Waitman

I believe "wood-fired" is a defining characteristic of the "Montreal" bagel.

True, as far as it goes. But, as a hotel, they have a certain obligation to cater to an in-house clientele who may not have signed up for the District Gastro-tour and just want to get a decent -- better-than-decent, in a $600/night room -- steak or burger after a long flight followed by tiring meetings (or long meetings followed by a tiring flight) without wandering around a strange city. I think any decent restaurant on the property that doesn't feature EZ behind the line may be doomed by the Mandarin's location. It really is in the middle of nowhere. Besides a truly felonious Groupon or a corporate expense account backed by a Mandarin Frequent Sleeper card (so I could get points towards cheap rooms in other Mandarin cities with more zen locations) I'm not sure what would ever lead me to venture to SW Maryland Avenue to Eat or sleep.

Back when I flew back and forth from Denver enough to be upgraded on United every now and again, I discovered that BWI, though a slightly farther drive,had a much lower concentration of Gold/Plantinum-level flyers -- or maybe fewer flyers willing to spring for business class -- and the likelihood of an upgrade was significantly greater. I do find that BWI is the best bet for "off-brand" airlines with a lower price. Spirit, Southwestern, etc.

Don't forget Sioux City, Iowa: SUX.

Didn't you attempt to nail down "poele" based on your command of French (of which I am a great admirer, having done time at the Alliance myself)? Reminds me a bit of Aristotle trying to reason his way through the effect of gravity on objects of different weight, rather than dropping a sandal and an amphora of (cheap) wine off a balcony somewhere. Logic doesn't necessarily apply -- we are talking about French Chefs, after all. I wonder, given that discussion and this one, if it's something of a fool's errand to look for a definitive definition of these sorts of things based on etymology, giving the distance that may exist between a cooking technique and the word used to describe it -- "sautee" from "to jump," "montee au beurre" from Last Tango in Paris, etc -- and also the effect of regional dialects, the gazillion modest differences that may of may not be definitive in separating a "stock" from a "fumet" from a "fond" and so on. Also, cooks, chefs, housewives and TV personalities tend to latch on to whatever word is at hand when trying to describe a new technique or dish. It is a rare French menu these days that does not bastardize some traditional name or another in the description of a contemporary dish. Your old pal Janet and I used to sell "navarin" (traditionally a rustic peasant stew) of lobster as part of a hundred dollar (1984 dollars) tasting menu. On the other hand, you do get some interesting discussions. As long as we don't get too serious about the definition (we'll save that for "price point" and "source").

Years ago I was on an affable basis with Pierre who, with Elizabeth, had opened Polly's cafe on U Street, which was the first new establishment on U street probably in decades. Pierre was bitching about all the work he was doing getting his new pizza joint down the street opened and I said, "but you said you weren't interested in opening another place," and he said, "[something to the effect of] I couldn't help myself. They needed a tenant to get the development jump-started so they gave me the space rent-free." What he didn't bitch about was the long trip he and Elizabeth took to eat their way through Italy, trying to find the key to the perfect pizza. That sounded a lot more like bragging. Pierre and Elizabeth also opened the short-lived and much-lamented (by me) Vigorelli's on Connecticut; the pain of its failure is amplified by the fact that the inexpensive and utterly authentic Italian joint was been replaced by the loathsome-in-every-way Cleveland Park Bar and Grill. I think after a decade on the cutting edge they finally got ahead of their time. If they'd opened Vig's on 7th Street today, there'd be a line out the door tomorrow. I wonder where they went.

Are there any other inquiring minds out there who want to a little more about this? And are slightly frightened of finding out? I confess that this question reminded me not a little of a hilarious bed-death-illuminated book review that Sandra Tsing Lo published in The Atlantic a few years back:

it's a decent sandwich shop now. Not, to tell you the truth, that I was blown away by the original edition.

Indeed, as a regular customer, I'd suggest that the only thing that Spices serves that really stands out these days is the Peking Duck. Everything else is kind of meh (or is that "meiwah"), though I do have a soft spot for the dragon rolls, ginger salad and even the often-unfortunate scallion pancakes.

My pissaladiere is better than what I had in Nice (though my sampling was hardly exhaustive). Unpitted olives are barbaric and an impediment to the appropriate quaffing of muscular pink wine.

That doesn't sound good. On a related note, last time I was there, it struck me that you can't really say that Palena offers cafe pricing with a straight face any more. I thought the food was fine, though I recall leaving hungry.

