I love Saint Ex, so it’s with a heavy heart that I report on tonight’s decidedly subpar experience. I’d like to think it’s a total aberration and, of all my visits, this has been the singular largely negative experience.
The service was good – of course, I don’t expect fine dining there. All I want is a timely water refill and a smile. In fact, I expect a level of informality and am generally pleased with the expertise of the waitstaff. I’m as young as any of the people waiting on me, I’m not uptight or demanding and, frankly, when I get a little attitude, I appreciate it. It’s a neighborhood joint for me.
The food disappointed tonight, and they were all dishes I’ve had and enjoyed many times before. We showed up around 8 PM and the three of us ordered three things – two burgers med-rare (one bacon/cheddar, on mushrooms) and a grilled calamari over greens. The calamari was well-cooked, but the frisee was so heavily salted that it was barely edible, and the med-rare burgers were brown and juiceless.
We sent the burgers back. Our waiter (also the Gate 54 bartender) was apologetic and understanding. We had full beers and nothing to do, so waiting for a cooked-to-order Saint Ex burger sounded much better than eating the stepped-on burgers we sent back… and far, far better than a slice from Manny & Olga’s.
Here’s the pisser – the second round of burgers were cooked as poorly as the first. Rather than send them back again, we picked at them, paid our check and left, disappointed. One of the burgers was comped, which was much appreciated but only somewhat mollifying.After we sent the first burger back, I asked if Bart was there and was told that he wasn’t – I was unsurprised to hear it, but it’s no real excuse. I was there on Thursday and we were served a few burgers, a grilled calamari and a bowl of mussels with no complaints. This isn’t an endemic issue, but, at the least, it’s an occasional one.
Saint Ex is a restaurant that has been around long enough and under the same chef long enough that Sunday night malaise simply shouldn’t be an issue, and a med-rare burger should be cooked to order the first time, let alone the second. I’d have never brought this up if I didn’t consider Saint Ex way, way better than this.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
DC Coast/Circle Bistro - Jan 07 Restaurant Week
Writing this post feels like lunch at Circle Bistro -- when I was asking myself "why the hell are you eating out again?"
I went to DC Coast with Jack on Thurday. It was good -- nice soup, tower of crab, some dessert. They've changed the tower of crab into more of a crab three ways. It was a crabcake sitting in a half-inch of crab chowder, with a couple stone crab claws thrown in.
Lunch at Circle Bistro was also tasty. The fried oysters were especially delicious. The roast chicken was fine.
I'm on rabbit food from here on out.
I went to DC Coast with Jack on Thurday. It was good -- nice soup, tower of crab, some dessert. They've changed the tower of crab into more of a crab three ways. It was a crabcake sitting in a half-inch of crab chowder, with a couple stone crab claws thrown in.
Lunch at Circle Bistro was also tasty. The fried oysters were especially delicious. The roast chicken was fine.
I'm on rabbit food from here on out.
Restaurant Kolumbia – Jan 07 Restaurant Week
On Thursday I had lunch with a girl named Halliday. We have a few mutual friends, some shared history and, as it turns, similar interests and attitudes. It was pleasant and I enjoyed her company.
It’s a good thing I did, because lunch took two goddam hours. I left work at 12:10 and got back at 2:45. I just can’t imagine a circumstance in which that sort of service is acceptable. I’m sure they exist, just not in my world.
We arrived on time and were promptly seated. They took our order thirty minutes later and I don’t think we saw a piece of bread until we’d been there for an hour. I wasn’t going to make a scene about it and, frankly, I didn’t have much to do at work, but I was still a little steamed. If I’d been under any sort of time constraint I would have been apoplectic… but, then again, I also would have been more vocal about it.
I started with the seafood stew (eh), the steak frite (flank and shoestring) and finished with an apple cobbler-type dessert. The steak was delicious, medium-rare and thinly-sliced on a bias. The fries may well have been, as advertised, the “Best on K St”, but I only say that because I’ve got nothing to stand them up against. I was jealous of Halliday’s cheese plate – but I held to my maxim about not ordering two of anything.
Even considering the service, I would go back here again for a couple reasons. The décor was funky and eclectic, unlike any other K St establishment.
It’s a good thing I did, because lunch took two goddam hours. I left work at 12:10 and got back at 2:45. I just can’t imagine a circumstance in which that sort of service is acceptable. I’m sure they exist, just not in my world.
We arrived on time and were promptly seated. They took our order thirty minutes later and I don’t think we saw a piece of bread until we’d been there for an hour. I wasn’t going to make a scene about it and, frankly, I didn’t have much to do at work, but I was still a little steamed. If I’d been under any sort of time constraint I would have been apoplectic… but, then again, I also would have been more vocal about it.
I started with the seafood stew (eh), the steak frite (flank and shoestring) and finished with an apple cobbler-type dessert. The steak was delicious, medium-rare and thinly-sliced on a bias. The fries may well have been, as advertised, the “Best on K St”, but I only say that because I’ve got nothing to stand them up against. I was jealous of Halliday’s cheese plate – but I held to my maxim about not ordering two of anything.
