DonRocks

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Is that something you would want to be? Probably not an accurate portrayal, Bill, but Jarad came out last night, draped in seaweed (or was that his Gucci tie), and started singing in a haunting and monotonic voice: I am the Agar-Agar King ... I can do anything ... Jarad and Jamison are often thought of in tandem, inseparable, like Abbott and Costello, Penn and Teller, Laurel and Hardy, so carrying this to its logical conclusion, I took two individual photographs I have of them and ran them through a morphing algorithm I have on my computer, only to get the following result: http://www.elvis-costello.net/gallery/details.php?image_id=6 Fearing reprisal, Rocks.

I hate going to four-hour operas when I've overeaten (then again, I hate going to four-hour operas when I haven't overeaten). And I refuse to pay the Kennedy Center's extortionary $15 parking charge, so I parked on 25th Street, right next to the "I Don't Want Anyone To See Who I'm With" entrance to Nectar. For the price of a quarter-mile walk, you can take that garage money and get yourself a pre-theater cup of meaningful coffee, and the most whimsically named dessert I've seen in awhile: "Apple Pie Ala Mode ... kinda" The inimitable Jarad Slipp, this generation's Jim Morrison and the clear favorite for the upcoming Agar-Agar King award, explained this interesting little presentation, noting that the apple portion of this dessert (set in a gel and served warm) was made possible because agar-agar retains its gelling ability when heated to a higher level than gelatin, which fails at 110 degrees. Me? I'm just glad I parked on 25th Street. Cheers, Rocks.

I think he's renting some porn.

Jenny, In case nobody else gets to this before you leave: I'd avoid their gulab jamun because they serve it with ice cream which I think taints this classic dessert. The rice pudding is very good rice pudding, but it's still rice pudding (although I think that even when rice pudding is just rice pudding, it's still an important part of ones caloric intake. Anyone tried the apple bread pudding with a duo of hazelnut and caramel sauces at Firefly? Mmmmm). Based on my experience with these two, the desserts may not be a focal point. Repeat after me: Taylor 20, Taylor 20, Taylor 20, Taylor 20. Cheers, Rocks.

Who would have thought that one of Washington’s best Indian dishes would come from our own John Wabeck at Firefly? Even when a restaurant becomes so familiar, so comfortable, that you think about it in the same way you do the slippers that the dog fetched and dropped on top of the La-Z-Boy, there are still a couple of dishes you haven’t yet tried, and at Firefly, the very last thing I ordered off the menu was the bowl of Eggplant Curry with ‘Firm Polenta’ and Slivered Almonds, simply because it never occurred to me to order it. Well, wow. Next time I go, I’m going just for this, and I’m going to order the entrée-sized bowl and have it with a couple glasses of the Sauvignon Blanc (which, I was surprised to hear from John, is 52% Sauvignon Blanc, 48% Semillon, putting it squarely in the white Bordeaux range despite it having overt grassy/cat-pee overtones). This curry is clean, not oily, but also bold and assertive, and for some unknown reason, the polenta works with it – who would have thought? At the risk of sounding trite, the papadam is a perfect textural counterpoint, and this dish will no longer fly under my radar screen. What you don’t want to do is order it on the same night as the gnocchi which is terribly named, because it’s a classic Polish dish of potato pancakes and kielbasa (John is Polish). If you’re looking for gnocchi, you’re going to hate it; if you’re looking for something Babushka Wislawa Szymboraska would make you on a Sunday afternoon, it’s going to taste like home. I love this dish, and I have ordered it at least a half-dozen times, though I do feel obliged to accompany my praise with the standard health warning from the American Heart Association. The Tongue at Little Washington – Mall space is limited, and Mick Jagger was just knighted, so in the public interest, I hereby designate the painting in the back room at Firefly The Rolling Stones Memorial: make a pilgrimage to Firefly, walk into the back room, look about 2/3 of the way up the painting at the big orange thing in the middle, and you'll see why. Have I mentioned my favorite name for a geological formation? It isn’t Lake Titicaca although that must surely be in the top five (in France, elementary-school children call it Lake PipiCaca). This is something more akin to the Hawaiian state fish whose name astonishes people when you tell them you’ll buy them a drink if they can name it, and then they always smile and say ‘mahi-mahi’ and expect a drink, and when you tell them no, it’s the humuhumunukunukuapua’a they don’t believe you. So anyway, it’s more like that, and it is in fact the Drygalski Ice Tongue: http://www.livingtravel.com/antarctica/ice...cetongue_01.htm Cheers, Rocks.

