Waitman

You should be beaten with the crank of an old-hand-turned ice cream maker for even contemplating a citrus sorbet when there so much extraordinary seasonal fruit in the markets! Eat that stuff in January, when the peaches all come from Brazil and taste like chew toys! More calmly... We made a nectarine sorbet last Saturday that had the whole table gasping in wonder and it was frightfully simple. Peel and puree the nectarines. Add sugar (not sugar syrup) until it tastes just slightly too sweet (it will taste less sweet when it's frozen). Squeeze in lime until there's just a hint of back-end tart. Most people won't know it's in unless you tell them; that's how it should be. Add a pinch of salt. (or add a half-pint of rum and some ice) Strain. Cool. Freeze. Eat. Win the respect of your peers. More generally: I can see how a density meter would be great, especially for a pro, but I usually get pretty good results without one. Plus, I'd rather determine sugar level by what tastes good than by what the meter reads. Mkyte's wisdom on sugar and alcohol is, indeed, wise (as always), though I'm against the implication that low-sugar sorbet is in any way a good thing. If you are using a maker with a pre-frozen bucket, take the time to cool down your pre-frozen sorbet thoroughly -- particularly if you've had to add a lot of sugar or decided to add a lot of booze -- or the cold may wear off before the sorbet is froze. Adding a hint of tart, herb, or bitter to the mix tends to bring out the flavors of the main fruit. Once grapefruits are in season (not now!) you can stir a bit of Campari into your grapefruit juice, or boil a little thyme in the sugar water before you add the syrup. A little balsamic with the strawberries. A little lime in the mango (spactacular Haitian mangoes are in season now; mango, lime and syrup-- chilled but unfrozen -- make the perfect lake for scoop of almost any flavor of fruit sorbet to swim in). Trust your taste more than the recipe. Whoever wrote it doesn't know how sweet this batch of fruit was, you do. Others argue this point, but sorbets are best eaten the day they are made, and are shadows of themselves by the end of the second day. Don't forget that pinch of salt. And, finally, if you want to be really hip, forget fruit sorbet. It's very 90's. Tomato, califlower and, for all I know, bacon sorbet is all the rage now.

I think they have the best Indian food in the city, but I rarely dine in there because of the same service complaints you mentioned. We usually phone in an order and pick it up. For one of the most pleasant dining experiences in the city, go to Bombay Club, instead.

Not until you finish naming MY cocktail.

Whoa. He not only belts out great steaks, he's an afficianado of Italian neorealist cinema. A double threat, indeed, almost Rocksian in his depth.

Last time I ate in the back room, the food was grand but the service... not so much. MIA waiters, bad wine service, courses that took eons to come out, coffee coming out at the wrong time, and a bit of "how lucky you are to be here" attitude. On the other hand, service in the front room has always been great. Go figure.

I was bored at work one day and started googling old high school friends (one is an avalanche expert for the Swiss government now), and it turns out that my old high school cross country captain, an excellent guy named Steve Wecker is an owner of this place. Glad to read good things about it, I'm hoping to have a chance to try it this summer. (Possibly in concert with the Petty/Black Crowes show).

The more widely read, if not more delicately-palate-ed, wine columnist for the Washington Post seconds your praise for Bonny Doone in general, but was unimpressed by the Big House red, preferring the tasty and slightly more expensive Vin Gris du Cigare. Details here.

Based on this statistic, I'm carrying the burden for 51.14 other people.

You're right about the basking thing. I apologize. I'll knock that out. I wrote that larger post, of which it was a part, when I was angry and took it down as a peacemaking gesture. No intent to hide anything; it just didn't seem to be moving the discussion in a productive direction. If you want, I can put the post back. And the "stunned" the thing -- not the content of the little notes. I just thought it was funny that someone would put so much time into little commentaries that struck me as so oddly pitched. That someone would make their first impression to me with a lecture. It was kind of a "what are they thinking?" moment. Puppies, as you might guess, will not play with me.