Even considering the service, I would go back here again for a couple reasons. The décor was funky and eclectic, unlike any other K St establishment.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Komi - Happy Birthday Alex
My birthday started out easy, became extremely frustrating and turned out beautifully.
I woke up on January 10, 2007, showered, went to work, got a banana and an apple and sat down at my desk, all the while unaware it was my birthday. Jon, who arrived moments after I did, wished me a happy birthday and that's when I remembered. I am getting old.
The day was pleasant until around 4 PM, when both of my clients had their systems stop working at once. One had a bug existing for two weeks that was reported but misdiagnosed, so we lost two weeks of data and the other client had server problems and some irregularities in data. Both started screaming bloody murder at me. I scrambled to stick some electronic fingers in the dyke and got out by 6:45. I walked in to Komi at 7:05, and slid into my seat in the window (parents were late per usual) and ordered a glass of pinot noir.
The wine was delicious. Belle & Sebastien's "Dear Catastrophe Waitress" (the LP, not just the track) was playing softly in the background. The tables closest to me held a single business traveler reading the NY Times and a deaf couple signing back and forth. I was happily undisturbed and sat sipping wine and watching the traffic on 17th St, until my parents arrived. The atmosphere at Komi is as informal and easy-going as I can imagine for a restaurant of that quality, and it seperates a meal there from a meal at any of the other top restaurants in the city.
The last two times I've been they've started me off with the same two appetizers. The first is a dish of house-cured olives. They're bright green with the barest layer of olive oil, just enough to hold the sprinkled sea salt. The second course is a mascarpone-stuffed date, baked, and also drizzled with olive oil and a few grains of salt. The olives are plump and meaty, but drier than most with a hint of tang, and the glazed dates are warm and sticky-sweet, with heavy, creamy rich mascarpone.
The appetizer parade continued, one after another, with ten or fifteen minutes between them. The pacing was, if anything, too slow, as the meal stretched close to four hours. The highlights included a creamy sunchoke panna cotta paired with a remarkably delicious octopus. The 'pus was roasted at such high heat that it lost any hint of chewiness -- it was fleshy, not rubbery in the slightest, tasty and surprising.
Other appetizers included a house-cured salami with mixed greens, a relatively traditional salted cod spread over crostini, some sort of croquette and three or four more that I've forgotten. The array of flavors and ingredients was dizzying, but there was a thematic consistency to the selections that proved satisfying. I sensed a little more focus and a little more restraint from the chef in this most recent iteration -- if not obviously Greek, these were firmly Mediterranean dishes.
The pasta course and the entrees ranged a little farther afield. My mother opted for the vegetarian option, it might have been a mushroom ravioli, but at that point, more than two hours and goodness knows how many glasses of wine in, my memory is a little less crisp. Of the pasta course, hers was the weakest link. My father’s baby lamb in ragu was beautifully prepared, but my wild boar was the star.
The boar was roasted with cocoa and mint, and came served over tagliatelle. It was a combination of flavors that I had never had before in a savory dish – but they blended together beautifully and the very flavorful boar meat stood up to the powerful seasoning. Also, like the other pasta, my tagliatelle was appropriately sized. At this point in the meal, I wouldn’t have wanted more than a tennis ball-sized lump of pasta, especially pasta so delicious that I would have been compelled to suck down every stray piece.
For the mains, my parents split the salt-crusted bronzini for two. Our waitress presented the fish whole, then took it back to the kitchen to fillet it before serving it. I had to stifle a laugh when I saw the whole bronzini, only because the technique was one I’d seen several times on reruns of the Japanese “Iron Chef” and I didn’t expect to encounter it here. If nothing else, my interest was piqued.
The fish came back from the kitchen on two plates, in two small piles, with microgreens or watercress or some such, the garnishes are lost to me. My mother had opted to not have the fish served head-on; this was a mistake, as she missed out on the cheek meat and what would have surely been a more interesting presentation. The fish was sweet, mild and juicy – as advertised, the salt crust grill had helped the fish retain moisture in a hot oven.
I ordered the venison. I can’t help it. Wild boar. Venison. I’m a sucker for big-ticket proteins. I was not disappointed. More so than with other wild game and other cuts of venison, I have some history with venison tenderloin. Eamon, my redneck country hunting friend, seems to swing through once every month or six weeks, venison tenderloin in hand, marinated and ready to grill or roast. It’s gamy, succulent meat, and I rarely see its equal on a restaurant plate. This time, however, Eamon was overmatched.
The venison rounds were served medium-rare, with a touch of crust on the outside, next to some sort of flakey napoleon made with ground venison and a green vegetable. The meat was as tender as a filet mignon but far more flavorful, and my father and I both agreed that he should have ordered it. It was a dish that would have seemed at home in a mountaintop lodge or one of the conservative, ultra high-end DC establishments. When a restaurant is able to skate so effortlessly between the novel and the traditional, it makes a long meal much more enjoyable.
After our main courses, we were presented with a small cheese plate and dessert. The portions on the cheese plate were appropriately tiny, and the desserts were enjoyed by my parents – I’m just not that into desserts. After a coffee, I left fat and happy.
