Waitman

Booking a flight is probably the least unpleasant aspect of air travel these days. Although, now that they have better wine in airport bars, killing time between security and boarding is better than it used to be.

Last year my girlfriend and I were headed to Chicago and we were running around getting dressed one morning a couple weeks before and I told her "there's this place called Alinea that I'd like to eat at if they have a table," and she said "sure" and I dragged the laptop onto the bedspread, got onto the Alinea website, lucked into a table on a night we were going to be there and wrapped the whole process up in about five minutes in between finding a pair of socks that matched and knotting my necktie. I still have some aversion to paying up front (does anyone remember the contract that Rogue 24 used to make you sign?) but from a convenience standpoint it sure beat the shit out of standing line for hours. It also allows the restaurant to guarantee full tables and this keep prices "low" ( a mere $210-295/person!) by guaranteeing full tables. Not a solution for every restaurant, obviously, but a pretty convenient way to go about things.

My argument is that line standing in line is inherently inconvenient for everyone and especially for certain groups and in evaluating a restaurant it should be considered. Apparently you (and Tom) have nothing better to do with your time on a (soon-to-be-cold) Wednesday afternoon than stand in line and watch the meter maids work 8th street for several hours and thank your lucky stars that Rose's deigns to let you eat there.

I have no evidence that the restaurants' prices are lower because I wait in line. Even if they are somewhat reduced, it would be interesting to see how much and to compare that to some valuation of my time in line. More likely, it's to increase the restaurants profits (which I'm not against). Just don't, as they say, piss on my leg and tell me it's raining. The idea that it's "convenient to drop in" to Rose's is pretty far-fetched. Interesting that the Inn at Little Washington makes at least some effort to accommodate vegans, while Little Serow/Rose's seem to make no effort at all to accommodate those for whom hours of line-standing is a significant obstacle to dinner. I went and stood in line for Little Serow the other day -- I'm not an absolutists and I recognize that restaurants have to make a lot of difficult decisions. To be clear, I don't think any restaurant is obligated to take reservations, accommodate vegans, let you tie your dog to cafe railing, stock your brand of bourbon, turn the music down (or up) throw a screen around breastfeeding moms, welcome breastfeeding moms, stick a changing table in the bathroom, or pretty much do anything aside from serve what they say they're serving and not poison you. What annoyed me about Tom's response is his cavalier dismissal of legitimate complaints about what is unarguably a diminution of service by a "four-star" restaurant. At some point the equation seems to have shifted, and we diners are supposed to be sufficiently grateful that we have the privilege of eating at certain establishments that we will gladly put up with whatever inconveniences the restaurant throws our way. I think that's a surrender of our power as consumers and I think that participants in the "hospitality" industry, who refer to their customers as "guests" should seek to be hospitable to their guests, especially at the higher levels we're talking about.

Though it would surprise me if the comment wasn't meant as a joke,it seems as though the bartender and chef could have made it clearer that it was "kind of funny" and "without malice." Especially in upscale joints, there can be a tendency to assume that the staff is being snotty when they're actually just trying to be funny. I don't know, I wasn't there. But, religion aside, there may be good reason to avoid Jameson's.

This makes complete sense because the Rose's has life or death power over your grandmother and no power whatsoever over whether or not they take reservations.

I think that's a slightly ludicrous response. The restaurants are essentially choosing impose a sometimes-severe burden on their customers, solely for the convenience of the restaurant. They are within their "rights" to do that. But the it does detract from the dining experience and it does exclude or impose a "tax" on some diners. Tom's correspondents certainly had a valid point in suggesting that 4-star restaurants should treat their customers better. Acknowledging that fact -- "certainly it is an inconvenience, but the food is worth it" -- rather than getting dismissive and defensive (or suggesting 84 strategies that all of us have heard and most of us have executed) would have suggested a critic that is actually concerned a diner's experience more than cheerleading the local glamor-boy chefs.

It wasn't just the "let them eat cake" response (" Taskrabbit for instance, is one of multiple services offering human place-holders") to the cranky yet somewhat persuasive folks who wrote into complain about the lines at Little Serow (my last visit suggests it should have demoted in the Fall Dining Guide rather than upgraded, btw) and Rose's, but the way he tenaciously held to the point after being challenged a couple of additional times. I don't think it would have killed him to admit a restaurant essentially telling you: "sorry about your arthritis, granny, but if you want dinner you have to flip a Benjamin to an unemployed English major before you can even get your name on the list," is maybe not the most hospitable welcome a restaurateur might extend. I think the guy may be getting jaded and out of touch -- he's more interested in novelty, buzz and interior design and less concerned with actual dining out these days.