Chronology I get is that Tim broke the Redskins story Monday, -and you went with it Tuesday. If you had it but didn't go with it -- unless you were Carman's source and had an agreement -- I don't see how he can be faulted for going with the story when he got it and not crediting someone who didn't give the story to him.

I wonder if it's possible that Carman, who's spent a few years building up contacts of his own, might have his other sources for stuff like this than DR.com -- especially given that football teams, chefs and restaurants all employ PR people who schmooze with local journos and that everyone in the restaurant business gossips like schoolgirls.

One more thing: I know that Kuller is the genius behind the empire, highly marketable man-about-town, generous sharer of Pure Chatty Neuf and the recipient of glossy magazine adulation (and very tolerant of me, personally), but shouldn't Haidar -- now with 8 executive chef Washington Post Stars -- get a little more luv? Also, should Haidar and Kuller have their next jaunt -- through, say, Central Europe -- be turned into a lightly fictionalized road movie? Kind of Tony Bourdain meets Bob Hope and Bing Crosby plus goulash and Czech supermodels?

I was curious to read DCBills comment that the restaurant takes no reservations, as a friend and I walked in the nearly-empty dining room just after the opening bell last evening hoping for a table near one of the many windows and were told "we can seat you at the bar." Assuming that the restaurant was bracing for a flood of reservations, we moved to the bar (where the hostess attempted to seat me facing a brushed aluminum-wrapped column; I unilaterally moved down a bit so I could view something besides my own unappetizing visage as I ate) which we left an hour and a half later with empty tables still strewn about the dining room. Aside from being a bit miffed in retrospect about not getting that window seat, we had a real good time. Raw chilled scallops -- reccomended by our excellent and attentive server -- were served properly cooked (that is, raw and not "cooked" by the citrus as in ceviche), rich and assertive with lime, chilis, etc. The not-free nuts (cf DCBIll above) were tasty enough, I suppose, as were the cigarette-width spring rolls, but we were keen to move on -- and rewarded for doing so. You kind of want to hate the skewered hangar steak because it's like three different cliches in one, but it is unhatable. Irresistible, in fact. My friend, who eats quite a bit of Bun Xao, pronounced Doi Moi's (noodles with lemongrass beef) "the best" she's ever had and I tended to agree, though I confess I've only eaten Bun Xao twice. A nice yin-yang of rich beef and umami-stuffed nuac cham on the one hand and bright pickled carrots and assorted crunchy raw things on the other. The roast chicken was simply quite tasty -- I ate mine like a Peking Duck, contriving to top the dollops of chicken and sticky rice with bits of crispy skin I'd sliced off and stolen from my companion, and dipping it all into the jeeow sauce which --according to Wikipedia -- is Lao in origin. One small thing I enjoyed is that the dipping sauces were all different -- no generic "one-sauce-fits-all" here. Another is that, thanks to the fine print at the bottom of the menu, I learned the correct pronunciation of a phrase that I have garbled -- and yet, to good effect -- in the direction of Thai servers for many years: "Phet Mak." Very hot. As one of those diners who knows painfully little about Asian food (you've been warned) I obsess over those bits of etiquette I have mastered in an attempt to appear more knowledgeable than I am. So there was a moment of panic as I debated the use of chopsticks or the very cool second-hand silver plate forks with random monograms that make you feel as though you'd been invited to dinner at the home of a moderately affluent widowed aunt. Forks, of course, are the first choice of Thai diners (I am told that this is the result of the King of Siam's lady friend Anna's efforts to westernize the Thai court and, thereafter, the gentry. Confirmation?) and sticks are the first choice of most Asians and of American yuppies trying to radiate sophistication. I ended up alternating based on how sticky the rice was. I recently ran into a friend who asked if I'd been to Doi Moi yet and I replied that I was sure that it was so damn crowded that I'd wait for a government holiday when I could beat the mobs. Perhaps subconsciously driven by a deep need for fish sauce, I found myself enjoying Columbus Day (not so?)-randomly exploring the 14th Street region and thought thought "why not see if Malcom X Park is indeed a shortcut to Asia?" I think I came closer than Columbus did to finding it -- and I'm already contriving to find myself back in the neighborhood again, soon, on purpose. PS: I want a t-shirt like the servers have.

I once went to a restaurant in Denver that had pretenses of sophistication and was offering a special truffle menu. Thing was, they had candles emitting that awful artificial vanilla smell on each table. Really? Bad enough to have that odor meandering between my fork and my nose when all I'm shoveling in is fusilli with parmigiana and olive oil. But to have that stink overwhelming the brutally expensive and (one hopes) erotically charged perfume of fresh-shaved Albanian truffles from Alba? I think not.