The cost of a meal at Komi has crept steadily higher over the past two years. A la carte dining is no longer offered, and the tasting menu runs $71, with an optional wine pairing for another $51. For me, this is the upper limit of what I would pay for dinner, an ultra-special occasion restaurant, but such a reliably spectacular meal is worth the money.
I woke up on January 10, 2007, showered, went to work, got a banana and an apple and sat down at my desk, all the while unaware it was my birthday. Jon, who arrived moments after I did, wished me a happy birthday and that's when I remembered. I am getting old.
The day was pleasant until around 4 PM, when both of my clients had their systems stop working at once. One had a bug existing for two weeks that was reported but misdiagnosed, so we lost two weeks of data and the other client had server problems and some irregularities in data. Both started screaming bloody murder at me. I scrambled to stick some electronic fingers in the dyke and got out by 6:45. I walked in to Komi at 7:05, and slid into my seat in the window (parents were late per usual) and ordered a glass of pinot noir.
The wine was delicious. Belle & Sebastien's "Dear Catastrophe Waitress" (the LP, not just the track) was playing softly in the background. The tables closest to me held a single business traveler reading the NY Times and a deaf couple signing back and forth. I was happily undisturbed and sat sipping wine and watching the traffic on 17th St, until my parents arrived. The atmosphere at Komi is as informal and easy-going as I can imagine for a restaurant of that quality, and it seperates a meal there from a meal at any of the other top restaurants in the city.
The last two times I've been they've started me off with the same two appetizers. The first is a dish of house-cured olives. They're bright green with the barest layer of olive oil, just enough to hold the sprinkled sea salt. The second course is a mascarpone-stuffed date, baked, and also drizzled with olive oil and a few grains of salt. The olives are plump and meaty, but drier than most with a hint of tang, and the glazed dates are warm and sticky-sweet, with heavy, creamy rich mascarpone.
The appetizer parade continued, one after another, with ten or fifteen minutes between them. The pacing was, if anything, too slow, as the meal stretched close to four hours. The highlights included a creamy sunchoke panna cotta paired with a remarkably delicious octopus. The 'pus was roasted at such high heat that it lost any hint of chewiness -- it was fleshy, not rubbery in the slightest, tasty and surprising.
Other appetizers included a house-cured salami with mixed greens, a relatively traditional salted cod spread over crostini, some sort of croquette and three or four more that I've forgotten. The array of flavors and ingredients was dizzying, but there was a thematic consistency to the selections that proved satisfying. I sensed a little more focus and a little more restraint from the chef in this most recent iteration -- if not obviously Greek, these were firmly Mediterranean dishes.
The pasta course and the entrees ranged a little farther afield. My mother opted for the vegetarian option, it might have been a mushroom ravioli, but at that point, more than two hours and goodness knows how many glasses of wine in, my memory is a little less crisp. Of the pasta course, hers was the weakest link. My father’s baby lamb in ragu was beautifully prepared, but my wild boar was the star.
The boar was roasted with cocoa and mint, and came served over tagliatelle. It was a combination of flavors that I had never had before in a savory dish – but they blended together beautifully and the very flavorful boar meat stood up to the powerful seasoning. Also, like the other pasta, my tagliatelle was appropriately sized. At this point in the meal, I wouldn’t have wanted more than a tennis ball-sized lump of pasta, especially pasta so delicious that I would have been compelled to suck down every stray piece.
For the mains, my parents split the salt-crusted bronzini for two. Our waitress presented the fish whole, then took it back to the kitchen to fillet it before serving it. I had to stifle a laugh when I saw the whole bronzini, only because the technique was one I’d seen several times on reruns of the Japanese “Iron Chef” and I didn’t expect to encounter it here. If nothing else, my interest was piqued.
The fish came back from the kitchen on two plates, in two small piles, with microgreens or watercress or some such, the garnishes are lost to me. My mother had opted to not have the fish served head-on; this was a mistake, as she missed out on the cheek meat and what would have surely been a more interesting presentation. The fish was sweet, mild and juicy – as advertised, the salt crust grill had helped the fish retain moisture in a hot oven.
I ordered the venison. I can’t help it. Wild boar. Venison. I’m a sucker for big-ticket proteins. I was not disappointed. More so than with other wild game and other cuts of venison, I have some history with venison tenderloin. Eamon, my redneck country hunting friend, seems to swing through once every month or six weeks, venison tenderloin in hand, marinated and ready to grill or roast. It’s gamy, succulent meat, and I rarely see its equal on a restaurant plate. This time, however, Eamon was overmatched.
The venison rounds were served medium-rare, with a touch of crust on the outside, next to some sort of flakey napoleon made with ground venison and a green vegetable. The meat was as tender as a filet mignon but far more flavorful, and my father and I both agreed that he should have ordered it. It was a dish that would have seemed at home in a mountaintop lodge or one of the conservative, ultra high-end DC establishments. When a restaurant is able to skate so effortlessly between the novel and the traditional, it makes a long meal much more enjoyable.
After our main courses, we were presented with a small cheese plate and dessert. The portions on the cheese plate were appropriately tiny, and the desserts were enjoyed by my parents – I’m just not that into desserts. After a coffee, I left fat and happy.
