly, gone are the charcoal barbecues – perhaps sold at auction when Chung Dai Kam closed; perhaps removed when Suldoga originally opened as a bar – but either way, they are sadly gone.

My young dining companion had only one guideline: “I don’t mind odd flavors or textures, but I’m not in the mood for odd body parts,” he said, thus leaving out the “Ox Knee” and various other menu items offered – although I think that ox knee might be a type of root.

I started with my usual non-ethnic ethnic beer, a bottle of the benign OB Golden Lager ($4.99). One thing I learned last night is that “OB” stands for “Oriental Brewery.”

Five different Banchan arrived, all vegan, and not all that good. There were two greens, two chili-reds, and one white (bean sprouts). As I’ve seen at other Korean restaurants, including Gamasot, the table was equipped with (instead of salt and pepper) MSG and pepper, as well as a wooden box of metal spoons for the two white boys.

Before the entrees arrived, a post-banchan bowl of Beef Broth was served, so they weren’t vegan after all.

The first dish that came, came out sizzling and spattering, the LA Galbi ($16.99) served on a huge, oval metallic plate plunked into a form-fitting wooden exterior. The short ribs, about a dozen of them, were marinated in “house sauce” which looked dangerously like a brownish gravy, but on the palate, the marinade was very normal tasting. Along with the onions, long past caramelization, to the point where they had charred and were sticking to the plate, this was a tasty platter, served with some white rice on the side.

I thought the Dolsot Bibimbap ($8.99) was going to be vegetarian, the menu advertising it as being served with “mixed vegetables and fried egg,” but there was also a little pocket of beef to be found. I added a little chili sauce, dressed it like a salad, and asked Matt for his opinion – we both felt it could go just a notch higher, so I added a little more to season it to perfection. At $8.99, this was an outstanding value (I thought the Dolsot version said $9.99 on the menu, but we were charged $8.99). The only problem was the inevitable hard-cooking of the egg which was so overdone and browned that I had trouble finding where the yolk used to be.

Service was courteous, if a little brusque, and this was a pleasant meal that both of us agreed was a “repeat but not a rush back.”

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Baronessa, Rockville, MD

Posted on October 18, 2012 by Don

After winding my freshly tuned car through the backroads of northern Montgomery County, I cut over on Route 28, stopping in for a late lunch at Baronessa.

There was only one other diner in the restaurant, who ordered the Melanzane alla Parmigiana, and that sounded good to me. The gentleman who took my order asked me if I wanted penne or linguini as my side dish. “Are either of them homemade?” I asked. “Nah,” he shook his head. “Just the lasagna and cannelloni.”

So I went ahead and changed my order to a lunch special of Lasagna ($9.95), tacked on a Caesar Salad ($2.00), and a Diet Coke ($2.00).

There were nice touches in this suburban Italian restaurant with it’s real tablecloths and paper napkins. Thoughtful displays of artwork on the wall – frescos by Edna Searles signed and dated February, 2005 which probably make the restaurant itself two months older than donrockwell.com. A real, honest-to-goodness Southern Italian cook, Antonia Cenere (perhaps “The Baronessa” herself), proudly featured on the restaurant’s website. I couldn’t help but feel a kinship with this place, a small, family-owned business toiling for 7.5 years.

At a $2 supplement, the Caesar salad is a no-brainer addition to the lunch specials. It used romaine leaves that were evenly cut, and more importantly, properly dressed – there was no “drizzling” of Caesar dressing on this; it was made to order, and mixed in a bowl. There were no anchovies, but the lettuce and dressing were in correct proportion, and the salad was a nice way to start the lunch. Even the humble Diet Coke was served in a glass glass, with the top half of the paper left on the straw, and a lemon wedge placed on the side.

The generous wedge of lasagna took a fairly long time to arrive (all the more reason to enjoy a salad), and that’s because it was heated to order in an oven, with the elliptical baking dish oven-hot to the touch. Baronessa is closed on Mondays, and since this was Tuesday lunch, I wasn’t expecting any culinary miracles. The lasagna was the gooey, meaty, cheesy type, with an abundance of ricotta, and what might have been a slice of provolone melted on top. It tended towards the bland, and could have used something to awaken it, even button mushrooms, or maybe some onion; I added a few shakes of salt, and went through exactly one slice of sub-par, grocery-store quality, Italian bread (served with foil-wrapped pats of real butter), to swipe up the sauce. I took the second half of the dish home, and my son cheerfully had it at 6:15 this morning, in the car, on the way to school, along with a Susan G. Komen Georgetown Cupcake left over from two nights ago. The poor lad often has his dad’s leftovers on Thursday mornings, but generally draws the line when I offer him cold Thai food.

