JSnake

After a failed attempt to go to Gypsy Soul on Saturday and the next day's fallout from what happened (that's a story for another day and has nothing to do with the restaurant itself -- suffice to say that I am looking for a new home nurse), my family and I decided that what we needed was a relaxing dinner on the water. So last night we went to the only restaurant I know of that's 1)) On the water, 2) Doesn't suck, and 3) isn't Fiola Mare levels of expensive. I have to say, I think last night was the best meal I've had in a long time. We got there at about 6:00 and were promptly seated at a table with an arresting view of the SE waterfront. For drinks, I started by asking our server if they served any alcohol-free beers. They didn't. But our server quickly rebounded by offering to have the bar "whip something up." I agreed and what arrived was a non-alcoholic Mojito, which was delightfully refreshing and crisp. As someone who usually sticks with water, maybe the occasional root beer, this did not have me regretting my decision to venture outside my comfort zone. My brother got a bottle of Great Lakes Burning River Pale Ale, which he seemed to generally enjoy but said was a little thin. He much preferred his second beer, a bottle of Brooklyn Pilsner. My sister ordered a Rosé, which she loved. Appetizers were a charcuterie and cheese plate. We went with one meat, two cheeses, which turned out to be plenty. Our choices were the Proscuitto di Parma, the Parmigiano Reggiano and the Taleggio. Our selections came with an assortment of various breads and spreads. One of the spreads was some sort of jam and I discovered a winning combination by spreading both the jam and the Parmigiano onto one of the grilled breads. The sweetness of the jam did a great job of balancing out the sharpness of the cheese. Once I tipped my dining companions onto this, the cheese and jam vanished in no time. The lone charcuterie was also excellent. The meat pulled away effortlessly with a yank of my fork and had an addictively salty (but not too salty) flavor. Again, it quickly vanished. For our second course, my sister and I went with pastas while my mom and brother chose fish. I ordered the Cappelletti while my Celiac sister got a gluten-free order of Rigatoni, which came in a sauce of braised wild mushrooms, rosemary oil and parmigiano. Mom got the Branzino and big bro got the Pan-roasted Fluke. My Cappelletti was incredible and easily the standout of my entire meal. The dish itself consisted of round pasta pouches stuffed with truffles and ricotta, served in a sauce of melted butter and a generous amount of proscuitto. I stuck my fork in one of the raviolis, brought it to my mouth and started chewing. And then my eyes rolled into the back of my head. The unmistakable taste of truffles blended with the creaminess of the ricotta and saltiness of the proscuitto-laden sauce to create a flavor profile that overwhelmed my senses. The pasta itself had a gentle, soft bite to it that practically screamed "open me!" This was pasta that knew exactly what it had inside, like a doorway that beckons you to see what's behind it or a christmas present begging to be opened. I felt like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole, only the deeper I fell, the more at peace I became with the world. Hyperbole? Maybe. But there's no denying what I felt last night was real. I can't wait to go through the looking glass once again and see what else I find there. Dessert:

I went to Ray's earlier this month as well. They definitely still got it. My ribeye was as good as it's ever been -- served perfectly as ordered with a generous amount of marbling. Mashed potatoes still just as dangerously addictive.

Call me nuts but that header image in the Washingtonian article doesn't exactly get my stomach growling.

Done. Thanks, RJ. Hope to see you in the kitchen this weekend

Strongly considering taking my visiting brother and sister to Gypsy Soul this weekend. Can anyone tell me which menu on their website is more accurate? This one: http://gypsysoul-va.com/menus/dinner/ Or this one: http://3kj1hwd23lm2yc5qj8l5g52z.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/Gypsy_Soul_Menus-Dinner.pdf The PDF menu seems considerably more appealing. I mean, smoked pigs head? Yes please!

Are you dissing Shake Shack? Are we going to have to throwdown?

Any good?

What do you mean by "real prime"? I assume that's different from the prime cuts I buy from Costco.

Is it common for non-franchise steak houses to serve Choice grade cuts? This is not a topic I'm entirely familiar with as my experience with restaurants devoted to steak extend to Ray's and that's about it. I just kinda assumed a place like Monty's would be serving Prime grade. Sorry if I'm sounding at all negative, khashmon, as that isn't my intention at all. I'm merely curious as to what's SOP at places like Monty's or Ray's.

I just noticed that Wiseguy's redesigned website has an excerpt of my review in this thread posted on their front page under the press section. I'm flattered. Wonder if I can use that to get some free pizza (kidding )

Do you know how they prepare the burgers, Kibbee? Any particular style or just grilled normally?