The cost of a meal at Komi has crept steadily higher over the past two years. A la carte dining is no longer offered, and the tasting menu runs $71, with an optional wine pairing for another $51. For me, this is the upper limit of what I would pay for dinner, an ultra-special occasion restaurant, but such a reliably spectacular meal is worth the money.
Bombay Club - Jan 07 Restaurant Week
This was my first time at the Bombay Club. It's seems more formal than Georgetown's Heritage India -- perhaps the high ceilings give the room a little more gravitas, but I think it goes beyond that. The waiters didn't seem so well-worn, the host was more convivial and the service was simply a cut above Georgetown's Heritage.
The food, however, came in a little below that lofty standard. Like with lunch at Kaz, Matt & I took one look at the $30.07 restaurant week menu and decided we could do better for less money by just ordering a la carte.
To start, I had the Peri-Peri fish, which I found to be medium-low on the indian food spice barometer (a mid-level vindaloo comes in as "hot" in my world), but was well-seasoned with a variety of dried spieces (including the Peri-Peri pepper for which the dish was named) and sauteed lightly enough that it didn't feel drenched in butter or oil.
I chose Goa Fish curry for an entree, a dish that alwasy tempts me. In some regards, it serves as my indian food barometer. In this incarnation, the mild white fish came in a too-mild, too-thin red-brown curry sauce. Though tasty, I prefer the heartier green curry I've had at some other Indian restaurants in the District.
Matt started with a moist, delicious lamb kebab, which I think came above a whipped carb of some sort. It was the thick, rich mint sauce that the lamb, served on the side, that really made the dish. It reminded me of the mint sauce they serve at Naan & Beyond, but an upscale, better-composed version, with a more creamy, yogurty consistency. For Matt's entree, he chose the chicken korma. It was interchangable with any number of standard indian chicken dishes I've had -- good, but unremarkable, a step up from the $10 indian buffet, but definitely in the same ballpark.
Also, the dal was a little soupy for my taste.
All in all, after this largely restaurant-crushing review, I enjoyed the place and will return. I've got my eye on a chicken dish with green chiles that is described as "not for the faint of heart." I guess we'll see if that's me.
The food, however, came in a little below that lofty standard. Like with lunch at Kaz, Matt & I took one look at the $30.07 restaurant week menu and decided we could do better for less money by just ordering a la carte.
To start, I had the Peri-Peri fish, which I found to be medium-low on the indian food spice barometer (a mid-level vindaloo comes in as "hot" in my world), but was well-seasoned with a variety of dried spieces (including the Peri-Peri pepper for which the dish was named) and sauteed lightly enough that it didn't feel drenched in butter or oil.
I chose Goa Fish curry for an entree, a dish that alwasy tempts me. In some regards, it serves as my indian food barometer. In this incarnation, the mild white fish came in a too-mild, too-thin red-brown curry sauce. Though tasty, I prefer the heartier green curry I've had at some other Indian restaurants in the District.
Matt started with a moist, delicious lamb kebab, which I think came above a whipped carb of some sort. It was the thick, rich mint sauce that the lamb, served on the side, that really made the dish. It reminded me of the mint sauce they serve at Naan & Beyond, but an upscale, better-composed version, with a more creamy, yogurty consistency. For Matt's entree, he chose the chicken korma. It was interchangable with any number of standard indian chicken dishes I've had -- good, but unremarkable, a step up from the $10 indian buffet, but definitely in the same ballpark.
Also, the dal was a little soupy for my taste.
All in all, after this largely restaurant-crushing review, I enjoyed the place and will return. I've got my eye on a chicken dish with green chiles that is described as "not for the faint of heart." I guess we'll see if that's me.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Corduroy - Jan 07 Restaurant Week
The menus at Corduroy are wrapped in a worn, light blue corduroy fabric, like an old pair of pants I ripped the knees out of in college. Laura commented on what a nice, homey touch it was – and how incongruous the generic hotel restaurant atmosphere of the place was, when compared to the warm, thoughtful menu design.
I’ve been to Corduroy several times before, enough that I’ve developed an affinity for the place. Hearing criticism makes me bristle a little bit, no matter how justified, so when the roommates took the atmosphere down a notch it stung, but, they were right. It’s on the second floor of a second-rate hotel. The fabric on the chairs is a little strange. Still, food and service trump location and décor in my book.
Even worse -- Restaurant Week poses a unique challenge to a restaurant. While diners flood the bar and the kitchen is slammed, the front of the house needs to impress from hostess to servers because diners are deciding whether or not to come back and pay full price. Ever. AS before, Corduroy delivered on both fronts.
Our waitress doubtless soon realized we were mostly-ignorant 20-somethings enjoying fine dining on the cheap, but proved able to educate us on wines without lecturing anyone or making them feel ignorant. Asides from some minor crowd-related missteps -- a noticeably lenghty delay in filling up water glasses, which for some served as the only beverage, being seated for an 8:00 reservation at 8:25 -- the service was excellent.
The food was very good. My squash soup was just a touch roughter in consistency than previous incarnations, and the flavors didn't seem as layered -- still a damn fine soup, however. Others at the table raved about the lobster salad, and the bite I had left me wishing I had a plateful. The other appetizer that piqued everyone's interest was the mozarrella porcupine, a block of fresh mozzarella wrapped in phyllo dough and fried. It was crispy and far lighter than expected; a far cry from a mozzarella stick, or even Luigi's delicious (though weighty) fried cheese.
