Waitman
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Everything posted by Waitman
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Also, if you do this for a group, a high percentage of the people there will think you're some sort of culinary genius.
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From Sietsema, yesterday Q: DC dining scene Why are DC restaurants 10 years in creativity behind New York? Some French restaurants (on M Street) menus are stuck in the 80's. A: Tom Sietsema Honestly, there are plenty of New York restaurants whose menus are trapped in amber, too. Q: RE: 80s menus ...because having every menu on the planet right now offering fried brussels sprouts is so innovative. Personally, I've come to grips with the little bastards. Though, as Portlandia so archly observes, Brussels sprouts' success is largely due to its pairing with foods that actually taste good or preparations that dramatically change its nutritional profile.
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Speaking of the Exorcist Steps, they're (in)famous among DC's rowers. Almost any local you see on the river has spent time sprinting up and cursing those goddam stairs. They were a common practice-ender and occasional punishment when I was a freshman rowing for GW in the late 70s; today there are a band of hardcores on my crew who do them every Sunday. Fortunately, my knees will not tolerate that sort of thing any more. Speaking of GW, I have not been to the new location, but the Textile Museum (now owned by GWU) -- which may still have an awesome gift shop -- can be an exceptional way to spend an hour, especially if you're down in Foggy Bottom (now owned by GWU) already to see the Kennedy Center or the Watergate or Thompson's Boat House which has great picnicking and you can park there for free after 6:30 or so and walk to Georgetown or the Kennedy Center as long as they don't come around to check the meters which they never do. Speaking of Thompson's, if you're tired of museums you can rent a canoe there and paddle over to Roosevelt Island or the Three Sisters "Islands" (which are haunted) and go swimming (possibly illegal but they never bothered me) off the rocks or swill wine (possibly illegal but they never bothered me). Speaking of Three Sisters, one day years ago a bunch of us were hanging out on the rocks, swimming and swilling wine, when a rowboat came by and the guy not rowing stood up, stark naked with a joint in one hand and a beer in the other and yelled "white punks on dope!" before they rowed off. Sadly, this sort of thing rarely happens in Washington any more.
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I will keep an eye out for their byline, but this piece definitely rubbed me the wrong way for some reason. This reminds me of an exchange on eGullet where somebody asked what would be the best 3-star in Paris to take a 3- (or maybe 5-) year old to and I suggested that they were possible not right in the head for wanting to spend three hours and thousands of dollars trying to keep a bored 3-to-five-year-old amused in a restaurant they wouldn't appreciate or enjoy. I got called all kinds of terrible things by the crowd that believes with a religious-like fervor that their kids are dying to expand their culinary horizons and -- apparently -- have a far greater capacity for conversation with a small child than I ever had.
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I'm sorry, I just can't take seriously anything written by people who would write: "Both were generally uninterested in their fish courses; apparently horseradish crème fraí®che and shaved artichokes aren't crowd pleasers with the pint-size set. We were a little disappointed that they didn't try to expand their horizons"...about two children still in diapers. I'd also suggest that their suggestion that "fine dining with toddlers [is] actually possible" is not supported by 40 meltdown-free minutes at the Oval Room -- a respite apparently won only by constant attention from and distraction by the parents. The term "fine dining" suggests to me a more leisurely pace and more adult conversation. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a kid hater and have a much harder time recalling a meal diminished by children (other than my own ) than several that suffered from obnoxious adults nearby. But still, rushing through a two-hundred dollar dinner while plying two-year-olds with dinosaurs and videos is not my idea of a good time. Also, anyone who refers to a restaurant as a "concept," -- as in "Michael Schlow's hot Latin concept on 14th Street" -- should be bludgeoned. Conceptually.
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I dropped into Mango for a snack the other night and -- though I had only three dishes -- there was absolutely nothing that suggested any reason to avoid or to hurry back. It appears to be a thoroughly middling restaurant with an expensive wrapping and pretentious backstory.- 25 replies
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- Bangkok Thailand Chain
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It was a village Beaujolais that turned me against the aged ones. I know some of the top producers are alleged to age well, but more than 2-3 years for a mid-level Morgon makes me nervous. I like Beaujolais Nouveau. But I like bubble gum, too.
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Normally I would defer to your vastly greater wisdom on this subject, but a 5-year-old Beaujolais? Sounds flat and musty to me. And I'm speaking from experience (Schneider's -- I'll never forget!).
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You might give Canales Meat in Eastern Market a ring:(202) 547-0542;canalesqm@aol.com.