I preheat a skillet on medium for a few minutes, throw a slice on there, COVER THE SKILLET and let it cook for about 6 minutes. Yes this means reheating your pie one slice at a time but it's really the best way I've found. Sometimes the slices come out of the skillet even better than when they were made fresh.

No kidding. Unfortunately I didn't get his name

Today was certainly an adventure, friends. I spent the hours of 9:30 AM to 6:00 PM in a hospital emergency room after suffering a sudden onset of shortness of breath and extreme fatigue. Heart rate of 100+ and the early morning DC traffic did not help matters in the least. 9 AM, I get to the hospital, sign in, they take me within 10 minutes. Hallelujah, maybe this will be quicker than I thought. I fill in paperwork related to my allergies and describe what has me visiting. They take my height, weight, temperature and then I'm following a pretty blonde who was, I'm guessing, maybe two years my senior (I'm 22). She leads through several long winding corridors. At this point, I think to myself, "I'm not gonna be thrilled if their idea of a remedy for shortness of breath is a long, leisurely walk through the hospital hallways." After what felt like an hour, we arrived at the room that was going to be my personal hell for the next 9 hours. After settling myself down on the hard, ruthlessly uncomfortable torture device they have the balls to call a bed, an entourage of medical professionals bombard me. One wants to attach a blood-pressure cuff. Okay, fine. Another requisitions one of my fingers so they can put a sat probe on it. I briefly consider giving him my middle finger. No, better not. I've done this enough times to know that isn't how you get out of here quickly. Next, I'm asked to take my shirt off. Okay, probably to put on an EKG. I guess correctly. At this point, I entertain the fantasy of the pretty blonde nurse coming in and being enraptured by my shirtless body. Then I look at my scars and realize they aren't the macho war-hero scars, just the boring surgical ones. Shortly after, the doc comes in and starts asking me questions. What are you in for, what's your medical history, yadda yadda. He has a funny last name that ended with "gosh." I was immediately reminded of the previous night, when I had watched Anthony Bourdain travel to Budapest, where he ate authentic goulash made by the locals. It was at that moment that I realized I hadn't eaten all day and it was already 1 PM and normally I'm having lunch around this time and holy shit I could really go for some goddamn goulash right now. I interrupt the doctor to ask if I can order in delivery. His answer is no. Shit. Can I grab something from the vending machine, then? Still no. Shit. Okay, well, why not? Because the tests I'll be administering require your stomach to be empty, is his reply. I let out a yell inside my head to rival Charlie Brown's when he misses the football. His questions answered, he leaves. My questions were also answered. The difference between the two of us is I didn't get the answers I wanted. Next, the two right-hand men of Satan himself entered the room. This is what I had been dreading. The one on the left brandished a miniature sword from his pocket. This, I could tell, was weaponry of the finest quality. Hattori Hanzo himself would have prostrated himself in front of the steel this man wielded. What do you plan to do with that, I timidly asked the demon, although I already knew the answer. He explained in the infernal tongue long forgotten by men that this blade had been forged for the very purpose of extracting my blood. My face went white. The abomination on my right withdrew a similar cut of steel, although this one could not be called miniature by any standard. A long tool, I could tell from gazing at its tip that it had been formed from the tongue of an elder dragon. Mere legends, I thought. But the reality was as sharp as the weapon itself. This, too, thirsted for my blood, but the eldritch horror standing next to me explained that the cut would have to be much deeper than I was used to. Before I could steel myself, I was caught in a pincer attack. The demon to my left attacked the underside of my arm, striking gold. Hot crimson blood fell and was absorbed by the blade. At the same time, the one on my right went to work on the underside of the area where the hand meets the arm. The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt (no, really, I'm not exaggerating the description of how it felt). Despite my best efforts, tears fell from my eyes in copious amounts. I yelled bloody effing murder. I swore, I screamed, I thrashed. It was unbearable. Warm bile threatened to escape my mouth but I held it down. Finally, the demons had finished their work. The next trial was maybe worse: Boredom. Sheer, complete boredom. Boredom unlike nothing else. Not even my cell phone, with its apps and its whoozits and whizzits and whazzits could keep me entertained. The internet had done what I never thought possible: It bored me. And then, hunger. Thirst. And those goddamn tests still hadn't happened so I couldn't even do anything about it. Finally, the person who was to administer these "tests" I had been hearing about, and were beginning to suspect had been made up, arrived. His job, annoyingly, was simple. I needed an X-ray. A goddamn normal x-ray. I've had x-rays. You can eat food and have an x-ray. I've done it. But I wasn't about to argue. I wanted out of here. His job done, he left. Then he pops his head back in and says "There's nothing to eat really but I can get you a Gatorade. How's that?" YES, YES. GIVE ME EVERY GATORADE I AM SO THIRSTY. Minutes later, he returns and hands me the bottle. I thank him profusely and then twist open the bottle. The bottle is empty approximately 5 seconds later. Then I take a piss. Then I wait some more and the doctor comes back and goes over my results. I'm not being admitted to the hospital, hooray! Also he puts me on steroids for what he's pretty sure is an infection. The two demon hellspawn return but this time they've exchanged their grotesque appearances for angel robes and halos. They remove the needles for me and I am filled with intense love for these two men. At that very moment they are the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen. They leave. I get to leave. I GET TO LEAVE. I then realize I am extremely, ravenously hungry. I no longer crave goulash but now I have no idea what I want to eat. Bonchon chicken is nearby but it isn't on the way home and I really want to go home. Also they take a while if you don't order ahead in my experience. So I start driving home, looking out for somewhere to stop on the way. I drive by several fast food places, including McDonalds and *shudder* Arby's. For a moment I actually consider going in and ordering one of their items that they generously call "food." I keep driving. My GPS route takes me through Old Town Alexandria. Hey, that place has good places to eat, I think to myself. I'd really rather not sit down somewhere, though. I drive through, intent on making my way home. Stuck in traffic on King St, I eye Eamonn's on the corner. Eamonn's! They're good! I haven't been there in forever! Fish and chips it is! I go in and there's no line. God is smiling on me. So is the person at the counter. You look like hell, he says (I'm paraphrasing). Fucking A, I reply (paraphrasing again). I tell him I just got out of a 9 hour ER visit and I'm glad I tell him because he turns out to be very kind. I show him my fresh needle bruises. Thankfully he doesn't mistake me for a heroin addict and he says he'll put something extra for me in my carry-out bag. I thank him and leave with my order of cod after a short wait. Get home, heat the fish up in the oven according to the instructions that were in the bag, and dig in having added my choice of chesapeake sauce (old bay/mayo). I'm certain it was because of the hell I had gone through but that cod was the most amazing thing in the world at that moment. Perfectly crispy batter with a light flavor that blended excellently with the sauce. Delicious. I was especially surprised at how well it kept on the drive home and how well it it heated up in the oven. It hit every spot there is. My belly pleasantly full, I look into the bag to see what "extra" the man left me, thinking it was probably an order of chips that I could munch on tomorrow or as a midnight snack. Instead I hit the jackpot. The overwhelmingly generous man had left me a $100 gift card to use at Restaurant Eve. I cried. It was such an act of generosity and the thankfulness I felt at that moment, after having gone through such a long and troubled day, was too much to bear all at once. That's my story guys.