Bourdain to Make Eataly Look Like a Bodega Very big plans from our favorite peripatetic ex-junkie: 09/30/2015 - "Anthony Bourdain's Food Market Takes Shape" by Florence Fabricant on nytimes.com

I think of Agora as more "interesting" -- I don't get out for Turkish that much -- and Floriana as "nicer" -- more elegant and the food is prepared at a higher level. It's basically what you're in the mood for.

What do you get when you cross a captain at a Michelin 3-star/NYT 4-star (11 Madison Park, apparently) with an impressively degreed would-be intellectual? A thousand-word waiter rant that name checks Adam Smith and Karl Marx and touches on estrangement, restroom sex and loutish one-percenters. You get Dinner and Deception. "The nightly grotesquerie was almost exciting. But something happened after spending too many nights delivering four­ or five­ figure checks on silver trays. Estrangement did set in. I imagine pick­up artists experience something similar. You learn what people want from you, and, for a while, you get a high making all the right gestures: the perfectly timed joke, the wry smile. But, deep down, you feel nothing. Until something forces you back to reality again." Having once been a waiter in a fine dining restaurant who felt I was in a job somewhat below my station (I wouldn't feel that way now and I wouldn't have felt that way then had I seen it as a good-paying step up in a profession I enjoyed as opposed to something I was doing because I'd been thrown out of college), I wonder if his attitude is fueled by the same resentment I felt -- apparently his philosophy degree from St. John's (the Annapolis one) and his fine arts and journalism masters from The New School have left him waiting tables and, now, working as an administrative assistant. On the other hand, his job is much more "mechanized" than mine was. It seems that, these days, being a captain in a 3-star is very similar to being the waiter at Cheesecake Factory in that there are dozens of tasks, queries and announcements that must be executed just so. (I notice this as a customer sometimes and I find it a touch dehumanizing, even from that vantage point) And The Rich seem to be much more boorish than my rich customers ever were. Of course the term hadn't been invented yet, but it would have been unusual for a guest at Le Pavillon to chant "we are the one percent," and no one ever expected us to store their baby in the coat check. But the guy also seems to have a joy deficit. Surely, there is some joy in being part of somebody's perfect -- or at least memorable -- meal. What I remember about my brief tenure in a tuxedo, translating the all-French menu, isn't the occasional jerk, but the half drunk guy who beckoned me over and whispered gleefully "this is fuckin' amazing." I thought the chef was crazy and detested the wife/manager, but I was proud to work there and be a part of a restaurant that people wrote about in national magazines and pretty regularly delighted people. The political liberal in me can't help but be a little repulsed at the conspicuous consumption in the face of an economy that is failing most Americans (although I was hunting for a reservation at EMP or Le Bernadin three days ago). The formerly frustrated would-be political professional understands the frustration that the would-be journalist must feel as he changes into his work shoes, checks his tie and sits down for a mediocre shift meal every night. And who wouldn't be driven slightly batty at the thought of playing the exact same role, and reading the exact same lines on an endless off-Broadway run? But, really, the guy strikes me a something of a killjoy and his essay left me cold.

Any thoughts?

