Nadya

Not spontaneously, darlink. Never. Only after something delicious is in mouth.

Edited to add another dish that I knew I had but didn't have the words to describe adequately last night: Two preparations of mild, soft Italian cheese (burrata di bufala) - one topped with olive oil, tiny mound of caviar and a paper-thin slice of radish, and the other dusted with crunchy toasted breadcrumbs. It came with a little salad of fava beans, roughly chopped cucumber and house-cured white anchovy - tart and sharp accompaniment to the mildness of cheese. And I loved the crunch of bread crumbs sinking into the mild pillow of cheese ball in your mouth, creating an irresistible mixture that caressed the palate so well. Thanks to the lovely Anna for help with that description!

We get our special ins Because we're cutes and thins.

After the Friday night bacchanal, the heart cried out for a leisurely, undemanding meal, and I really didn't think Poste was going to fit the bill. But I love THAT sort of disillusionment. For the booth lovers in your midst, the time to go is a rainy Sunday night, when the restaurant is strangely empty, and the prize seating can be had for a kind smile and a wink to the very obliging staff. The service at Poste always struck me as very helpful with an almost Midwestern wholesomeness and readiness to please. The theme of the meal turned out to be the mixture of sweet and salty with a crunch that ran through most of our choices that night. Chef Weland was off (as most of them are on a bloody Sunday night, I should bloody well hope so) but his team was holding up the fort just fine. Stop by and introduce yourself to a very friendly (and exceedingly handsome) Todd Wiss dishing out the yummies from the open kitchen. The appetizer special, salmon tartar, came in a pretty frame of three five-spice wafer cones with crème fraiche on bottom - not top as is custom - nestled in what looks like three test tubes filled with raw sea salt. The saltiness of diced fish spiced with mustard and chives marries so nicely with subtle sweetness of wafers and rich creaminess of crème fraiche. To enjoy the full extent of flavors without losing any to breakage of cones and spillage of cream, I recommend you do what I did - carefully nibble from a heap of salmon, daintily bite on the edge of the cone, and suck out a dollop of crème fraiche from a wee opening at the bottom of the cone. Repeat till there's none left. That way, you can enjoy all three tastes in the same mouthful, and not have the bottom half of the cone crumble down on you once you're done with the fish. I fully admit that some people will look better doing it than others, and your mileage will vary. The fois gras terrine served with brioche wedges followed suit with more sweet crunchiness and rich, rich, rich taste served in what looked like a wee cast iron pot - a most winsome presentation that took away the preciousness that so often comes with the Fwah Grah. We nibbled on it throughout dinner, and I must say it fills you up very nicely, and makes for a wonderful way to while away a Sunday night. The rabbit with poppy seed tagliatelle with braised fennel and wine sauce had me from the time of the Easter brunch so no more praise was necessary except to say that six weeks later, I still love it with all my heart. I will admit that I chose my entrée of Amish roast chicken mostly for its sides of pierogi with pesto and morels, and never regretted it. The flaky richness of pierogis and mushrooms was all comfort, no surprises, and just what I wanted on a rainy night. My chocolate three ways sealed my belief in the kitchen's deftness with combining the opposite flavors of sweet and salty (come to think of it, it's not completely unlike a Brazilian bikini wax job - a great idea, but really takes some skill because you don't want any amateurs messing with hot wax around THAT.) The cooks at Poste handle that challenge with great skill and imagination - because my rich, dense brownie was saved from overkill by just a sprinkling of fleur de sel on top, and the same bite lingered in its base of toffee. I should mention that my friend's hot date pudding (wheeee! loving the pun) seemed to be all sweetness, but very tempting nevertheless, and I wish I forced him to give up more of it. I am very glad I finally tried dinner after brunches and drinkies. You can bet I'll return and live to tell about it.