My beef cheeks were braised, and serrved over white beans and sprinkled with haricot vert. The beef was tender, flaky, fatty and moist, very much like a more-tender braised short rib in consistency and flavor. Laura's steak was regarded as "among the best" she'd ever had, with Alex and Rachel agreeing, but Emily and Katie were split on the lamb.
For desert there was chocolate cakes and apple pies, but I went with the cheese plate. If I knew more about cheese, perhaps I could specify the varieties, but all i can say is that it was delicious.
I’ve been to Corduroy several times before, enough that I’ve developed an affinity for the place. Hearing criticism makes me bristle a little bit, no matter how justified, so when the roommates took the atmosphere down a notch it stung, but, they were right. It’s on the second floor of a second-rate hotel. The fabric on the chairs is a little strange. Still, food and service trump location and décor in my book.
Even worse -- Restaurant Week poses a unique challenge to a restaurant. While diners flood the bar and the kitchen is slammed, the front of the house needs to impress from hostess to servers because diners are deciding whether or not to come back and pay full price. Ever. AS before, Corduroy delivered on both fronts.
Our waitress doubtless soon realized we were mostly-ignorant 20-somethings enjoying fine dining on the cheap, but proved able to educate us on wines without lecturing anyone or making them feel ignorant. Asides from some minor crowd-related missteps -- a noticeably lenghty delay in filling up water glasses, which for some served as the only beverage, being seated for an 8:00 reservation at 8:25 -- the service was excellent.
The food was very good. My squash soup was just a touch roughter in consistency than previous incarnations, and the flavors didn't seem as layered -- still a damn fine soup, however. Others at the table raved about the lobster salad, and the bite I had left me wishing I had a plateful. The other appetizer that piqued everyone's interest was the mozarrella porcupine, a block of fresh mozzarella wrapped in phyllo dough and fried. It was crispy and far lighter than expected; a far cry from a mozzarella stick, or even Luigi's delicious (though weighty) fried cheese.
My beef cheeks were braised, and serrved over white beans and sprinkled with haricot vert. The beef was tender, flaky, fatty and moist, very much like a more-tender braised short rib in consistency and flavor. Laura's steak was regarded as "among the best" she'd ever had, with Alex and Rachel agreeing, but Emily and Katie were split on the lamb.
For desert there was chocolate cakes and apple pies, but I went with the cheese plate. If I knew more about cheese, perhaps I could specify the varieties, but all i can say is that it was delicious.
Kaz Sushi Bistro - Jan 07 Restaurant Week
In addition to many other fine meals, Kaz treated me right for a Restaurant Week dinner last August. They offered a hot appetizer selection followed by a pick-three of seven or eight different sushi and sashimi options. Jack and I left full, drunk and happy.
The same can not be said of my lunch there Monday, as this was a rare Monday when I couldn't come back to the office half-twisted on sake. Moreover, their $20 lunch included the standard miso soup, salad, and a seven or eight pieces of nigiri paired with a California roll -- not exactly what I was looking for.
Nick and I, who both worked in Japanese restaurants and are probably not Kaz's target audience for restaurant week, scrapped the RW menu and decided to split the grilled octopus ($8) for an appetizer, then each got the sashimi plate ($19.50). It came with a three pieces of dark, beautiful tuna, three pieces of salmon with lemon (I could see where the acid seared the fish), three pieces of flounder (I think), two pieces of surf clam and two pieces of scallop. The stars of the show, however, were the three rich, buttery pieces of yellowtail. I saved my last slice of yellowtail for the end, wanting the flavor to linger as I paid the bill. After letting the last bits slide away, I watched as Nick made some tough decisions on what to finish his meal with. Unsurprisingly, the yellowtail won out.
Great meal, but for restaurant week, stick with dinner.
The same can not be said of my lunch there Monday, as this was a rare Monday when I couldn't come back to the office half-twisted on sake. Moreover, their $20 lunch included the standard miso soup, salad, and a seven or eight pieces of nigiri paired with a California roll -- not exactly what I was looking for.
Nick and I, who both worked in Japanese restaurants and are probably not Kaz's target audience for restaurant week, scrapped the RW menu and decided to split the grilled octopus ($8) for an appetizer, then each got the sashimi plate ($19.50). It came with a three pieces of dark, beautiful tuna, three pieces of salmon with lemon (I could see where the acid seared the fish), three pieces of flounder (I think), two pieces of surf clam and two pieces of scallop. The stars of the show, however, were the three rich, buttery pieces of yellowtail. I saved my last slice of yellowtail for the end, wanting the flavor to linger as I paid the bill. After letting the last bits slide away, I watched as Nick made some tough decisions on what to finish his meal with. Unsurprisingly, the yellowtail won out.
Great meal, but for restaurant week, stick with dinner.