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Mr. Smith’s, Georgetown

Posted on October 18, 2012 by Don

Many people know that Mr. Smith’s has been on the corner of 31st and M streets for over 40 years; not many people know that they’ve had the same chef, Arturo Guevara, for 30 years, giving him one of the longest tenures of any chef in the DC area.

As I enjoyed my “October Beer of the Month,” a bottle of Batch 19 ($3.25), I struck up two conversations – one conversation with a gentleman on my right, about my age with dreadlocks down to his waist, who had seen it all, many times over, the other conversation with a gentleman on my left, an eternally optimistic, handsome young man in his 20s – girls would have swooned over him – who was visiting DC for the first time.

The gentleman on my right mentioned something about Richard Pryor, and I said I’d just seen one of his stand-up comedy routines the night before on YouTube. He began talking about Redd Foxx; I told him about a hilariously groundbreaking comedian from the 70s who he wouldn’t know: Clay Tyson (I had an album of Clay Tyson’s called “Laugh Your Ass Off”). Well, I couldn’t believe that he did know him, adding that he used to bartend in a comedy club in Atlanta, decades ago. “Could you possibly know a guy named Steve Smith?” I asked. His face lit up in disbelief. He did! I saw Steve Smith in a decrepit, South Carolina comedy roadhouse back in the early 80s – he was a local comedian from Atlanta, and completely unknown even then. And I still remember one of his jokes: “Whenever you see a black comic, you can be sure they’re going to talk about two things: black people, and Jesus. And you’re gonna get the same from me. Right before I came on stage, I peeked through the curtain at the audience, and said to myself, “Jesus! There aren’t any black people in here!”

Thus, the answer to the eternal question: How do you make 50 rednecks simultaneously double over laughing while spewing Coors Light through their noses?

I bought my friend to the right a Jameson; my friend to the left a second Coors Light, recommending that he hit Bandolero on the way back to the Key Bridge Marriott. Heck, it had been too long since I’d bought strangers a round of drinks, and it felt good, too.

About that Batch 19: Despite its artisan label, it’s owned and made by Coors. Nevertheless, it’s a good beer that has retained its microbrew characteristics, and one that beer lovers will like if they can find it; I haven’t noticed it at any other restaurants, but I also hadn’t been looking for it.

I also developed a rapport with my bartender, who has been working at Mr. Smith’s for five years. He seemed like he was pretty familiar with the menu, so I trusted him when I asked if the “Fresh Fish of the Day” was really fresh. Mr. Smiths’ website says, and I quote, “Freshly caught and heart-healthy – never frozen – if it wasn’t swimming last night we wouldn’t be serving it today! Ask your server for details.” Really? If it wasn’t swimming last night?

Fact or Fiction? Well, fiction, but not by *that* much. My bartender assured me that they get a shipment in every other day, and that it’s probably the best thing on the menu. (My friend to the left got an absolutely massive burger – Mr. Smith’s claims that they sell over one ton of hamburgers a month! That would have probably been a more representative sampling of the restaurant, but I wanted to see if they could do a good fish dish.) Chef Guevara, every now and then, would appear from the kitchen, holding a plate of food for a runner to pick up, so he was working on this Monday evening.

So, the fish of the day was Swordfish ($16.95), served with broccoli florets, rice pilaf, and a dinner roll. And you know what? It was a darned good piece of fish, one of the best and most well-prepared pieces of swordfish I’ve had in awhile (I don’t order swordfish much). Diners have the option of grilled vs. blackened – my bartender recommended grilled, and I’m glad he did because I really liked it. I’m happy to say that based on this one dish, I can heartily recommend the fresh catch of the day at Mr. Smith’s – much to my surprise!

And one other thing: On the menu, there is a Wine Burger for $999. On the website, it says it’s $1,000, so for some reason there’s a one-dollar discount on the paper menu. What is it? It’s the hamburger of your choice, plus a bottle of Lafite-Rothschild. That’s it. A publicity stunt for sure. In five years, my bartender told me he has never heard of one being sold. I pressed him about it, and the manager on duty said he has seen a couple served during his career (Mr. Smith’s website claims that their service manager has worked at the restaurant for over 25 years, and this may have been him).

