Busboy

Marcel's. According the the Washingtonian Magazine (not that this is holy writ) Palena is the 4th best restaurant in DC, Komi is tenth and Marcel's...#9. A little more formal than either of the other two, but delightfully so and given the romantic nature of the evening, you'll appreciate that its service is (in my experience) noticeably better than that of its rivals. If you feel less formal, go to the lounge. The whole menu is available there, as well as a few very swell bar snacks if you want to save your money for better wine. The boudin blanc will change your life.

In addition to the crab-tasting, a local restaurant has re-sparked my interest in beer (drowned by the 26 million Budweisers I drank between 18 and 25) and so I'm hoping that someone with a little more background in suds will drop by with a selection to mix and match.

Heh. I was kind of seeing this girl who was also kind of seeing my friend who was also kind of married so one day she and I end up in the kitchen cooking chicken fried rice for 6 or eight people (including said friend and said wife) and I told her that she needed to cut the chicken into smaller cubes. She gave me an exasperated "I came in here to help you," as though that justified improper cubing and I snapped back: "if you're not doing it right, you're not helping me at all!" I was a little cranky that spring. I've been cooking with the replacement girlfriend who is by now a my wife of many years since the Reagan Administration and it is still a culture clash. If we have three yelling matches a year, two will involve cooking. Not two weeks ago we had a rather heated discussion regarding whether we should fire the first course (she worried that the guests were waiting) or get the prep for the second course done first (I like it when dinner falls down like dominoes once you give it the first push). I am a large, testosterone-poisoned individual who, as a waiter, go used to the loud, controlled chaos of a restaurant kitchen who likes to dash around our narrow galley kitchen with a scimitar-sized knife barking orders while the music is cranking and the wine is flowing. Also, as noted above, I have very definite opinions and a healthy -- though not entirely justified -- opinion of my cooking skills. Stephanie doesn't like chaos, noise or confusion, and likes recipes they way I like winging it. In some ways she's a better cook than me, but she's much more nervous about her cooking -- a simple question like "did you add any thyme?" can elicit anything from insecurity ("why? do you think it needs some?") to hostility ("why don't you just cook it yourself!") depending on mood and children. So, what do we do? A lot of times, Stephanie does the prep and I finish everything. I like running four burners and a blender all at once and she doesn't, so that works well. Other times we segregate dishes: she does pasta and dessert, I do meat and salad, for example. Plus we both have our specialties, during the preparation if which the other person is kept strictly away. It's not that we put the Berlin wall up in the kitchen, but finding a way to ensure that there is only one cook per broth pot (or prep step) goes a long way towards maintaining the peace. Oh, while some criticisms need to be unloaded up front -- that chicken had to be cubed right before it goes into the frying pan -- a lot of it can wait until the stress of prep is over and the relaxation of dinner has begun. And use that kind of touchy-feely style. "Hmmm...I wonder if a a little more salt might bring out the zing. " If you get him trained right, he'll be his own worst critic in six months, anyway. Though, among us boys, that can lead to a lot of swearing and poy-slamming, so beware.

I was working at a formal French restaurant when out of a customer's pocket fell not a condom, but a rolled up twenty-dollar bill. No wonder he'd been spending so much time in the bathroom! As it was kind of a corporate-looking crew I discreetly picked it up, flattened it to an unsuspicious shape, and handed it back to him below table level.

Two cups milk Two cups cream 10 eggs 3/4 cup plus a little more of sugar 1/2 tsp vanilla (or to taste or 1/2 slit vanilla bean) Pinch salt 3-5 cinnamon sticks tablespoon or so ground cinnamon (apologies in advance, as a some of this is eyeballed rather than measured) Throw the milk, cream and cinnamon sticks into a pot and bring to a boil. Remove from heat and let sit (or, if impatient, set over low heat) until the mixture is a touch more cinnamon-y than you'd like. I always throw lots of cinnamon in because I hate to wait and it can take more than half an hour otherwise. Likewise, I find that investing in the expensive cinnamon pays off, as the cheap stuff has very little flavor. While waiting for the cream to get infused, beat the egg yolks and everything else together until the sugar is dissolved and the yolks are "ribbony". Remove the cinnamon and bring the cream back to a boil. Pour into the egg yolks whilst (always wanted to use that word) stirring madly. (If you're using a tin bowl, it helps to have an assistant to hold it steady). Return the mixture to a pot over low heat and stir continuously until the mixture coats the back of the spoon. If you haven't done this before, err on the side of low heat and caution-- if it gets too hot it will curdle and you'll probably punch something you shouldn't. Once it coats the back of a spoon pour it immediately through a fine strainer and into a bowl, preferably set in ice. At this point (I don't know if you've done this before, so forgive me if I'm belaboring the obvious) you have a creme anglaise which, if you don't have an ice cream freezer, is great for pouring over fresh fruit in a bowl, preferably in the company of crunchy cookies. Cool the mixture in the fridge for several hours and then throw it in the ice cream maker. Just as you're about to pull the ice cream off, add ground cinnamon to taste (if you add it too early, it gets gummy). It usually helps to have about an hour in the freezer after the maker has done its best. If you have one of the ice cream makers that uses the pre-frozen buckets, this recipe is actually a little big for the 1-quart size, and you may need to cut it by a third or so. Good luck, and if you have any further questions, PM me.