“Try not to eat too much for breakfast,” I told my friends. “And skip lunch, too.” I knew it was going to be that kind of dinner. I am still getting used to the new vibe of Komi – more leisurely, lived-in and patinated vs. the upbeat urban look we came to know and love. But sitting through dinner, it is really obvious how the new setup is more in line with Chef Monis’ vision of unhurried, hedonistic and grown-up dining. (See, I even referred to him by his last name.) One of the things I always appreciated about Komi is its pacing. This is why you should only go there with people whose presence you find delightful. Because if you’re counting seconds until your drink arrives to start medicating yourself against your insufferable companions, well, you will have a miserable time. Kind of drives home the point, don’t it? Come to think of it, the place is doing you a favor by allowing you to catch your breath before the food starts arriving. Because once it does – there’s no stopping it. But enough about that. Let’s get to the food. And once again, I’m tempted to compare dinner at Komi to a great night of passion, the kind that leaves you with cherished memories of sensations – tastes, aromas and whispers – not a tightly scripted sequence of “and then he moved his hand two inches down” – “for mains, we ordered the halibut.” Here are my most treasured memories that still have me swooning and squirming in delight a few days later: Battered soft shelf crab with salad of cuttlefish and chickpeas. This is officially the best soft shell preparation that I have tasted so far in numerous eateries around town. The batter is the thinnest and most barely existing, the crab flesh is at its most sweet and juicy, and I just don’t know how he does it, how he brings it out the flavor like no one else does, how he takes the ingredients and makes them taste like themselves – except a hundred times more pure and intense than you and I are used to. Comforting little pockets of spanakopita, packing just enough comfort in its flaky confines. Morels stuffed with head cheese. Aaaaaaahhhhhh. This is a dish for the most serious hedonists, for the ones dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure first and foremost, for the un-squeamish (well, have you noticed how people obsessed with washing their hands are never good in bed?) Warm earthiness of mushroom caps straining to hold the rich forcemeat filling…this is the sort of dish that makes you wish your companion was more fastidious – because then you can have the whole plate, the whole plate to your own very hungry mouth. Bruschetta with truffled beet tsatsiki and taramasalata – a known pleasure, a comforting marriage of crunchy and creamy, of sweet and tart. The pasta midcourses at Komi are an exercise in comfort food and intense flavors that thankfully come in restrained portion sizes – because if they didn’t, the entrees would be almost extraneous. Ravioli filled with ricotta and sprinkled with crunchy toasted almonds, a surprisingly cinnamony tagliatelle with milk-roasted baby goat, some sort of flat noodles with green pesto and basil – I love them all equally, their richness still lingering as a fond memory of you know what, intense little platefuls of delight. Bronzini and suckling pig now come in sizes designed for two, but if you beg and plead, they just might make it for one. In any event, the pieces of bronzini I filched from my friends’ plates were light and flakiness itself, with minimum adornment and none was needed, really. My lamb felt like a home-coming. You see, darlings, many moons ago, when I came to Komi for the first time, I had lamb with cherry glaze and crunchy lentils and they had me at “hello.” And so it felt like re-creating a successful first date with a long-time lover, except this time you’re sure it’s going to be great. Succulent dark pink slices of meat nestled on a crunchy mound in the middle of your plate, you just want to watch it and inhale it and remember it before you tear into it. Desserts at Komi are usually a time of struggle when the spirit is still willing but the flesh is crying for a break, much like the urge for sleep can sometimes overpower your desire for one more go when the first rays of daylight begin seeping through the curtains. But you know you have to have it, because next day, as you’re staring into space in your office caught in a wistful daydreaming reverie, you are going to wish you had pushed yourself for one more taste, one more touch, one more whisper. And so the chocolate cannolli cake for two, really, one person can eat it just fine so don’t let that stop you, brings the meal to yet another rapturous moment. Oh Komi. How do you do it! Every time is like the first time. I long to return already. Thank you, Johnny. Thank you, Anna and Carolyn. You guys rock my world every time.

The Argonaut is now my stand-in neighborhood dive, and I pledge its undying support. I've been there at least once a week for the last two months, and it invariably provides undemanding comforts, good bar grub and just a place to go where there isn't that many. I think my neighbors and I began referring to it as "going down to the pub."

Walking into Komi, the first thing I heard was: "We've been reading up on your erotica." Watch this space, darlings.