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Pelecanos was born in the District in 1957, the second-generation American son of Pete and Ruby. His family moved to Silver Spring shortly after his birth, and Pelecanos lives there today with his wife and three children. In addition to defining D.C.'s literary noir canon, he wrote for and helped produce HBO's superlative crime epic The Wire, personally penning the balcony scene between Stringer Bell and Avon Barksdale ("Just dream with me," one crime lord says to another with all of Baltimore before them). Teaming up with David Simon of The Wire, Pelecanos also co-wrote and produced Treme, a New Orleans drama, and has a Times Square"“set show called The Deuce in pilot production...... The book takes place during the summer Pelecanos started working at his father Pete's lunch counter, The Jefferson Coffee Shop, at 19th Street and Jefferson Place NW. "My mother and father said, "˜You're 11, it's time to go to work,'" Pelecanos says. "My job was to deliver food on foot to offices........ Nick Kendros, his mother's biological father, owned the Woodward Grille at H and 15th streets NW; today, it's Woodward Table, an upscale American eatery owned by Jeff Buben (of Vidalia and Bistro Bis fame), where the server gushes over Pelecanos: "He's, like, my favorite author. I grew up in Takoma Park......." But it's the Jefferson Coffee Shop that shows up most often in Pelecanos' work. There, he gleaned the motifs that glue together his fictional kitchens: the bar with vinyl seating; the open kitchen; the friendly arguments between owner and chef. The lunch counter becomes a microcosm of the community and vitality that energizes Pelecanos' blue-collar D.C., and a metaphor for the forces that divide it. Pay attention to who sits on which side of the counter. At the Jefferson, it was obvious enough to 11-year-old Pelecanos: "It wasn't lost on me that, on one side of the counter, blacks and Greeks were serving white professionals who were seated on the other side." Today, that counter is owned by Art Carlson, and the place is called CF Folks. "
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- Dupont Circle
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Speaking of Bob Dylan on David Letterman -- note my old Brush With Fame buddy Carol King on the piano.
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When we got there in 2002 (?) it ran pretty much all day -- or at least until the early afternoon -- but yes. We were staying a block off Rue Cler on Rue Valadon. (Sadly, a quick review of TripAdvisor suggests that the owner of the Hotel Valadon has moved on. Victor was the perfect host the three times I stayed with him, but I read enough reviews to know that -- unlike current management -- he would have responded to the (very few) two- and one-star reviews with a very Gallic sneer and "never stay at my hotel again."
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Go to Paris. If, for no other reason than that it appears that the stars and the finance gods have come together to give you options. Seattle can be done almost on a whim -- no jet lag, no customs , no passport renewals, minimal psychic capital, easy to keep in touch with the office and you can tread water until the airfares drop and strike. Paris is logistically and psychologically a bigger deal. And there a statistically significant chance that -- if you don't go this year -- something will "come up" next year, and the year after will be wedding you have to go to and the next year, there's a new job and you can't take time off.... Go to Paris.
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This. Done that exact picnic (realizing a lifelong ambition to eat oeuffs en gelee), though at a time when we stumbled across Rue Cler by happy accident (the Eiffel Tower is easy to find, even for me) and Pat Wells was a paperback. Also the quays make excellent picnic spots as well.
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Perhaps Kliman is ill-suited to "forcibly assigning stars to restaurants." Perhaps this is correlated with his suitability for stories like this. Obviously, with Ferhat's having weighed in, my observations are relatively less significant, but I don't see any agenda other than an eagerness to tell an interesting and relatively important story and illuminate an interesting nook of arguably the defining phenomenon of life in the District of Columbia these days. Special kudos for somehow getting the Washingtonian, of all publications, to look at the frictions created by gentrification. Good thing I read this on the web instead of in line at the Whole Foods, when I was expecting a glowing pre-opening look at the newest City Center celebrity chef venture and a guide to Washington's best boob jobbers -- I might have sprained something.