Mea culpa. I confess. I have a "bloated sense of self-importance." I am Veruca Salt. I am "something," (ain't I?). When I write, people find the word "gestapo" hidden in the letters. I should be more careful. I may have "an agenda" (and who doesn't, these days?) I'm desperately sorry I mentioned the wine, it was meant as an illustrative detail not a major complaint. But that's beside the point now, the anecdote has a life of its own and I trust that it will be a long and happy one. The Fume Blanc, btw, was pretty swell. I found the Semillion flat, but props for putting an unusual wine on the list. The Nixon anology was a cheap shot, and I retract it (though I continue to think that writing about yourself in the third person is odd.) I'm not "fair." I expect "white linen and a service crew that came from a world-class hotel." I pick nits. I "love to hate" Colorado Kitchen. I go to restaurants "looking to be rushed." And I have nothing better to do with my life or money than follow Woodleygrrrl's cyber footsteps through the Washington restaurant scene in a desparate attempt "to prove WoodleyGirls point." It's clear that any problems I may have imagined that I had are solely the result of my own poor powers of perception and I regret having given them life in this forum. cheers.

easy for you to say. But last time I was at Citronelle it was... OK, spectacular. But, dammit, I'll drive-by your place sooner or later. I just need to eat there a couple more times...

Edited. I stand by my posts, but I'm going to take my end down a notch.

Martins Tavern. The first place ever to serve me a beer, me having driven down from Howard County for a Big Date and my date's boobs so big that no waiter was ever going to card her. "Are you 18?" the grey-haired guy with glasses and green jacket asked. "Uhhh, yes." "Good. Because sometimes kids try to order beer, and we have to check." Never asked to actually see the ID (which would have proved conclusively that I was NOT 18), brought the Heiniken, made me look good in front of my date (not that it helped) and earned a big tip. Martins Tavern.

You know, truce and all that. I'm not going to get into to death spiral thread about the waiter and the wine list, or whatever. In return, it would be nice nice if the details I seize upon are credited as being emblematic, if you will, of my experience, as opposed to dismissed as "nit-picking."

No no no no no no no. Don't get all projecting on me. I didn't come there looking to be rushed; I just got that way after I sat down. Good lord, as fun as it is to take cheap shots at famous restaurants, it's much more fun to have a relaxing dinner with the kids. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. And, as a knee-jerk lefty, I thought that WoodlyGrrrl was getting a bit beat up, wrongly, so I got her back for the momoent. Let me begin by repeating my respect for anyone who can take build a restaurant -- especially in a challenging neighborhood -- and make it work. Let me ask, in return, that I and others get the same respect, and that our opinions be heard instead of dismissed out of hand. But, I checked with the wife and kids and we're unanimous: the service the night we were there was unfortunate. Waiters lunged over my shoulder to seize barely empty dishes. Nobody on CK payroll smiled the whole time I was there. The waiter had to consult the back of his ticket book to remember what wine was available by the glass, and he was visibly distressed when we weren't ready to order on his schedule. And the endless notes...they're not funny; they're patronizing as hell. Though I agree with the sentiments, I was stunned at how poorly they read. Stunned. As for this response: "Don't go to a restaurant looking for something to go wrong so you can run home and anonymously rake a restaurant over the coals. If you're looking for a bad experience you'll find it." Well, PM if you want. Or call. Charles Sweeney, I'm in the book.

Finally made it to Colorado Kitchen the other night and found it to be a mixed bag. The crab cakes were very good, the veal was very bad, and the crab-corn fritters that came with the veal were delightful. I like the onion tart quite a bit, as well, though it (like the crab cakes) was every-so-slightly burnt. The onions and cream were rich, sweet and toothsome; the pastry crisp and light. I wasn’t too keen on the cold tomato soup – I don’t think anyone’s really got good tomatoes yet, so no surprise – but my son liked it quite a bit and I liked it enough that I found the little trick of giving everyone a taste as they sat down to be a pleasant combination of amuse-bouche and suggestion-selling. I’d suggest, however, that WoodlyGrrrl’s point about feeling rushed is well taken. Though there was no line, grim-looking waiters dashed to and fro as though some geek in the corner was doing a time-and-motion study on them, with an eye to firing the slowest server. Plates were snatched away the instant a fork got set down – whether others in the party were finished, or not. Committing the faux pas of wanting a glass of wine before deciding on food got one of those body-language eye-rolls from the waiter -- best be ready with your order food by the time he got back, I felt, lest I get an audible sigh or, perhaps, a tongue-lashing. And the many directives on how to care for your children, order your meat and time your small courses were a bit oppressive. Clearly, it’s Chef’s boat; you can sail where she wants to go or you can walk the plank. And it's her place and she pays the bills. The food’s good – sometimes very good -- people line up to eat there, the room is delightful and everyone likes to see a talented and committed chef do well. But, I found the atmosphere a little too “big city bustle” for what I’d hoped would be a more relaxed and comfortable neighborhood joint.

Mark: Does the name Dennis Friedman ring a bell? (He's the chef at BA and claims Citronelle on his CV).