Tela: I posted the recipe (such as it is) in this topic, along with some other excellent recipes.

An extremely fun little slide show/essay on restaurant life as depicted in the movies here.

I'm sure as an ANC commissioner you concerned yourself with real concerns not surreptitious ping-pong surveillance and as a bar owner you balanced commerce and the concerns of the neighborhood. And the combination gives you a unique perspective, to which attention must be paid. But I was in the other night and tried to figure out how objectionable the table could be. It's set on a commercial strip on both sides of the street and sidewalk quite wide enough for pedestrians to avoid whatever hazards an errant ping-pong ball might proffer -- and to give combatants plenty of time to either recapture the ball or pull up before bounding into Connecticut Avenue. And there was no allegation that there was a public space violation -- It's about the same footprint as that of the benches outside Marvelous Market next door. And, as for the kiddies: let's not homogenize the whole face of the earth on the million-in-one shot that some tyke may take a minor beaning from a ping-pong paddle. Thousands of people choke to death on dinner every year, and we know the effects of pepperoni and cheese on the arteries - and now they have ice cream! Maybe we ought just ban kids from the place altogether. Bottom line: the guy was acting like a bozo. And, as such, can't complain when someone points that out. ← Thank you for your measured response. Please understand that as an elected official, you are bombarded with what might seem trivial issues every day; however, to those making complaints, they don't seem trivial. And as a business owner, as anyone can tell you, there are sometimes shortcuts that must be taken. Not everyone out there cares if you succeed. But you haven't really addressed the most important issue-there may be agreements or documents that may preclude the table. Just because MM has benches doesn't mean that Comet can use the space for a Ping Pong table, or anything else. If it is public space, there is a process that must be followed to legally get to use the space. I know it may seem silly, but I'm guessing that Greenwood has not made a lot of friends in the neighborhood outside of her customers, many of whom probably do not live in the neighborhood, and that may factor into this incident. There could also be other problems with the place (trash, noise, parking, the usual). I don't know the guy, he could be just a bozo, but you also don't know if there have been complaints or near-accidents or other issues. And I'm not saying because one kid may get hurt, we should ban everything that that one kid might do. My point is the ANC guy might be right, in spite of his obvious bozo-osity. Regardless, I do think that posting the video on YouTube was a cry for help. ← I'm somewhat familiar with the public space issue from listening to one of my old bosses bitch about the process (ever meet John Calamico of Boss Shepherd's?) and reading the various free weeklies which are invariably chock full of nuanced (or not-so) debates about sidewalk use, trash, music, etc. I assumed that as an ANC commissioner he would know if there was public space issue and have the means to respond through more traditional and effective channels. Maybe he's been foiled by the fact that the relatively charming James Alefantis, rather than the more abrasive Carol Greenwood, seems to be the public face of Comet, leaving him a lesser reservoir of neighborhood ire to draw from. The crowd is pretty neighborhood-y, by the way. And though the table tennis crew may be a little rowdy for some tastes, that's a pretty relative thing.

I'm sure as an ANC commissioner you concerned yourself with real concerns not surreptitious ping-pong surveillance and as a bar owner you balanced commerce and the concerns of the neighborhood. And the combination gives you a unique perspective, to which attention must be paid. But I was in the other night and tried to figure out how objectionable the table could be. It's set on a commercial strip on both sides of the street and sidewalk quite wide enough for pedestrians to avoid whatever hazards an errant ping-pong ball might proffer -- and to give combatants plenty of time to either recapture the ball or pull up before bounding into Connecticut Avenue. And there was no allegation that there was a public space violation -- It's about the same footprint as that of the benches outside Marvelous Market next door. And, as for the kiddies: let's not homogenize the whole face of the earth on the million-in-one shot that some tyke may take a minor beaning from a ping-pong paddle. Thousands of people choke to death on dinner every year, and we know the effects of pepperoni and cheese on the arteries - and now they have ice cream! Maybe we ought just ban kids from the place altogether. Bottom line: the guy was acting like a bozo. And, as such, can't complain when someone points that out.