The best thing about Masseria is their pasta bowls. At first glance, they're the same sort of inverted WWI Doughboy helmets that everyone, including probably most of us, use these days. Except these have a little lime-sized hemispheric divot just above the base where you can spin your spaghetti around your fork without resorting to a spoon. It's fuckin' genius. The other best thing about Masseria is that despite the bomb-shelter bones of the dining room, the lighting, staff, décor and guests come together to make the place feel not just 14th Street-trendy but a little stylish. Possibly even a little elegant. Some of the ladies seemed to think so. (Gents: time to up your game). The other, other best thing was that the food is pretty darn good. Available only in three "“ or five-course tasting menu, dinner emphasizes creative, fresh, modern Italian cooking. A first course of lobster and tripe in a tomato lobster broth reminded me of wearing my best broken-in blue jeans with a fine linen sport coat (which is what I was doing at the time, sometimes the similes just write themselves) "“ proletarian grub topped with something the swells might swill to umami-ish effect. Despite being cow guts, tripe is actually rather rich and subtle and by the third bite (of maybe five) I was pretty darn OK with the combination and oddly, now, it remains the most vividly memorable taste of the night. "Open ravioli" turns out to be an envelope-sized sheet of paper-thin pasta folded back on itself a couple of times, with its stuffing curled into the folds. With shrimp, fresh vegetable and herbs, it was light, summery and refreshing. I don't remember exactly what the XO sauce "“ a paste, really "“ is, but it certainly has a great deal of cured ham and garlic pureed into it and, spun with spaghetti around a fork in that lime-sized divot, it delivers an excellent dose of salty goodness. You can't really say "no" to cruelty-free (ie you can hardly tell it from lean beef) veal with a bit of bone marrow "“ if it was a little unseasonal it was a lot good. The cheese course offered cheese -- which I like in a cheese course -- at a $10 supplement, which I don't. At least it was served in good-sized chunks. If there was a disappointment (aside from the tastefully uncomfortable chairs) it was the half of the bread "course" served as charming breadstick ringlets hung on the upraised the tentacles of a smiling porcelain octopus. Dry, forgettable. The Focaccia was good, however and the tomato "fondue" was quite good. Sietsema mentioned a "hotel-priced" wine list and the list is quite pricey. I don't know enough about Italian wines to opine on the value it may or may not offer, and I was told that the list is incomplete -- though whether that means more $200 Barolos or more $30 Chiantis, I don't know. There were a few seeming values if you're not out to double the cost of your meal, though, and the wines by the glass ran a very reasonable $8-14. The ones we tried all tasted great, especially that white one that's not the Basque one (which we liked) or the Chardonnay (because why am I going to an Italian restaurant to drink Chardonnay?). I would be remiss if I did not mentioning our waiter, John (or maybe James -- I'm pretty sure it started with a "J"), who was charming and efficient in an understated sort of way. Or to put it another way, refreshingly professional in an era of amateur hour servers. There were a few hiccups early on "“ not John (or James's) fault "“but, like Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel, the team seemed to work better as the place became more crowded. DC will always have sort of a penis envy relationship with New York "“ their grime is more grimy than our grime; their elegance more elegant. New York's people are more beautiful and its chef's more talented. But Masseria -- engulfed in the ambiance and perfume of decaying wholesale food warehouses and the drunks who piss behind them yet offering top-flight food in a sophisticated space -- matches Manhattan at its own game, without your ever feeling that it's trying too hard to be anything but itself. [Full disclosure: David Kurka, late of CityZen, is a part owner and the wine guy and a fond acquaintance, but he did not try to bribe me with free stuff (damn him).]

I was at Thally a couple of weeks ago and found the whole thing underwhelming. They've since changed the menu and it's indicative of the experience that I can't remember much without prompting. However -- on looking the current menu over -- I'm reminded that my first impression was that it was still mid-March in Thally's kitchen. Signs of summer were few and far between.

Twice I have run into chefs/cooks whose dinners I'd just eaten and to whom -- in response to their questions -- I politely and briefly outlined the shortcomings of the meal. In neither case did the chef appear at all grateful for my feedback. Clearly their chefly egos were more acclimated to gushy praise. Which brings me to another subject.....

I know just the chef for that space.

You know, as much as I wanted to love that place, the night a gang of us went there, few came away particular impressed. Not that it was bad, mind you, just that is was unexceptional. Oh well, always good to see a local place make good.

You can't do "due diligence" on an action that hasn't yet taken place. Andres won't claim that it's Trump's politics that constituted a breach, but his statement and refusal to mitigate its effects. Trump significantly reduced the value of a partnership through a voluntary action. I also assume that Andres' attorneys weighed in on this decision and that -- as principled as he is -- Andres looked seriously at the financial ramifications before making a move. I'd also be wiling to bet that "the crazies" aren't a significant ThinkFoodGroup demographic.

Jose's lawyers will point out that Trumps actions had a material effect on the financials of the Old Post Office restaurant deal and that further association with Trump will cause financial and reputation harm to Andres and TFG. There might even be a countersuit.

I've never found the food to live up to the setting there. Maybe save that for date night. Submitting Thally, Garrison, Chez Billie Sud to the team.

The point is kind of to be open to suggestion. Though in looking over the lists, it's interesting to see that the vast majority are ethnic, aggressively casual or seemingly more interested in style than food. Centrolina, Thally, maybe DC Harvest (though something about their website makes me suspicious) Macon, Bidwell...A proper Restaurant where you can get a proper meal, linger for a bit and hear yourself think. There's a thought. Not sure how far these guys want to travel, but I'll get by soon enough (I hope). Capella sounds great, thanks. I seem to recall that FM does their patio first-come, first served, which works out when you are eating with people with a babysitter. Not sure their budget -- Crane and Turtle isn't cheap, but FM is pretty brutal. The appeal of Le Diplomate eludes me - though I admit to being irrationally bother by the fake nicotine stains on the ceiling (and their frites were meh on my two visits). PS: Chez Billy is a thought, too. Quite the charming spot.