I'm not quite sure, as I think it's on an item-by-item basis and may even change according to the whims of the day, but if I had to guess I'd say the first two pages of items would be $12-15 each, and the third page of main courses would be $25-30 each. All items on the bar menu are $9 each. Meaghan, note that the front room is your only option if you wish to have all the menus to choose from. The black-trumpet/salsify soup and the pork belly (housemade bacon) with chestnut boudin blanc are worth the small premium over the standard front-room menu items, although you can certainly mix-and-match. As good as the hot dog may sound (and it is quite good), the leap into truly refined cuisine is only a few dollars extra. Cheers, Rocks. P.S. Mark - considering I've had everything on your menu ninety times, I have to find other options for variety.

I'm stuffed, tipsy, name your adjective. What I'm not is in the mood to write a tortured thought-out posting on Egullet, so I'm just going to wing it, and not delete it like I did the last time. I find myself gravitating more-and-more towards Palena, and for good reason: it's one of the very best, tippy-top, pinnacle places in Washington to dine - and I'm talking about the undersung front room because I haven't even dined in the back in years, which is almost surely at an even higher level of service. For starters, there's Kelly (Kelley?) and Derrick - and forgive me if I misspelled your names because I have never before seen them written. I think they must work 365 days a year, and they are inflappably nice, professional, efficient and just really good at what they do. About five minutes after I left this evening, I got a call on my cell phone: "Hi Don, this is Kelly ... you left your bag here." I'd have them both over at my house for dinner like I would extended family. And then tonight there was Lauren, whom I've never seen before, and who was as kind and patient as could possibly be imagined. We were a difficult table - not ornery, but just strangely difficult, with people saying "this wine is too warm," "can we have such-and-such glass," etc. Lauren was in charge of the table this evening, and she handled everything with charm, grace and poise. The food ... oh ... the food. On the front-room menu was a housemade blini with quarter-inch-cut porcinis. One friend commented, "there are nine dollars worth of mushrooms alone in this dish." Again this evening, there was the soup with black trumpet mushrooms and salsify, with coddled organic hen's egg et al. It's a Michelin two-star dish, really. I love that it's served warm, not piping hot, and tonight it was followed by its equal: housemade bacon that's as good as it gets. This is "pork belly in the form of bacon" as far as I'm concerned, and both these world-class dishes are available in the front room - they're on the back-room menu, but you can order them from the front room, and the prices that show up on the bill are about half what they should be. You could go and get these three dishes I just mentioned, which would have you dining as-well-or-better than anyone in the entire city (yes, I just said that), and the food cost would set you back less than $40. The main course was veal cheeks with sweetbreads, and I'm going to talk about it probably more than I should. A couple months ago, I was at Tosca with one of the people I dined with this evening, and we ordered the foie gras, which I was going on-and-on about. She replied, 'I'm going to tell you why it isn't quite as good as you think it is,' and then proceeded to flip it over with her fork and point out, 'see this vein? It should have been removed.' And so-on and so-on. Tonight, I wasn't tight with the main course like I should have been: I pointed out that the veal cheeks seemed slightly overcooked, and the sweetbreads seemed like they could have been crispier. My friend said, 'Frank Ruta probably did this by design: he was aiming at basically the same texture and palate presence for both the veal cheeks and the sweetbreads.' As soon as she said that, I knew what she was talking about: I was looking for the veal cheeks to be basically mush, and the sweetbreads to be a crispy lardon-like counterpoint. On a scale of 0 (for long-cooked, mushy, fork-tender) to 10 (for crispy, burnt, crunchy), I was looking for about a 2 with the veal cheeks, and about an 8 with the sweetbreads, but as my friend so astutely pointed out - and this is my own analogy - Frank Ruta was aiming for 5+5, rather than 2+8. I suppose I should write a summary here, but I'm too tired, so I'm going to leave it as is, and go to sleep knowing that I had dinner this evening at the hands of a major talent, at one of the very great restaurants in all of Washington. Cheers, Rocks.