Joe -- those look like good options but unfortunately take the venture in the wrong direction -- the travel-challenged caucus needs a spot roughly between Catharpin and Dulles. Maybe get mom out to Middleburg for lunch Saturday, though. She would be charmed.

If the shoe fits, I'll wear it. I like shoes. I was startled to see that it wasn't the substance of the opinion that was questioned, but rather the process by which I arrived at it.

Guilty as charged. But, hey, I suggested Little Serow, which had been short-listed by the OP, and gave a reason that I think was reasonable, which I suppose has to be counted as a positive contribution. And I copped to being a judgmental prick. And, I laid out more reasonable reasons for my opinion.

I vote Little Serow for a change of pace. To be honest, I disapprove of stringing together a constellation oh high-end restaurants on a single visit (though Serow is different enough to get a pass). it smacks of name-dropping and the willingness to put stars and reputation above exploration and the unselfconscious enjoyment of the variety of experiences dining offers.* Go to an Ethiopian or Salvadoran restaurant, or string together dinner from the Hipster Strip on 11th -- Chucho. Kangaroo Boxing Club, Maple....Get out of downtown and enjoy the fall and the haunts that out-of-towners never find as a palate cleanser. Your palate will enjoy the break and your pleasure in the other restaurants will be heightened for having gone in a different direction for a day. And, for what it's worth, you'll add a second dimension to your understanding of the DC food scene. (Yes, I can be a judgmental prick).

I'm somewhat heartened that Barbara's meal seemed ok. A foray soon after opening was such a mess that -- because I've had a drink or three with Hartzer (back in the the day) and he seems like a good guy and -- as I recall -- opened Ray's the Classics -- that I went against type and posted nothing. i will say that the decor is awful and has not a damn thing to do with Teddy Roosevelt on even the most strained metaphorical level -- unless he was a lady who lunched, in secret -- and, like Barbara, I found the noise somewhat intolerable. "If you don't have anything nice to say, go ahead and sit across the room -- your voice will echo off all the hard surfaces and I'll hear you anyway." -Alice Roosevelt Longworth

A cousin recovering in Catharpin, VA is trying to find dinner for 8 or ten. She is mobile but we shouldn't push it and my father is a crank with achy knees, so the best Gainsville, Manasses, Centreville or Chantilly can offer will be fine. This is not a gourmet crowd, so even if there was a hidden Mini-bar out there it wouldn't suit, but a better-than-average steak/Italian/French place would be nice. Also, a good tavern for the night before might be cool, if you know one off the top of your head. Grazie.

I went recently and thought the wine pairing was the way to go because -- as Don said -- there are so many different flavors coming at you that, if you're serious about pairings, you'd go nuts. Of course, other people's pairings, skilled and experienced sommelieres though they be, are often not quite what you'd choose, but I kind of like the adventure. Also, Rogue offered two different flights -- the swill level and the swell level -- so you can play around a bit.

I was randomly driving by Le Diplomate last night when it hit me that I hadn't eaten a decent meal all day and that there was a parking space directly in front. I figured out why the "oos" and "ahhs" regarding the interior seem so off key to me. You can't really argue with a tile floor and a good zinc bar, but that pre-fab looking (vinyl?) ceiling with the fake nicotine patina airbrushed onto it is like topping a couture gown with a faux-Gucci polyester wrap -- it's pretty much intolerable and I'm not sure how Tom Sietsema, who seems more interested in interior design than food these days, and whose work suffers for it -- lets it slide. Also bordeline intolerable: the frites, which were limp and gray. Can we agree that the one thing a bistro has to get right is the frites? Onion soup was actually pretty decent, the salad competent (it was a salad, competent is plenty), and the steak tartar pretty good, though I'm not sure that the spice adds anything. Service was again very good. So, I enjoyed my meal, but remain mystified that anyone would stand in line for it.

"To whom are you drinking" has the advantage has the advantage of immediately capturing the thought that posters are trying to express. If yo want it to be less maudlin, you could encourage us to toast success, rather than passings. Changing the title while people still use the forum to note deaths will only associate the new title with maudlin things in a Pavlovian/Orwellian sort of way ("The Journey Forward!"). And I disagree with trite. Triteness implies, in my opinion, a little hyperbole or pretense ("The Journey Forward!"). "To whom are you drinking," on the hand is a simple, serviceable phrase that people recognize and respond to.