Monday, January 08, 2007
DC Restaurant Week - Jan 07
DC Restaurant Week 2007 will be at once my most-decadent and my least-gluttonous. Fat kid moves are running right into
Kaz Sushi Bistro -- Lunch on Monday
Corduroy -- Dinner on Monday
Bombay Club - Dinner Tuesday
Restaurant Kolumbia - Lunch Wednesday
Komi - Birthday Dinner Wednesday, non-Restaurant Week
DC Coast - Thursday Dinner
Circle Bistro - Friday Lunch
1789 - Sunday Dinner
I'll keep you posted.
Kaz Sushi Bistro -- Lunch on Monday
Corduroy -- Dinner on Monday
Bombay Club - Dinner Tuesday
Restaurant Kolumbia - Lunch Wednesday
Komi - Birthday Dinner Wednesday, non-Restaurant Week
DC Coast - Thursday Dinner
Circle Bistro - Friday Lunch
1789 - Sunday Dinner
I'll keep you posted.
Thin Kid Moves
We used to drink "Mary Specials" in college. To get one, head to a bar called “Risky Business" (Née "The Bacon") on Lebanon St in Hamilton, NY. Ask Mary the 50-something, Daytona Bike Week-frequenting bartender to put a few cubes of ice, seven ounces of Mohawk vodka and a splash of cranberry into a lager glass. That's a Mary Special. You owe Mary $3 for that, not including tip, and be sure to tell her how nice her exposed navel looks in her leather pants and vest. Understandably, there are some months of college that are simply a "Mary Special"-induced blur of colors and sounds.
After a night like that, with a fleece full of cigarette burns and no girl to keep me warm, all I could do was break into the frat kitchen, turn on the fryer and whip up a batch of chili-cheese fries. A big batch. Though my palate may have broadened since college, my culinary ethos has remained a constant, and jibes nicely with my general unwillingness to run. Unless, of course, someone has given chase. As it stands, from chili fries to Chinese delivery to five guys to fried mozzarella, I've been pulling fat kid moves for most of a decade. I'm lucky to not look like a beach ball.
This all changed, of course, on January 2nd, when I entered the chrysalis of healthy eating and working out, soon to emerge as a healthy and well-toned butterfly, just as if I'd stepped out of a "Fitness Personality" John Basedow infomercial. Here's the deal I cut with myself -- no drinking until I lose 8 pounds. That's it, really, but with an overtone of "not eating like a child" and a healthy dash of "you fat slob".
Now, it's January 8th. I haven't had a drink since January 1st, a minor victory, have managed to eat small portions of healthy food, a substantial victory and, in another substantial victory, have worked out every day except for Sunday. I've lost 2.5 pounds. My female roommates view this as encouraging. I think it means I won't be drinking for a while.
How will I fare this week? Not well, my friend, not well. This marks the first day of Restaurant Week, and I made all my reservations weeks before visions of Basedow came into focus.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
"Alright, Still" by Lily Allen
I don’t know where I came across this chick, but apparently she’s blown up all over the UK. Smile, the album’s first track, starts off with a bouncing reggae beat and some ska horns, and then this sexy-hot brit starts purring, “When you first left me, I was wantin’ more, but you were fucking’ that girl next door…” Whaaat? When the chorus dropped in with “when I see you cry, it makes me smile,” well, I was sold. She’s dirty and cheeky without being obnoxiously arrogant and crass, and she's a little bit vicious, which I love.
Lily certainly does travel some well-worn territory on Not Big (#5), which turns into a bit of a theme – the tell-off of former, current and hopeful-but-unworthy paramours continues through most of the album’s 12 tracks. Yes, okay, maybe she flirts with obnoxious arrogance at times, and the “take what you take, give what you give, be what you want, just as long as it’s real” chorus on Take What You Take (#9) is as cloying as you think it is; Holden Caulfield she is not. Still, these missteps are belied by the genuine angst on Littlest Things (#8) and the warmth and humor of Alfie (#11). Plus, casually-delivered lines like "A fella looking dapper, but he's sitting with a slapper / Then I see it's a pimp and his crack whore" seriously mitigate some of her more saccharine pop songs.
Lily Allen’s got that Pussycat Dolls filth and glam-pop image with the insecurity and fuck-you streak of Courtney Love and behind it all is a fun pop-ska sound that is going to have teenage girls twirling around their bedrooms for most of 2007. The first single, Smile, is already getting a little bit of airplay.
Lily certainly does travel some well-worn territory on Not Big (#5), which turns into a bit of a theme – the tell-off of former, current and hopeful-but-unworthy paramours continues through most of the album’s 12 tracks. Yes, okay, maybe she flirts with obnoxious arrogance at times, and the “take what you take, give what you give, be what you want, just as long as it’s real” chorus on Take What You Take (#9) is as cloying as you think it is; Holden Caulfield she is not. Still, these missteps are belied by the genuine angst on Littlest Things (#8) and the warmth and humor of Alfie (#11). Plus, casually-delivered lines like "A fella looking dapper, but he's sitting with a slapper / Then I see it's a pimp and his crack whore" seriously mitigate some of her more saccharine pop songs.
Lily Allen’s got that Pussycat Dolls filth and glam-pop image with the insecurity and fuck-you streak of Courtney Love and behind it all is a fun pop-ska sound that is going to have teenage girls twirling around their bedrooms for most of 2007. The first single, Smile, is already getting a little bit of airplay.