Was reading through this thread today and was bummed to see the lukewarm reception. Not sure why I was bummed -- logically it makes no difference to me but I guess I'm a big baby who can't handle dissenting opinions. I'm a bit of a latecomer to this place, as much as one can be a latecomer to a joint that's been open for all of 2 years, having first visited last year when Michael Abt had already taken over the kitchen. Honestly I pretty much fell in love with the place as soon as I walked in. Yes, the interior is basically a Disneyland idealized version of a parisian bistro, but can any of you say with a straight face that you don't like Disneyland? Everyone loves Disneyland. My best friend proposed to his wife at Disneyland. Then again, I've heard of people getting married at Walmart and most recently, GameStop. So maybe my point falls flat. Ahem. Anyway. The several times I've been here, I've ordered the Veal Escalope, the Dorade Royale (a Monday special), the NY strip au poivre, the roasted duck breast and the lobster risotto. Every dish I've tried here has been fabulous, my two favorites being the duck breast and the lobster risotto. The risotto, especially, haunts my dreams. If I think back really hard, I can almost taste it, it left such a strong impression. Until I had it, my previous impression of lobster sauces was that they were mostly uniformly overly heavy and rich -- the kind of dish that upon first bite makes you think "this is the best thing I've ever eaten," because the initial taste is so rich. Past lobster sauces for me have never revealed depth of flavor, just pure richness, which means that by the end of your meal, the act of eating has become tedious and forced. Later you throw up into a bin because you ate far more than your body could handle, tricked by that initial bite. That wasn't the case with this risotto. It was so light, the lobster fresh and bountiful, adorned with a smattering amount of green peas and other assorted leafy greens. My portion was large but the risotto had an addictive quality that kept me eating until I cleared the plate. There were a multitude of different flavor profiles, which I chalked up to the peas and vegetables, which, rather than being simple add-ins, felt like inseparable parts of the dish. Too often I eat meals at restaurants at which the "extras," feel like just that: extras. There to add some needed contrasting flavors but would make little difference if you picked them off your plate and placed them on the side. To do that to this lobster risotto, I felt, would be unmaking the dish. I also really like their macaroni and cheese. My first time, I got tricked by its placement on the menu. I was expecting something much smaller but it's easily big enough to be an entree. Now that I know, I like to order it at the end and have them put it in a doggy bag so I can have it for lunch the next day. It reheats perfectly fine in the oven, I've found, even retaining its crunchy top layer. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the outstanding service -- easily the best I've had at any restaurant in my life. And yes, I've been to a few, including a fair share of Michelin-starred ones. Here's how your service gets a gold star from me: If you can keep my 62-year old mom engaged in a conversation about U.S. foreign policy in the middle east and actually manage to keep up with her yourself, (my mom lived in the middle east for half her adult life and worked as a journalist in the region, often angering the local governments) then you get my business. Because I have never been able to pull that off in my life and seeing her clearly so entertained is worth the price of admission. (This was my first ever visit and our waiter, who turned out to be the new manager in training, gave us his card and told me "call any time your mom's in town, and I'll set you guys up with a table.")