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This and Hersh's other post are full of excellent suggestions, particularly dropping acid and hitting the Dumbarton Oaks neighborhood. Along those lines I'd just like to add that Dumbarton Oaks has a swell, small museum of Byzantine and pre-Columbian art and that nearby (like, next door) Montrose park is a great place to eat sandwiches from Stachowski's or snacks from Dean & DeLuca, and discretely sip wine (no one has ever complained, but we always drink from unmarked cups), Oak Hill is extraordinary and is where Mrs. P's ashes are scattered -- she did a paper on its architectural significance as an undergrad. Per Hersch's earlier post, note that the Spanish steps are right around the corner from the Phillips collection (surely someone has suggested that) and the Woodrow Wilson House, as well as Embassy Row and a lot of big, swell houses. The Hillwood Museum is little known and another sort of wealth voyeurism place, with its Faberge Eggs, gardens and - my favorite part -- butler's pantry with a dozen different China sets. It's right off Rock Creek if you're in a picnic mood and walking distance form Adams-Morgan or the zoo, if you 'd like a little stroll. The Kennedy Center is arguably an architectural monstrosity but it does have free concerts every single night at 6PM on the Millennium Stage and a grand view of the river from the balcony. (Speaking of River views, try to hit the Lincoln at sunset after the Millenium stage and wander around the back for the kind of 70s-nostalgia take-LSD-and-snog-a-friend view of the river and the Eternal Flame - even Roslyn looks lovely). Also, if you're seeking that counterculture vibe, hit Meridian Hill on Sunday for the drumming, then shake it off with some 14th Street yuppie chow.
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I can assure you non-apocryphally that Yannick Cam occasionally made a dessert using d'Yquem at Le Pavillon. All I can remember is that he turned it into a gelee and enrobed (or whatever) something. I seem to recall that there was always a little bit left for the chef to sip afterwards. Of course, a half-bottle was dramatically cheaper in 1985. Maybe $40-50 retail for a recent vintage? (Jesus, has it really been 30 years since I worked there?)
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While I disagree with Rieux regarding the quality of the bread and haven't always been blown away by the sandwiches (largely because of the bread), I heartily second his general enthusiasm. Having seen more than a few "gourmet" markets come and go, I think what sets Eat Peach apart is the ability to assemble a full, high-quality meal using only ingredients from the store. The produce is varied and fresh (I've seen a lot of wrinkly beets and wilted lettuce over the years) -- the meat blessedly unfrozen, you can get cheese and charcuterie and the necessarily limited selection of beer and wine is well-selected (I almost said "well-curated" but then I would have had to punch myself in the head) -- the wine selection being the best in the neighborhood. Just last night I ducked in for whole chicken, lemon, fresh rosemary and potatoes, along with a $10 bottle of quite drinkable Cotes du Rhone. When the place opened I gave it about six months before they adopted the Potemkin shelving strategy of displaying Annie's Macaroni and Cheese boxes and the canned beans one deep and a whole rack wide to hide the fact that they couldn't afford to restock. Fortunately, that has not been the case.
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Taconelli's is not coal-fired. First time I went, I loved it, the second time I liked it (dough was meh) Atmosphere is perfect and you can bring your own beer.
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To my mind, Maketto might be the victim of its own hype -- it wasn't the mind-blowing mixed-use experience I have been led to believe. (For what it's worth, I checked with my son, who lives in the neighborhood, to see if I was just too old, and he more or less agreed with me.) As for the car, it's a 25-block round-trip from my office -- a little far for a lunchtime stroll but a quick dash given easy parking and light traffic in that neck of the woods. I promise to bring colleagues so that our carbon footprint is, on average, lower.
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I'm pleased that you like the place. Perhaps you should think in terms of writing a detailed, positive review instead a response to my candid (and often positive) observations, which I stand by.
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Oh, please. When he puts his lunch counter in the middle of a boutique, it's arguable that the proprietor is not even centered on his food and drink.
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I, like hillvalley, came away a little underwhelmed. I thought the food was pretty good. I liked the Bao quite a bit -- and was pleasantly surprised by the spice -- and my accomplice's Cambodian Sandwich was large and tasty, kind of an overstuffed bahn mi. The soup was OK, but in these days of fine noodle soups, unexceptional. The price was right. I, too was unimpressed by the paper and plastic. It just feels low rent. The design was clean to the point of boring, and the merch predictable to the point of ennui. I am not against paying way too much money for clothing, but I don't feel that a place offering Vans and cute socks is particularly interesting. The indoor and outdoor seating options are nice, the coffee was pretty OK and it will be a fine place to grab lunch on days that I bring my car. But, as a groundbreaking mixed-use destination, it doesn't seem destined to break much ground.
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- H Street Corridor
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He was apparently happy enough to take a carnivore's blood money.
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Perfect. I hope they don't mind when a bunch of grungy rowers, smelling of sweat and the Anacostia River, descend on it for crew breakfast.