Lazy Monday
January 1st was the kind of slothful, gluttonous day that I revel in. I got to the P St. Whole Foods at 10:30 and had to bum around the CVS until they opened up at 11. I flew in, fixed a hot two-meat hashbrowns-and-salsa two-cheese scramby egg breakfast plate, picked up a six pack of Stone IPA and trucked back to the house, only missing the first seven or eight minutes of the Penn State – Tennessee game.
The Nittany Lions took down the Vols, though it was closer than it sounds at 20-10. Pete came over for the second half, we started drinking, Justin emerged from Laura’s room, he started drinking, Laura and Emily plopped down, grabbed some beers, Takai came over and he started drinking. We watched the end of the Nebraska game, got another case of tasty bottles and put them on ice in a cooler in the middle of the living room. I broke out the coozies, then we ordered two large two-toppings and some wings from Papa John’s. I passed out for a while and woke up around 7:30, at the end of the Michigan-USC game. It was a good one to miss, at least, according to the no-UM grads in the room.
Justin and Pete and I kinda looked at each other at this point. We’d been watching 9 hours of football, we were drunk, we probably smelled like each other’s farts and shitty pizza meat… but the Boise State – Oklahoma game was an intriguing match-up. Undefeated mid-major underdog vs two-loss historic powerhouse. Plus, Pete’s second semester in law school was still a week away, Justin didn’t head back to school until the 14th and I, well, I had to be at work at 8:30.
Boise State opened up a big lead early, mostly due to Oklahoma's QB throwing two picks and losing a fumble on his own 15. Still, Oklahoma moved the ball late and the first half ended with Boise on top 14-10. Good game. Promising. I wanted to grit it out, but work was looming and I had to cash out.
So, Pete headed home, I headed upstairs (no television in the bedroom) and Justin headed to the bar. But we all kept up with the game. I was following in on ESPN’s Gamecast until late in the fourth quarter, when Oklahoma tied it up at 28. Fuck. Great game. So I headed back down to watch the end on the HD. I was treated to the most incredible end to a football game I’ve ever seen.
I showed up downstairs with, I dunno, 2 minutes left. Oklahoma had just scored a touchdown on a sustained drive, just having ground down the smaller BSU defense. Boise State gets the ball back and their QB immediately throws a pick six, putting OU up 35-28 for their first lead of the game. BSU gets the ball back. The QB looks sharp after what had to be a huge kick in the nuts and pushes his squad to the 50. 45 seconds left. Sack. 2nd & 18. Incomplete. 3rd & 18. Incomplete. 4th & 18. 20 Seconds left. Their coach calls the hook & ladder? Yeah. A 15 yard reception gets hauled in, the guy takes to steps in and flips the ball to a wide receiver trucking the other way. The lateral hits him in stride and he crosses the goal line with under ten seconds left. 35-35. OT. Fucking incredible.
It gets better. Oklahoma starts with the ball and Adrian Peterson bombs down the left sideline for a 25-yard touchdown on the first play. They kick the PAT and go up 42-35. They've got the swagger. They're dominate. Now it's BSU ball. They pick up tough yards and tough downs. They're on their second fourth down of the series at the 6. They need three for the first and six for the score. Coach calls a direct snap to a halfback, who sweeps rights, pulls up and flicks it to the tight end. Halfback pass option? Yeah. On 4th & 3. In OT. Touchdown.
That mad genius Boise State coach was not done. On comes the offense – they’re going for the two-point and the win right there. Even if they didn't make it, this is a smart move. He struggled to punch it into the endzone, had to coach them in to get it done, while Oklahoma was ready to run his boys over.
So they line up and run a little flanker screen, with the QB flicking it to the right to a receiver… only he didn’t throw it. It’s a fake, a Statue of Liberty play. The fullback, who was just kinda milling around behind the QB, scoops the ball off the back of the QB’s upfield hip and runs untouched into the end zone.
It was 1 in the morning, the house was dark and quiet. I was bouncing off the walls – I just had to tell someone, but there was no one to tell. I think I stayed up until 3. Hell of a game.
The Nittany Lions took down the Vols, though it was closer than it sounds at 20-10. Pete came over for the second half, we started drinking, Justin emerged from Laura’s room, he started drinking, Laura and Emily plopped down, grabbed some beers, Takai came over and he started drinking. We watched the end of the Nebraska game, got another case of tasty bottles and put them on ice in a cooler in the middle of the living room. I broke out the coozies, then we ordered two large two-toppings and some wings from Papa John’s. I passed out for a while and woke up around 7:30, at the end of the Michigan-USC game. It was a good one to miss, at least, according to the no-UM grads in the room.
Justin and Pete and I kinda looked at each other at this point. We’d been watching 9 hours of football, we were drunk, we probably smelled like each other’s farts and shitty pizza meat… but the Boise State – Oklahoma game was an intriguing match-up. Undefeated mid-major underdog vs two-loss historic powerhouse. Plus, Pete’s second semester in law school was still a week away, Justin didn’t head back to school until the 14th and I, well, I had to be at work at 8:30.