I have a plan! We must infiltrate Ruby Tuesday(the worst servers anywhere in my exp), Red Lobster, Applebees, Friday's & Friendly. All servers pass through these places at one time or another. Get these places to straighten up and the world will follow. ← This is actually a really bright idea. For years, my once-beloved Baltimore Orioles were a consistently excellent team (before The Jerk bought them) and with a relative dearth of superstars, because their farm system was one of the best in baseball. When a rookie hit the Bigs in Baltimore, he knew how to bunt, how to hit the cutoff man, what to do with runners on first and third and one out...they weren't always brilliant, but they were relentlessly competent. My son got his first real restaurant job at a medium-sized local chain here in DC, Clyde's (I don't count the time spent at the hookah bar). It's not a great place to eat, but they do train well. And they have prestige locations within the chain, that only hire from within, so he and all the other rookies have an incentive to improve their performance and move up. **** One thing to always remember is that servers speak of "running" their tables -- they're in charge, not you. You have to change that dynamic -- gently, politely but firmly. And if, in return you are respectful and decisive, they won't mind a bit; if you're going to be the boss, just be a good one. More than anything, good servers hate standing around not getting anything done. **** I couldn't disagree more. I cannot read a menu without gin in my system. I will not open my menu before my drink arrives, so don't ask for my order. In a lot of truly elegant places, your menu won't even be brought to you until you've had a few minutes to sip away the horrors of the day and adjust to wonderfulness that now envelopes you. It's a demonstration that you can truly relax. (This caused some confusion when I worked at a formal French joint, I admit). Similarly, I cannot chew or swallow without wine. If my course arrives before the wine does, it will go badly for you.

I'm an impurist. I like bacon, stinky cheese (a bleu, Pont l'Eveque, whatever's in the fridge) maybe a tomato in season and an onion. On a sandwich-sized English Muffin.

You can't actually drink/smoke/snort as much as you think and still do a good job the next day. Especially not day after day. Someone once said that Keith Richards was the leading cause of death among would-be rock stars. When you go through Kitchen Confidential, remember the part about AB selling all his rare early punk vinyl on St. Mark's Place because the only joint that would hire him -- and then, only as a short-order cook -- didn't pay enough to cover his habit.

It's part of the Homer Simpsonization of America.

I knew that a place a hip as Comet would find a way to piss off the neighbors. I guess every city has anal-retentive jerks; here in DC many of them find their way to the Advisory Neighborhood Commissions where they distinguish themselves by hassling the the kind of places most of us want to go out to for dinner or drinks. ETA: 1) This is not must-see TV.2) A note to say that while there's a good argument to be made that ANC members tend toward the priggish, there vary ery good ones including the guys in my neighborhood who are going against type by fighting to allow mariachi bands back into the Salvadoran restaurants (and maybe a folkie or two at the Raven, who knows).

When I think of a "shady" taqueria I think of a place where, after eating, you find yourself waking the up the next morning missing your wallet and a kidney because the guy behind the counter marked you for a stranger/gringo/strange gringo and (here comes another old guy term) slipped you a mickey. DC is sadly lacking in Mexican places -- divey, shady or otherwise -- but this winter my wife and I had a chance to go to Mexico on her company's dime. We were interned in one of those resort hotels that have been constructed to keep as much of Mexico on the other side of the property line as possible, lest the tourist be put off, but they did deliver a bottle of tequila to the room every morning. Usually there were meetings and foot massages and networking with the co-workers to do during the day but one morning (well, actually, more than one morning) we got into the free tequila and decided to cab into Puerto Vallarta proper, where we had been led to believe on could actually find Mexico. We were a block of the ocean, tourist central, and we found a little hole in the wall selling stuff we'd never seen before -- it was, the proprietor and the lady from the nail place next door, the latter two a little surprised to see us there. What a great meal for nuthin'. Sadly, what with the tequila and all, we lost our notes at some point during the day. The dish I remember best was an interesting little stir-fry -- strips of hard corn tortilla, some kind of meat, crema (I'm guessing now) tomato, wonderful spicing. Later, after walking around enough to get our appetite back and get away from the tourists areas, we found some guy selling barracuda (!) tacos about the size of a silver dollar pancake on a table set up outside his house. Inside, his wife was watching telenovellas and selling beer from a cooler. We sat on a bench near a dry creek and the fish and lime and corn and cold beer came together so wonderfully we had to go back for more. The two best meals I had that whole trip, two of the most memorable this year (if only I could remember). Good thing I forgot that you're not supposed to eat street food in Mexico.