I had dinner at the bar at Zola tonight. Want to see me the next time I go in? Look for the guy being dragged, kicking and screaming. There were several bartenders, and the one I had was polite, nice and cool: the one-and-only highlight of the evening. I immediately asked for the winelist, and ordered a half-bottle of Bandol Rose, and watched the bartender type the bin number in the computer, only to return and ask me 'what was that you ordered again?' "The Bandol Rose, the half-bottle." "I can't find it in the computer." "No problem - can I see a list of beers?" "We don't have one, but I can rattle them off." "Cool." "On tap, Stella Artois, Pilsner Urquell, Samuel Adams. In bottle, Budweiser, Miller Lite, ...." "I'll have a Pilsner." "Coming right up." He went to the tap, and pulled it, only to get a hiss of air. He called another person over and asked him to check the Pilsner. "No worries, I'll have a Stella." "Are you sure?" "No problem!" The Stella arrived, and I asked to look at the menu and winelist again. I ordered a Viognier "from the south of France" (translation: not a Condrieu) by the glass to have with my 'Buffalo chicken croquettes.' While I was nursing my Stella, the bartender poured me my glass of Viognier. Then, about three minutes later, the croquettes arrived while I was still about a third of the way finished my beer. I left the wine and croquettes alone and did a double-time on the Stella, then pulled my wine and my appetizer in front of me. Everything was well-and-good at that point, the croquettes being perfectly serviceable although I'm still in a daze that the sauce was billed as 'Maytag Blue' because I've had that cheese many times in my life, and they must not have used very much of it. About halfway through my appetizer, the complimentary basket of garlic pita chips arrived. They tasted so strongly of cheap garlic powder that I took about three reluctant bites, desperately hoping I wasn't tasting what I thought I was, and then left them alone for the rest of the evening. I finished my glass of Viognier, had two croquettes remaining, and the bartender came back and said, 'another glass?' I did a double-take, wondering what to do, and wanted to say, 'just a splash,' but didn't want to sound cheap, so I said after a moment, "sure." He went to the wine fridge, pulled out a bottle, and emptied the remnants into my glass. There was only enough to fill the glass halfway, so he went back to the fridge and pulled another bottle, and emptied its remnants in my glass as well! I looked at my glass, and it had a ton of crystalline tartrates which often form at the bottom of the bottle in white wines that have been refrigerated at too low a temperature. I finished my croquettes, and had only taken a few sips of the glass, so I pushed it to the side, wondering if the bartender would take it away and comp it, which he didn't. I then asked for a glass of Barbera to go with the pork chop I had ordered, and when the pork chop arrived a couple minutes later, the wine was poured, and my entree was in front of me. I took one sip of the wine and it was served at room temperature, and I actually let out a sigh of despair that nobody else could hear. The pork chop was about two-inches thick, and was as tough as a shoe. I had a butter knife to cut it with. I have been to the corporate-owned Artie's in Fairfax at least twenty times, and have had their pork chop at least a half-dozen times. On its worst night, it was not as bad as what I was forced to eat tonight. To add insult to injury, the wine was plonk, tasting like high-yield, overcropped industrial swill. At that point, all I wanted to do was finish the meal and leave. I looked longingly out the window at Poste, over the horizon was Matchbox, Ella's ... As I was about to walk out, the bartender said to me, 'sorry we didn't have that Bandol.' To the owners of Zola: you must have done well at adding two fractions together in elementary-school math, as you seem to know quite a bit about the lowest common denominator. To the people in charge of the RAMY award given to Zola this year for "Best Wine and Beverage Program": you are unqualified to give such an award out, you do not know what you are doing, and this borders on being a crime against humanity. This was not an off-night; this restaurant misses, plain and simple. Do not spend your money at this theme park. Cheers, Rocks.

John, No human (*) in this forum has ever seen us in the same room together. We all know you went to Jaleo by yourself last night and chowed down at the bar since DonRocks is merely your alter-ego and does not exist. (*) I consider Slater to be sub-human.

Michel just got back from Paris.

Michael Hartzer is turning out some of the most complex and interesting plates Washington has ever seen. I don't know where he and Michel Richard dreamed up this one, but last night I had what must have been the most labor-intensive dish in the entire city. It was a carpaccio of squab breast (!), laid flat in a wide shallow bowl, and topped with finely diced parsnips, turnips, carrots, English peas and slices of late-autumn truffle (!!). Basically, a mirepoix. Resting on the wide rim of the bowl were two skewered squab legs "en confit," dry-rubbed with black trumpet mushrooms and truffles, and sitting atop a touch of microchervil. That's the dry part. Then comes a warm ladle full of intense gingery consommé which was made from chicken, veal and duck. What to make of this? Well, it occurred to me that this was a three-way hybrid of their carpaccio, their pot-au-feu and their pintade of guinea hen which Michael confirmed. I cannot imagine how much cumulative effort it must have taken to make this dish, but I'm glad I was on the receiving end. Michel and Michael conceived this only two days ago, and it was a fascinating, thought-provoking experience that quite frankly I'm unqualified to fully appreciate. P.S. Mark Slater brought us a fine magnum of 1997 Valpolicella "Ripasso" that is on the list for only $95. For a double-bottle of good wine at this level of restaurant with this level of service, that's quite impressive.