The dish was Mi Bo. Nothing fancy but at that particular moment it was exactly what my taste buds needed.

It is indeed Vietnamese. Some hints: it's one of the most popular places in its immediate surrounding area. It is packed at almost all times of day. The Vietnamese diners outnumber the rest. It is a family-run place (this might be just giving away). As for the dish, I ordered it after the Vietnamese family behind me had their meal delivered and I told my server "I'm having what they're having."

Close. It's beef.

Okay, let me try my hand at this. Where did I dine?

True that.

I was actually under the impression that Wiseguy made its mozarella fresh in-house daily. That's according to their website and also what they told me in person when I asked. Could that have changed or are they just fibbing? Or am I misunderstanding the comment about the ingredients entirely? Probably the latter.

Tough to argue with the guy behind Ghibellina. But I stand by every word.

D'oh! I could have sworn it was lamb but I just checked the menu and sure enough, it's veal. Thanks for the catch.

For those who don't know, Kanazawa style curry is a distinct style of Japanese curry, named for the city in Ishikawa prefecture. It is defined by its rich brown sauce, so thick you can eat it with a fork. Kanazawa style curry is often served in Japanese school cafeterias, where the students lap up the flavorful roux and crispy pork katsu with religious fervor. Its defining characteristics are: Thick and gooey sauce, made with things like caramel Shredded cabbage served on the side Served in a stainless steel bowl Eaten with a fork or spork Pork cutlet placed on top of curry, tonkatsu sauce on top of cutlet Sauce covers the entirety of the white rice below, so that it cannot be seen Go! Go! Curry! is a Japanese chain specializing in the Kanazawa style and they have three locations in NYC. I love this curry in the same way a heroin addict loves shooting up. The only difference is heroin addiction can be cured. It carries a hint of spice but is mostly sweet and savory. Each bite has a rich and creamy flavor that, to the dish's biggest fans, are like little doses cocaine straight into the central nervous system. The rice is perfectly sticky, the breading of the katsu has a crunch that can be heard from across the world. I am a Japanese curry addict and everywhere I travel, there are two things I immediately look up: Where can I get a good NY slice and where can I get some Japanese curry? For the latter, Go! Go! Curry! is my only option and I wish there was a store every two feet across the entire globe. Other Japanese curry houses in America serve up painful imitations. Watery. Flavorless. Katsu whose breading is soggy. Cold, brown sludge. Inside, the store walls are covered with newspaper articles and scrawled messages from Kanazawa natives. But the first thing you notice are the posters of Hideki "Godzilla" Matsui. "Go Go" in Japanese means 55, which is the number that Matsui wore when he played for the Yomiuri Giants. He later signed on with the NY Yankees. Used to be that, before he retired, on any day Matsui hit a homerun, the restaurant would shave 55 cents off the price of the menu items for that day. On the 5th, 15th, and 25th of every month, they give you a coupon for a free topping. Speaking of, the menu has one thing: Curry. You specify how big a bowl you want and which toppings you want. You can order a plate of curry sauce over straight rice but you'd be laughed at. At the very least, you want a slice of katsu. Chicken or pork, it's your choice. But get the pork. However, if you want to be pegged as someone who really knows their stuff, ask for cheese. They apply it generously over the sauce and it melts into it. This might sound gross to you. You would be wrong. Try it and realize just how wrong. You can be in and out of the place for under 10 bucks and it's worth every penny. I know my Japanese curry. This is the best you're going to find in the entire country.

I have! Puputella is excellent for what it is but honestly Neapolitan is just not what comes to mind when I think of pizza. It's great but give me a NY slice any day.