And so I pressed him further, and asked about the vintage. Not to be a pain; but honest-to-goodness, if this was the right vintage of Lafite, I would have potentially tried to purchase one to go. The price of Lafite has absolutely skyrocketed at auction in recent years, and certain vintages are worth more than $1,000.

The manager said he couldn’t remember the vintage, but went downstairs and brought it back up. It was presented in an elaborately decorated wooden canister that, as pretty as it looked, was made from balsa wood, and on the bottom of it was a sticker that said, “Made in China.” So the container itself did not come from Lafite, who imports their wines to the United States in pine cases of 12 bottles each (usually).

But that didn’t make the wine itself fake; it was merely a decorative container in which to present it. So I opened it, looked at the bottle, and my jaw dropped: it was a 1933! A 1933! I have never once, not in my entire life, seen a bottle of 1933 Bordeaux. More on that in a second, but the shape of the bottle appeared correct, the capsule appeared correct (they used shorter capsules back then), and the label looked like it *may* have been correct, although with only a two-minute inspection, and no older pictures to compare it with, there was no way for me to know for sure. It looked a teeny-tiny bit suspect, but it may have been authentic for at least two reasons: who in the heck would counterfeit a 1933 Bordeaux, well-known among connoisseurs to be a lesser vintage whose wines were drunk up long ago. More importantly – much more importantly – the importer’s strip was from “Milton S. Kronheim,” and this screamed authenticity.

Let me tell you: Based on what I saw, if this had been a 49, 48, 47, 45, 34, 29, or 28, I would have bought it on the spot. Yes, I would have tried to negotiate the price down a bit, but I would have bought it. The 33? Well, put it this way: if I were at Chateau Lafite-Rothschild in Bordeaux, and they offered me a perfectly stored bottle of 33 from their library collection (assuming they have any left), I would pay $1,000 for it. Here in the United States? Well, I can’t remember the years Milton S. Kronheim was active (certainly not off the top of my head, in a bar like Mr. Smith’s, when I had to make a snap decision), but I was sorely tempted to make a lowball offer for the wine because when I held it up to the light (the dim light which didn’t give me a really good view), the sediment at the bottom of the bottle looked “correct” – abundant and healthy – and just as importantly, the color looked to be a still-vibrant ruby red. Not purple (like a new wine), but ruby red. But I just didn’t feel comfortable pulling the trigger, or even negotiating, because at the end of the day, a 1933 Lafite is no huge prize despite its rarity. Who knows the original provenance of this 81-year-old wine which was vinified decades before Mr. Smith’s even opened. But I did consider it for a brief moment.

Hey Big Spenders! Want to impress your date, and potentially steal one of the rarest old Bordeaux you’ll ever drink? Go for it. I bet they’ll throw in a second burger. Make arrangements that, if the cork is branded with something other than 1933 Lafite-Rothschild (that will be the true test), then you expect not to pay for the wine. But there’s a reasonable chance that one of the rarest wines in the city is sitting buried in the basement of Mr. Smith’s, and it may well be in pretty good shape.

And so it went – what could have been a painfully ordinary evening was turned into something extraordinary, with new friends, a fascinating discovery, and a pretty darned good dinner. Life is what you make of it, and on this night, I made it happen – let this story inspire you to do the same.

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Good Fortune, Wheaton, MD

Posted on October 16, 2012 by Don

Good Fortune serves mid-day dim sum seven days a week, M-F from 11:30-3, and weekends and holidays from 11-3.

I stopped in for a dim sum lunch yesterday, and had a perfectly good meal for $9.25 before tax and tip (3 items, plus a pot of tea for 50 cents). All dim sum on this Monday was made to order in the kitchen (which is an absolute necessity since at 1 PM, there were only two other diners in the restaurant the whole time I was there).

Har Gow ($2.75 for 4) were the weak link, and about as basic as this simple dish can be: frozen (but deveined) shrimp, wrapped in a translucent, bag-shaped, rice-paper wrapper, and steamed. My dishes were served with a little bowl of chili oil (with dried seeds and flakes) that I used side-by-side with a few drops of soy sauce, and these needed a little dunk to wake them up. If you don’t know what these dim sum items are, you should Google them – presentations are often similar, and pictures describe them well.

Fried Fun Gor ($3.50 for 3) was, I think, slightly different than most presentations. Crescent-shaped and deep fried, the yeasty, almost donut-smelling, batter was lined on the inside with a sweet, pale orange paste, perhaps some type of bean or taro. The center portion of the crescent contained a small ball of ground pork and what seemed to be spring onion. They were very flavorful and well-fried.