If I go down, I go down swinging, and everyone's going with me: Yuck's Shitronelle Mice-tro Gali-layoff Stinkead's Pa-Lame-a Farce sells Cashion's Rat House DC Coasting Trite-inya Blecchquinox Gerard's Empty Place Ill at Little Washington PigPenh 2941 Reasons to stay home Drecktar Yawnyu Tired Fry Grime Rib Cafe Mylantico Toss-ca New Depths Barf All Day-o Teatro Golddigger IgNora David's Piggery The Napalm Colvin: Run from this Tavern Chef seeks new Poste Gnarleston Sushi-Blo Blowbelisk Blowla Ben's Insect Bowl Minibarf Pizzeria Parody Praying (you don't get sick at) Mantis Succhus C. F. Sucks Snore-duroy Taberna del Alabarfdero Eat Worst Harry's Crap Room 2 Amiss Dirty Dish Mie N Yu are about to have a really, really bad meal Addis A-Blah-ba Al Terrible-misu Blewna A.V. Ristorante and Pest Control Leastro Bis Bistro j'Oc Beast-Roe Francais Crud-line My Failure Cafe Swill-ano Strepto-Caucus Room Wish this Kitchen was in Colorado Crisp & Greasy Cuban Coroner 86 Four & Twenty Crackheads Four Sisters related to a food critic Johnny's Half Shell; the rat carried away the other half Kaz Blewshi Bistro Sushi Terrible-o La Fourshitte Le Mannequin Pis; le restaurant aussi Crotchbox Fleaism Melrose, then sank Meiwah: Chinese for larva Puke Quail Natty Thai Mess-scare-em The Awful Room Crocku Raze The Steaks Under 17, Over 89, no one else will like it And finally: Bistro du Coin, aka "The Office."

Hmm ... they say there are two people in this world you don't want to anger: the person working on your car, and the person fixing your food. I'm strongly reconsidering coming tonight. I can see myself sitting down at the table. Chef Hartzer comes strolling up, and smacks me on my back so hard that my teeth rattle. "Donnie Rrrrrocks! Welcome back to Shitronelle, my friend. I heard you've been posting on eGullet," he says, grinning like a satanic pirate. "Hi Michael." "I'm going to send a course out to you, compliments of the house. It's an oyster shooter. Ever had it?" "Umm ... yes, once ... a long time ago ..." "I'm going to make it myself ... just for you. I need to head back to the kitchen now, but I'll send it right out." As he starts to walk away, he turns and looks back with a strange red gleam in his eye. "Oh by the way ... are you sure you didn't mean ... Spitronelle? Enjoy your meal, Rocks."

As opposed to Shitronelle.

DELETE!

A dirty little secret about Indique: their desserts do not go well with Port, hence the outstanding Taylor 20-Year Tawny on the menu for the unheard-of price of $8.00 a glass, the lowest price I've ever seen at a restaurant for this superb dessert wine. Mania behind the bar told me they go through a bottle about once every two months; if I lived nearby, it would be more like once every two days.

One can easily guess that the women on whom you gorge yourself smoke pot (who can blame them?), but wrapping them in bacon is a bit kinky, even for your standards, no?

Pleased to be of service: The "Arroz con leche 'Tia Chita'" is a foamy parfait with dig-it-up short-grained rice on the bottom, sitting in a mild lemon marmalade like oversized suspended colloids. The foam on top is a gentle counterpoint both in taste and texture, and the dish (if one can call a dessert a "dish") is strongest of course when mixing both components into one harmonious whole. Now if I could only figure out who Tia Chita is. The Basque cake (pastel vasco) was a mini-loaf which was beautifully browned and textured on the outside with buried treasure waiting to be found in the middle: an eclair-like semolina cream that worked beautifully. Two small lines of cinnamon-y vanilla-bean sauce traveled across the plate where a small, refreshing scoop of ice milk (leche merengada) was found, the ice milk having the proper texture and fat content so the dish comes across as lithe and agile rather than fatty and creamy. There may have also been some lemon in the ice milk for additional acidity - were those toasted almonds underneath? Steve apparently takes great pains to balance creaminess with acidity, and so his desserts are never condescending or gooey, i.e., you can actually EAT them and then go do a cartwheel. At their prices ($6-8), they cannot afford to strive for showiness or grandeur, but I for one appreciate something medium-framed that has actually been planned (and executed) by someone who gets it. Okay, enough sucking up to Klc. Now, about those future plans for the tour bus stop at Zaytinya...