Sakana is a reliable neighborhood joint, and in my four years of living around the corner, I found it unwaveringly friendly and steady. I wouldn't go there looking for gustatory heights, and the sushi list is unfortunately given to kinky concoctions a la Rock-n-Roll sushi, but stick with traditional choices and you should be fine. Damn cheap, too.

Hanks is a place that I want to see succeed, and that I wish was good because of its location and concept. Perhaps I have to give them another chance. Both times I ate here I found the mains wanting, and the sides mediocre to bad. Overcooked asparagus and beets that are indistinguishable from my 79 cents canned Safeway version.

Well, that's just a damn pimpin' shame because god knows Morimoto doesn't need that. Maybe he has expensive habits we don't know about. I too enjoyed the original Morimoto and it was good enough to impress me at the time when I didn't know jack about food. I am especially saddened to see reports of bad pork dishes because I hate to see a damn good product wasted. I still remember smelling a pork dish at Morimoto's and swooning as I do over suckling pig these days. You could eat that dish with your eyes and never stop.

Looking forward to dinner at Palena is like: Catching up with your best friend, the one that gives you unconditional love and affection, the one that nourishes your soul and surrounds you with comfort of unspoken understanding. Looking forward to dinner at Komi is like: Anticipating a steamy first-time assignation with a hugely desirable lover that you know will take your breath away; daydreaming about sensual delights for every inch of your skin, touching and tasting that last for hours; knowing it's sweeter for the waiting but still, being barely able to steady your racing pulse, torrid thoughts and gasping breath, throbbing with when? when??? how soon???? is it Friday night yet?????

I'll have to agree with hillvalley. I got Palena chicken takeout a few times in the last couple of months, and all I had to do was ring them up and name the time. In general, depending on the nature of your relationship with the restaurant, you should be able to order takeout of dishes from places that were never meant to be taken out. I won't even go into details of my poshest takeout. All my advice is to invest in friendships that nourish your stomach.

Posting drunk is actually the best part.

You people are making me cry. Big fat tears sliding down my face and hitting the edge of my desk. It's been too long. I miss everything about Komi. I need to go, and soon.

I thought that PETA objects to any consumption of meat and animal products, regardless of whether the animals were put to sleep on feather pillows under cashmere blankets or dismembered with a hacksaw. Don't they object to any kind of meat-eating (bye, beef Delmonico) and skin-wearing (bye, Gucci purses)??? Just for the record, I think either is complete malarkey..

I don't understand what's wrong with torturing birds for my eating pleasure.

I think the wine bar at Lepic is perfect for clandestine affairs because it makes even the most straightlaced people feel raunchy, what with dimmed lighting, shared small plates and slightly uncomfortable chairs that make you squirm closer toward your partner in crime. So, for a date it would be, and has been, my choice.

Well, funny enough, I ended up at Cafe Atlantico at dinner on Saturday night (Jaleo was too crowded) and had a bloody fantastic meal. Duck confit was everything I wanted, just enough fat, crispy sweet skin, and succulent flesh. In addition, it was juicy enough to cover the spinach and turn a boring, "this is good for you" side into a "let me indulge in another forkful" companion to duck. Had conch fritters and jicama-avocado raviolis for starters and loved them as always. I wonder if what they gave you guys at brunch was dinner leftovers they didn't bother to warm up? Desserts at CA never inspired me as much as savories but I did have a very serviceable warm chocolate cake/souffle thing with whipped banana pudding. My friend had tomato soup with a dollop of creme fraiche and micro cilantro that I really enjoyed for its delicate but tangible smoky flavor of roasted tomato. Pacing was rather efficient and a bit on the fast side. I think our apps came out before the answers to "how was your week" ran out of steam. So to ward off the PEA , Premature Entree Arrival, I had to deliberately leave one fritter on my plate and shoot dirty looks to overenthusiastic busboys..."no I'm NOT done...go refill someone else's glass..." And the drinks were great! great! And sitting in a beautiful restaurant, all dressed up and warm and indulgent, with a great view of torrential downpour turning unfortunate pedestrians into wet rags in matter of seconds, well, that was priceless.

Just to note that I was devastated, devastated to show up on NB's door on Monday night after the show, when the kitchen already closed. Serves my lazy arse right for not phoning ahead. So two exquisitely dressed, opera-lovin' ladies, black dresses and pearls and all, had to slum it at BdC, yet again, to enjoy their hanger steak but also to look as out of place as Victoria Secret bikinis in North Dakota winter.

