frogprince

this place is soothing, like a steaming mug of tea in front of a roaring fire beneath a snug blanket whilst the importunate winter hammers away, rattling the windows with icy breezes and howling across the gelid landscape. when youre sick and tired of pomengranite-foie gras martinis and miniburgers and nearly everything with rice masquerading as a risotto, go here and be soothed. lovely supple chianti awaits in its evening attire of straw. truly remarklable daily specials. i go here when i need to forget. or are just plain angry and fed up with the gastronomic trends that grip chefs and that, really, need to go the way of the dodo.

this place has won my heart and stomach (the latter, much to my considerable chagrin) : and i'l tell you why: honesty. there is something so unassuming and caring about so much of bistro d'oc, both in the food and the staff and surroundings. they seem genuinely pleased to serve you their father's (yes this place is family run) rustic though refined cuisine. this goes very far in my book. that the cuisine de terroir of languedoc rousillon happens to be one near and dear to my heart almost seems like an afterthought, bistro d'oc would still woo me with its myriad charms even if they served elmer's on toast and sere desiccated fingernails with ear wax jus. add to this a second menu of specials, nearly as long as the normal one, the swooning enticement of banyuls to finish a meal and the sort of cheery sentimental accordion driven gallic music that lilts away ever so lightly in the background and you have one hell of a restaurant. oh, and the food is really good too.

i love this place. bull's blood (that being the hungarian wine and most lugubriously, not a blood sausage black pudding or morcilla) and pickled herring. hmmm.... go go go...

tosca. 11th and f: veal and spinach with red wine sauce. you and your friend will not complain. you may smote me if this disappoints.

i searched and to no avail, much to my chagrinning consternation. or perhaps my grasp of operating machinery lacks something, a certain finesse, predictedly ending in, how the french say, a certain cul de sac. enough of this tomfoolery. if for no other reason, go to tosca and order the tomato marmelade tart with ricotta basil gelato and basil syrup. the disc of pastry, baked to a golden hue recalling the skin tones of the snug decaying descendents of aristocrats who play their life away beneath the long dead still mediterreanean sun in nice and monaco, crackles at the slightest pressure, as your fork oozes through the tranquil carmine pond of tomato marmelade, marmelade whose very flavor completely obfuscates the taste buds: it is sweet, yes, but not sugar sweet, but still not raw sliced tomate sweet and anything but acidic; the verdant quenelle of gelato haunts with ricotta's fresh whey-ness yet tempers the aggressive and volatile source of this faintly sweet soft emerald gem, the basil. it is like no dessert and yet, it is the apotheosis of simple desserts: seasonal fruit tart, with an appropiate accoutrementing creaminess. ive not had my fix this year and this changes. this changes tonight. you owe it to yourself to have this dessert. really you do.

taberna for tapas excels in every single respect, add to that a gorgeously ornate soaring-ceilinged room and the existence of a semi-permanent edible bar decoration (ie: a leg of jamon serrano bolted into its carving pegs, awaiting apotheosis with manchego) and you have, in my opinion, every single reason to avoid jaleo and come here. true, the prices are several dollars more than mc-jaleo but consider that: a: i believe them to be quite delicious and far more consistent and b: whilst you may pay 10 dollars for gambas con ajo, you probably receive about one and half times more than jaleo's version, which is... say six or seven; thus the bottom line, as i see it, being that you pay slightly more for more food and a heightened level of deliciousness a heightened level of deliciousness; is this not what we seek? is this not why we are all denizens of this electronic milieu?

fig bar-less mornings make me cry into coffee, dousing it with saline and rendering it undrinkable. and fig newtons just plain suck. i hate today.

a & h seafood market (and also spanish/portugeuse importer of products of distinction) in bethesda carries several types of morcilla as well as a dizzying amount of chorizos and, generally, enough spanish food to keep one transfixed for a while. ive had the jaleo morcilla many a time; 'tis a fine sausage and, never in my experiences, drowning in oil but rather bathing luxuriantly in a carmine-red tomato sauce exploding with garlic. a good thing in my opinion.