So, would love to hear any ideas regarding a new (ish) semi-to-upscale restaurant, preferably but not necessarily in NW DC, preferably but not necessarily one where one could make a reservation. For a benchmark: Crane and Turtle was the the first choice. Outdoor dining a plus.

Haven't been to Ocapa. No dis to Toki, but it's an (excellent, maybe I'll go there for lunch) one trick pony. And, while I liked Maketto, I think that SMN comes in a cut above.

I had a partially rewarding and partially annoying experience at SMN Saturday night. The place was largely empty at about 6:30 and we were told that menu had been substantially updated from the night before. I partially blame myself for the annoying thing -- if you go to a small plates joint you should expect a certain hash house approach to the food and, sure enough, minutes after we had ordered, every fucking thing we had ordered was crammed onto our deuce -- if we'd wanted to we probably could have been in and out of the place in 40 minutes, which is not how I prefer to spend my Big Night Out and which shortchanges the food, which sits there getting cold. Next time, I'll just order one round at a time, I suppose. You got show these punks who's boss. The food was, on the other hand, pretty good, though perhaps not violently cereative. The first gazpacho of the season (yellow), sichuan eggplant, and wax beans all hit the spot -- fresh, crisp, spicy, etc. The halibut -- perhaps a little pricey at $20 bucks for an appetizer-sized portion -- was a touch overcooked, but paired nicely with an apricot Romesco sauce. The smoked (by DCity Smokehouse) duck breast on brioche with a touch jam on the side was quite tasty, probably winner of the night. Desserts were solid but unamazing -- peach ice cream (which always reminds me of the Greatest American Novel, "All the Kings Men"*) and an olive oil cake with apricots. We didn't bother finishing them, though though we could have without complaint. The wine selection was quite limited,which was fine with me -- three whites, a rose, a prosecco and one red (they'd run out of the other), all of the ones that I tasted (vinho verde, sauvignon blanc, tinto) were serviceable and reasonably priced. Service was energetic if a slightly awkward combination of formal-ish and diner-ish. We may have a generational problem here -- if you like your restaurants loud (the place was already ratcheting up as we left, the tile walls and open kitchen combining to escalate the clamor) and your service fast, it might be a great stop on a boozy night -- probably the best food on H Street. If you want to relax even a little, though, it may not be your cup of tea. I'll probably head back, but during the "off" hours. PS: Tip is included in the price. No tip line on the charge slip. *"[Governor Willie Startk] But I'm not a politician today. I'm taking the day off. I'm not even going to ask you to vote for me. To tell the God's unvarnished and unbuckled truth, I don't have to ask you. Not today. I still got quite a little hitch up there in the big house with the white columns two stories high on the front porch and peach ice cream for breakfast. Not that a passel of those statesmen wouldn't like to throw me out..... The Boss lifted up his right hand about as high as his head, out in front of him, palm down, and waited till they stopped laughing and whistling. Then he said: "No, I'm not here to ask you for anything. A vote or anything else. I reckon I'll be back later for that. If I keep on relishing that peach ice cream for breakfast in the big house...."

"[in 1950] Harvey's, on Connecticut Avenue was the most famous restaurant in the capital, probably the most expensive, and certainly the most exclusive. Harvey's Ladies and Gentlemen's Saloon started serving steamed oysters, broiled lobster and crab imperial in 1820 and had continued to do so, in colossal quantities, ever since. In 1863, notwithstanding the Civil War, Harvey's diners were getting through 500 wagonloads of oysters a week. Every President since U.S. Grant had dined there and the restaurant enjoyed an unrivalled reputation as the place to be seen for people of power and influence. The black waiters in pressed white uniforms were discreeet, the martinis potent, the napkins stiff as cardboard and the tables spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy for the most secret conversations. Ladies entered by a separate entrance and were not permitted in the main dining room. Most evenings FBI Director J. Edgar [aka "Jedgar"] Hoover could be seeen at his corner table, eating with Clyde Tolson, his deputy and possibly his lover. Hoover was said to be addicted to Harvey's oysters; he never paid for his meals. "Angleton and Philby began to lunch regularly at Harvey's, at first once a week and then at least every other day....their lunches became a sort of ritual...beginning with bourbon on the rocks, proceeding through lobster and wine, and ending in brandy and cigars.... "The precise death toll will never be known: somewhwre between one hundred and two hundred Albanian Guerrillas perished; if their families and other reprisal victims are taken into account, the figure rises into the thousands....At the heart of the tragey lay a close friendship -- and a great betrayal. Lunch at Harvey's came with a hefty bill." A Spy Among Friends: Kim Philby and the Great Betrayal, Ben Macintyre (a fascinating book, btw, now out in paperback).