my understanding (which certainly could be wrong), is that chopsticks weren't used before the 19th century in Thailand either...they used fingers. chopsticks, throughout Asia, tended to arrive with Chinese merchants.....which I don't think really penetrated Thailand until the late 19th and early 20th centuries...(this is also when noodles first began to show up in Thai cooking) ← That may be. I'd love to find a source on that. I assumed the Chinese merchants brought them over in the 15th or so century, but what do I know? ← I've overheard waiters in Thai restaurants telling customers that they can't have chopsticks because Thais don't use chopsticks. In fact, I can't recall ever seeing a place setting in a Thai place that included chopsticks (unlike a most Chinese and Vietnamese restaurants these days, which set out both sticks and forks, or sticks only). On the question of sushi, I once asked a guy I worked who had been Deputy Chief of Mission at the U.S. embassy in Tokyo if you could eat sushi with your fingers and he said that he had never done it nor seen it done by any of the Japanese he'd dined with. Possibly his striped-pants status threw him in with a more formal crowd, but in an an upscale setting I'd go with sticks. (Also on the subject of Japanese dining habits, he noted that noodle eating is sufficiently sloppy -- even for the locals -- that men's neckties in Japan are regularly coated with a shellac-like substance in order to prevent broth stains from setting in the silk. )

Oh, how I hate to bring this topic to the forefront again, but our own "bavila," aka Bridget Avila, has published a quite sensible look at the challenges of dining with the younger set What's Up Annapolis -- complete with a couple of quotes from the people whose opinions in some ways matter most: the restauranteurs who have to make delicate decision in this regard in order to make a living. Good work!

How big is the restaurant? And how important is "buzz" to the dining experience? I find that in a more formal place -- where conversation is relatively hushed and you have drapes and carpets and other sound damps -- you barely notice a small crowd. A lot of places seem incomplete if they don't have enough energy, though, and it's easy to feel that either a) you were dumb and showed up at the party before the cool kids came or b) you're witnessing a restaurant's death throes. Since we like to eat relatively late, we've also had the experience of walking into places at a not-unreasonable hour -- 8, say -- and by 9 had the feeling that the entire staff is staring at us, waiting for us to go home (even if that's not the case). And, not to disagree entirely with johnnyd, (and to agree with Holly) I think most restaurants require a certain amount activity to hit their groove -- maybe not full, but 2/3 full. Otherwise the staff energy level seems to drop, servers trying not to hover disappear at bad times, cooks don't get their rhythm going and the timing gets weird, and so on.

As your menu comes together, may I suggest a house specialty? Cinghiale ragout, served with house-made pasta. Good luck!

Anyone old enough to drink legally should be smart enough not to drink these. When was (briefly) a bartender, everyone who ordered these was carded. They are, by the way, deeply sweet, despite the name.

Will the short amount of time that the racks are in the oven produce enough drippings for gravy? ← I wouldn't bet on it.

We made a fine carbonara with our guanciale according to an ascetic recipe Pontormo passed along. Wonderful. Then, it being fresh pea season and us having been stuck with all these egg noodles after going all authentic for the first batch, we made something with cream, peas and egg noodles, all topped with guanciale left over from the first batch. That was pretty swell, too. Maybe better. But I promise not to call it "carbonara".

Last week my wife and I made a honey-mustard glaze that was quite tasty -- there are dozens of variations on the theme if you google "lamb," "mustard" and "honey." We also made a simple rosemary/garlic compound butter. In either case, you're talking minutes, not hours. Good luck.

In case anyone's interested, here's the recipe for the star dish. I think a theme dinner-and-a-movie with my francophilic, vegetarian friend is in order. Daniel -- assuming that one does not have access to decades-old first growths, do you have any suggestions for a proper wine?

I'd almost go so far as to say that GPA data is utterly irrelevant and -- given the personality types I've encountered in and around various kitchens -- practically engineered not to reflect the talents and intelligence of the people who work in them (who range from relatively brilliant to borderline idiot-savant, as with every other profession). Not to get all guidance counselor on you, but you might want to ask yourself if your concerns reflect pressures from your parents or yourself on your entering a "trade" rather than carrying your 4.0 off to an elite college and professional school. It's not uncommon (see this thread), but it may be something that has to be recognized and dealt with.