I've tried five of Steve's desserts in the past week, three at Café Atlantico ($7.00 each) and two at Zaytinya ($5.95 each). My love lies in France, and I mean that quite literally, so first on my list of priorities was the classic french dessert Baba Au Rhum, or simply "Baba" at Café Atlantico. It's served "in a modern Latin style," meaning there is Jamaican rum, spices and "panela," which is basically pure cane sugar made from evaporation. The cream is tangy, not sweet, and this is a traditional but interesting rendition. Coconut is served two different ways in "Coco En Dos Formas" at Café Atlantico, and this simple, elegant dessert is accented by a "mango salad" and a "vanilla-lime Gelée," both of which surpass their understated names, and deliver the proper acidity to compliment this interesting dessert which - tragically - reminded me of Coppertone on the nose in the same way that Rossini's William Tell Overture reminds me of the Theme from The Lone Ranger. The Yogurt Cream at Zaytinya is a brilliant, must-have destination dessert. Layers of apricot, top-and-bottom, sandwich a brilliant "Samos Island Muscat-vanilla gelée" (the yogurt). This is a WOW dessert by my way of thinking, simple, but beautiful in every way. It's served in the same vessel as the "Coco En Dos Formas" dessert listed up above. If you go to Zaytinya, then get this. A trusted friend told me about it, and this reminds me of why I trust her. Ooh, bébé, the Warm Chocolate Cake at Café Atlantico is goood. Labeled "Bizcocho <a sponge cake> Templado <warm> de Chocolate con Banana," it's a three-ring circus of this wonderful cake which at once seems like ganache, a souflée and a flour-based cake. The banana foam was another take on creme (all three creme presentations at Café Atlantico were slightly different), and the banana-lime salad was a dazzling sidecar to the decadent chocolate cake. And then of course the Turkish Coffee Chocolate at Zaytinya, made with cardamom foam (espuma), was every bit the naughty diet-breaker. Literally cut from the same mold as the Bizcocho at Café Atlantico (it's served in the exact same shape), this is even richer, with less cutting acidity though it's tempered by Raki, a traditional distilled Turkish drink made usually from grapes. It can come across as a platitude to say things are "well-conceived," but all five of these desserts were, in fact, that. There was a little plug-and-play action going on in terms of the actual molds used to make the cakes and parfaits, but nobody would ever notice. These were brilliantly thought-out desserts. Let me finish by saying one thing: you would not do yourself a disservice by going out to get these desserts first, and then worrying about your savory courses afterwards. Nontraditional? Yes, but who cares. They're worth it, especially at these price points. Bravo, Steve, Rocks.

I'm having trouble reconciling these two choices coming from someone who has been to Nectar, Palena, Marcel's and Café 15 Les Halles (13th and Penn) is a bit of a haul, but you can get a steak sandwich and fries to go from them if you call ahead, and it's a really good sandwich, too. Comes with a little frisée salad. If I recall, it's a bit pricey at more than $10. Dean & DeLuca has a sandwich/salad carryout that's one block north of Les Halles. Carryout or eat-in, the lunch fare is first-rate, but beware the priced-per-pound salads which can quickly reach double-digits: best not to load up on the artichoke hearts. Cheers, Rocks.

Get the yogurt dessert with apricot even if you don't think you want dessert. I'm in a hurry now so I don't have any time to write, but you'll love it.

Wabeck: "Do you smoke after sex?" Slater: "Dunno. Never looked."

If you're feeling hungry, get the buffet lunch at Woodlands (out in the hinterlands, either in Fairfax, Virginia or Langley Park, Maryland). The buffet is really good, but the thing to get at Woodlands if you want top-notch cooked-to-order southern Indian is the Special Onion Rava Masala Dosa (pay close attention to what I type here, as there are a good half-dozen Dosai on the menu). I go sometimes with an Indian friend when she's in town, and I walk in and feel like, gee, I really want to scarf the lunch buffet, but I'm never sorry that I order this thing. It's great, and it will set you back all of $6.00-or-so. Alert, alert! No alcohol served.