Pan Fried Turnip Cake ($2.50 for 3) is my traditional weakness at dim sum restaurants, and it’s almost obligatory for me. I developed a taste for them early on, and don’t think I’ve ever had one I don’t like. Rectangular, pan-fried, and custardy, with tiny bits of pork and strands of turnip, I’ve never been quite sure what the base for these gelatinous blocks are, and perhaps it’s best that I don’t know.

While the Har Gow was a bit bland (which it often is), I really don’t see how Good Fortune could have delivered a better version of what I ordered. My server was just the right combination of friendly and abrupt. I only wanted to finish half the meal, and enjoyed the rest later at home (even the Fried Fun Gor microwaved decently).

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Saffron Grill, Great Falls, VA

Posted on October 13, 2012 by Don

I was the last customer in Saffron Grill tonight, wanting to order a lamb kabob to go.

A slightly older gentleman was behind the counter, and I asked him (at 8:45) if his kitchen was still open. He said yes, he could grill me something, so I ordered Saffron’s Tender Lamb (Chenjeh) with Bread ($13.99). As the probable owner, he was happy with the relatively late order (they close at 9 PM), and immediately handed me a cup and invited me to help myself to a soft drink while I waited. I appreciated this very much.

There was a second older gentleman working the kitchen, and I took a carryout menu, grabbed a seat, and waited for my order, perusing the daily specials, sipping my glass of ice water, and noticing the pleasant wall frescos and thick, lush drapes on the windows. There is some pride that went into decorating this restaurant.

After about fifteen minutes, the order was ready, and the gentleman working the kitchen rang it up, mistakenly having served me the option with rice ($14.99). But it also came with bread and a small tub of Must-o-Kheyar so I didn’t even mention the extra dollar. In fact, I left a $1.50 tip becuase I’m just not the type to quibble over a couple of dollars, or to worry about “bait and switch” tactics when pennies are on the line.

I thanked them for serving me this late, got into my car, and immediately took a nibble of the Naan (which was cooked earlier in the tandoor, but cut to order) nodding my head approvingly.

When I got back, I opened the container to find white and yellow (saffron) rice which was well-made, and perhaps just a touch oversalted and buttery, but not much. There were six double-bite chunks of lamb that tasted of lamb (not of generic beef), and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if this is Halal meat.

At what amounts to $2 per piece, this is not an inexpensive kabob, but if you order from the “Saffron Combinations” section, you can double the meat for just a couple extra dollars. This is the best and most economical way to order here.

To the best of my knowledge, no beer or wine is served, so Saffron Grill may be useful as more of a carryout option. My takeaway here? The free soda which was an act of generosity and nothing more.

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Emilio’s Brick Oven Pizza, Sterling, VA

Posted on October 13, 2012 by Don

Emilio’s (either www.emiliossterling.com or www.eatatemilios.com) has been open since 1997, and is a classic suburban pizzeria, of great value to the neighborhood, but not a restaurant you’d travel for, unless you were me.

I’m typing this at Emilio’s now, on their WiFi, and have a tinge of sadness that Mr. Reza Emil “Emilio” Azar once had the fortitude to open in Leesburg, only to have the second branch shut down.

This is very much of an outlet – an advertisement – for Boar’s Head, and if you like Boar’s Head products, you’ll probably like the toppings and sandwich fillings here.

I ordered a large Roma ($20) with fresh mozzarella, crumbly Italian sausage, pepperoni, portobello mushrooms, and marinated, i.e., “canned” tomatoes, with my strategy being this would be an “interior only” pizza, and that proved to be correct. Despite the beautiful, wood-burning brick oven, the crust itself is not a strong point, and the outer periphery is best left alone.

Orders are taken at the counter, and a Moretti ($4.50) or Peroni ($4.00) is paid for, self-grabbed from the beverage cooler, and opened if the staff can find a bottle opener which will be lying somewhere near the register.

In many ways, this reminds me of my child comfort pizzerias, Sammy’s Villa (which was much better) and Dominic’s (which is a little better), or maybe even Stained Glass Pub. This is not pizza that you write about; it’s pizza that you order for your kids, and then go home and turn on the TV, unaware that restaurant websites even exist.

The kids in Sterling here this evening are loving it, however, and there are dozens of pictures, photos, and posters on the wall that show Mr. Azar is active in the Sterling community, loves soccer and football, and even skydives. As I type, he himself is assembling a pizza, commiserating with a customer about the Oklahoma-Texas game, and worrying aloud about his blood sugar, just as I suppose he’s been doing since 1997.

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