I was just making a point that salivating over tonight's possibilities, whatever they may be, is in fact a proper approach to life.

How was your Easter brunch? Because to quote Ali G, I's got a massive one. In search of a civilized spot downtown with alfresco possibilities, we settled on Poste - because I was very eager to try out Chef Weland's cooking after multiple drinking but not eating at Poste. At noon, the place was barely populated. But when we stumbled out three hours later, it was difficult to navigate my way in between the people dressed in bright pastel colors and wee children. Perhaps six mimosas could not have been an entirely unrelated factor in how difficult it was to get out. But I digress. Generally, I dislike eating out on days when everyone and their extended family is jostling for the same table. Nothing will ever compel me to join The Reaming of St. Valentine and New Year's March of Mediocrity. So I was prepared for a certain amount of surliness from staff. Therefore, the first of the beautiful surprises at Poste was the gracious, helpful, unobtrusive service from Karima who is simply too nice to be from DC. The main attraction of my menu was a nod to Easter tradition - braised rabbit with tagliatelle, lardons, caramelized fennel and some kind of mushrooms. This dish was simply too good to be served at brunch, when people's standards are at the lowest. Delicious, hearty, fork-tender, full of fatty goodness, had me licking the plate (well, almost, they do have a rather open floorplan, you know.) Speaking of floorplans, the interior is lovely and airy with sky-high ceilings, restrained colors and cool vibes. You have to go during daylight hours to appreciate how beautiful and stylish and soothing the place is. My friend had the quiche, which was pronounced the best ever. From a few forkfuls I was allowed to have, I was tempted to concur. I'm a sucker for crust, and this one had a perfect, flaky but not too flaky, buttery bite that was both a gentle restraint and a perfect complement to the creamy filling. Chef Weland was fronting the kitchen, and was as pampering a host as two mimosa-laden giggly girls would ever wish for. We enjoyed wee bites of squash blossom (crispy but delicately fried and splashed with dark, rich consomme) and a few forkfuls of eggs with dewy salmon slivers topped with a dollop of caviar. And some delicious serrano ham on crusty bread. So decadent. So rich. So makes me wish for increased stomach capacity. As we retired to the terrace to enjoy some fags and more wine (a fresh and crisp viognier), I had another chance to be touched by the gracious and soulful service. After six mimosas, my hand-to-eye coordination was beginning to go, so reaching for my lighter, I knocked over my glass of wine. In my defense, I did manage to catch it midflight, but as any glass-knockers will know, this resulted in a micro-tidal wave of viognier over my face and bosom. Not entirely unpleasant on a warm day, and I'm sure a sight to behold. But still. The terrace waitress promptly fetched me a napkin, offered another glass (which I had the good judgment to decline) and when asked for the check, would not charge me for that glass. I almost cried, she was so good to me. When we left, the place was hopping, the stomach was full, the soul was well-lubricated, and the bosom was dry. I can't wait to try dinner.

Salivating over tonight's possibilities is half of the fun granted by possibilities. So yeah, self-absorb away, darlings! And a food reviewer snubbing food forums, well, that just smacks of envy toward those who don't need an editor and a job description to do what he does anyway (and occasionally with much more flair and wit.)

I tried them out last week based on all the comments here and can say I was underwhelmed. My Mona Lisa sandwich (with grilled eggplant, pesto mayo and other grilled veggies) had enough grease to lubricate a giant roller coaster.

Well, last night we stumbled to Sonoma, thinking that if Mendocino is open Sundays, they ought to be, as well, but alas, the door was closed and inside was dark. I wonder if it is Easter weekend or regular Sunday hours, if the latter, I will be bitterly disappointed. So the ever-reliable Sette had to step in, yes, they are open every day, Sunday or high holiday, and BdC, well, they are open, and last night, that was good enough for me.

Crackers!!!!!!!!!! Baby!!!! Thank you for a wonderful way to start my (work) week on a right note!!! You made me laugh, you made me tear up. You are fantastic.