Boise State opened up a big lead early, mostly due to Oklahoma's QB throwing two picks and losing a fumble on his own 15. Still, Oklahoma moved the ball late and the first half ended with Boise on top 14-10. Good game. Promising. I wanted to grit it out, but work was looming and I had to cash out.
So, Pete headed home, I headed upstairs (no television in the bedroom) and Justin headed to the bar. But we all kept up with the game. I was following in on ESPN’s Gamecast until late in the fourth quarter, when Oklahoma tied it up at 28. Fuck. Great game. So I headed back down to watch the end on the HD. I was treated to the most incredible end to a football game I’ve ever seen.
I showed up downstairs with, I dunno, 2 minutes left. Oklahoma had just scored a touchdown on a sustained drive, just having ground down the smaller BSU defense. Boise State gets the ball back and their QB immediately throws a pick six, putting OU up 35-28 for their first lead of the game. BSU gets the ball back. The QB looks sharp after what had to be a huge kick in the nuts and pushes his squad to the 50. 45 seconds left. Sack. 2nd & 18. Incomplete. 3rd & 18. Incomplete. 4th & 18. 20 Seconds left. Their coach calls the hook & ladder? Yeah. A 15 yard reception gets hauled in, the guy takes to steps in and flips the ball to a wide receiver trucking the other way. The lateral hits him in stride and he crosses the goal line with under ten seconds left. 35-35. OT. Fucking incredible.
It gets better. Oklahoma starts with the ball and Adrian Peterson bombs down the left sideline for a 25-yard touchdown on the first play. They kick the PAT and go up 42-35. They've got the swagger. They're dominate. Now it's BSU ball. They pick up tough yards and tough downs. They're on their second fourth down of the series at the 6. They need three for the first and six for the score. Coach calls a direct snap to a halfback, who sweeps rights, pulls up and flicks it to the tight end. Halfback pass option? Yeah. On 4th & 3. In OT. Touchdown.
That mad genius Boise State coach was not done. On comes the offense – they’re going for the two-point and the win right there. Even if they didn't make it, this is a smart move. He struggled to punch it into the endzone, had to coach them in to get it done, while Oklahoma was ready to run his boys over.
So they line up and run a little flanker screen, with the QB flicking it to the right to a receiver… only he didn’t throw it. It’s a fake, a Statue of Liberty play. The fullback, who was just kinda milling around behind the QB, scoops the ball off the back of the QB’s upfield hip and runs untouched into the end zone.
It was 1 in the morning, the house was dark and quiet. I was bouncing off the walls – I just had to tell someone, but there was no one to tell. I think I stayed up until 3. Hell of a game.
Bananas: The Cadillac of fruit
One thing I hate about this new job is that I have to battle against this stupid home-brewed software program all day. It keeps getting more complex and more technical, harder and harder for my simple English-major brain to wrap itself around. One nice thing about it is the breakfasts.
We’re both tenants of and consultants to the Atlantic Media Company, which is a particularly incestuous relationship and sends me scurrying to and fro, putting out fires and meeting with all sorts of AMC personnel. A few months ago, when we were only tenants, the third floor cafeteria was off-limits. Now, as consultants, we get to enjoy full cafeteria privileges.
The breakfast menu: Assorted bagels with industrial toaster, cream cheese, jelly and peanut butter. Assorted fruits, including a combination of bananas, apples, pears and oranges. Fruit cups including a combination of honeydew, cantaloupe and grapes.
It may not sound like very much. In fact, it may sound like a shitty continental breakfast at the Red Roof Inn. If you walked into work every day and picked up a banana, a jalapeño bagel, an apple for later and a cup of coffee, how much better would your morning be? What if they had pears sometimes? What if it was free? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. It’s a pleasure.
Some pleasures, though, are greater than others. No. It’s even starker than that. I’ve grown jaded. I admit it. The banana situation has started to piss me off. Banana availability has suffered the past month. If they’re available, they’re green. I’ve been able to eat a banana maybe eight times in the past four weeks. This bullshit has to stop. Rosita, for the love of God, please consistently deliver me the bananas I so richly deserve.
We’re both tenants of and consultants to the Atlantic Media Company, which is a particularly incestuous relationship and sends me scurrying to and fro, putting out fires and meeting with all sorts of AMC personnel. A few months ago, when we were only tenants, the third floor cafeteria was off-limits. Now, as consultants, we get to enjoy full cafeteria privileges.
The breakfast menu: Assorted bagels with industrial toaster, cream cheese, jelly and peanut butter. Assorted fruits, including a combination of bananas, apples, pears and oranges. Fruit cups including a combination of honeydew, cantaloupe and grapes.
It may not sound like very much. In fact, it may sound like a shitty continental breakfast at the Red Roof Inn. If you walked into work every day and picked up a banana, a jalapeño bagel, an apple for later and a cup of coffee, how much better would your morning be? What if they had pears sometimes? What if it was free? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. It’s a pleasure.
Some pleasures, though, are greater than others. No. It’s even starker than that. I’ve grown jaded. I admit it. The banana situation has started to piss me off. Banana availability has suffered the past month. If they’re available, they’re green. I’ve been able to eat a banana maybe eight times in the past four weeks. This bullshit has to stop. Rosita, for the love of God, please consistently deliver me the bananas I so richly deserve.
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