frogprince

lingering and savoring at zaytinya, jaleo (johnny's half shell as well) have always proved to be most fruitful, delicious, overly-friendly (in that lonesome-server sort of way) and most importantly of all: uncrowded. for shy egulletiers such as myself. a fabulous recommendation for any restaurant that servers between lunch and dinner (i believe david gregory falls into this category too... mixtec as well)

a statement like THAT with no follow up...!?! this merits a bemused gallic expression and a "quoi?" i want to guess: was it your pal? you know, ena? oh come on guys and gals. this is humor. i can hear you laughing...

'tis a beautiful thing, living in whitechapel. st john's progeny around the corner, always welcoming and gracious enough to put up with me and dickens for hours, sipping corbieres and nibbling, always nibbling. beautiful and austere. serene and comfortable. i LOVE this place and oh how i miss it (and your loverly country). there is truly nowhere else quite like it. cherish it. and have a doughnut on sunday morning. for me. please...

you know those places that are always slightly mysterious, maybe a little intimidating but always retain, in one's remote regions, the true aura of a cynosure? taberna del alabardero had, up until several days ago, been one of those places. frightfully formal, tony garish ostentatious and ornate to the point of nausea, a clientele of stuffy septuagenarians puffing on cigars with their 20 year old wives on each arm. well, i will not lie: it was all those things. i, the youngest in the room by easily 40 years (save for my slightly older brother) the brobdinagian sommelier (replete with the wine bauble dangling from his neck) confronted us, the timourous trio out for a special 50th birthday. at once gracious and helpful yet still austere and serene, he directed us to a marvellous '99 100 percent tempranillo from la mancha. and the food. an amuse of shredded oxtail with a profoundly deep flavor with whispers of a robust red wine and a long steady mirepoix braise. a pair of crispy shallot rings nimbused the fibrous meat, a crispy golden halo to the hauntingly flavoured king of offal. a chilled tomato "bisque" followed perfumed with the hard-to-define but incredibly complex sweet/tart/sour/spicy effluvium of pimentos de piquillo. poured tableside from a inverted champagne flute, neat piles of jamon serrano, frozen olive oil cream and bonito tuna (umbrelled with micro basil) bathed luxuriously and decandently in the creamless liquid, stained a violent shade of carmine-red. having never had an entree sized portion of sweetbreads, ive never thought of them as the richly flavoured (i.e. luxurious in small portions, downright sybaritic), a few bites and enough, type of food. now i know. crisply sauteed (and has there ever been such a better pairing for ingredient to technique? i know of none better, maybe equals. green tomatoes & a hot fryer) and draped with golden chantrelles, the indulgence factor dramatically increased with an incredibly complicated veal demi-glace/truffle sauce, though unfortunately more on the veal side than the truffle side. our server, surely the paragon of four star service: friendly, affable, helpful, invisible when not needed, must have spied on us for as we were perusing dessert menus, an elongated rectangular plate arrived with happy birthday painted on with chocolate. and petit fours to DIE for. olives dusted with powdered sugar. yes you heard me. and no, these are not the divina brand kalamata olives with some sugar sprinkled on top but rather a trio of olives that had been seriously pampered by an immensely talented pastry chef. carmelised walnuts, biscotti-style cookies, pea sized truffles, flawless in every respect. and on the side, a slice of sponge cake, soaked in vanilla milk injected with aniseed liqueur. dear me. at this point, eating more was out of the question (as ive failed to mention to very generous portions size in addition to the fabulous bread basket (country white and incredible olive) with some of the fruitiest olive oil ive had (nunez de prado, que?). a very refreshing postprandial lustau east indian solera proved to be just the right climax. slightly rich, vaguely chocolately, uncloying sweetness, i couldnt have had a better sherry. an absolutely incredible evening. these types of dining establishments may be effete, obsolescent and antediluvian (and i can see why: one wouldnt want to be frightened to go out to dinner, either because of the prices (anyone want to feed me for a week as im reduced to sugar packets now?) or the overbearing, overlyformal atmosphere) but for a generous, luxurious, decadent, intoxicating experience with a double helping of old world dining, i couldnt think of a better place. thank you taberna

it will devishly meet your egg-spectations.

come now dc-denizens, are we forgetting a certain historic establishment; it beats the heat... feeling enigmatic and wanting to spread the love, unkissed frog

melon and muscat everywhere, and every drop to sip, chilly and sweet it is, devoid of seafood too miss, lincoln's and booth's ghosts (suspended in apotheosis) observe, and be wary for bottomless pits DO exist. another fav ive mentioned before, in another thread, on a different shore, suffice to say: its never been closer to home, if summer truffles and peas disincline you to roam. conundrum-solving prize: for one correct answer: an umbrella. engraved. by me. to you. aided only by my teeth. for both: the umbrella (naturally) PLUS a 91 l'etoile banyuls extra vieux. NOT corked. really, i checked it myself.

surely these are (in a sadistic sense) the most fabulous of meals !?!

Awesome. I've actually never had a pupusa, despite living a few blocks from Mt. Pleasant. Shame on me. Is there a specific pupuseria you recommend? My neighbor swears by one in Columbia Heights, but I've yet to venture out... honestly ive not encountered a pupusa that failed to flavor; nor have i had one that whisked (!) me away to a beach in el salvador. perhaps i'm going to the wrong ones. but to answer your question, pupuseria san miguel on mt. pleasant road just opposite the raven and todito grocero on columbia next to perry's and cashion's have always delivered the goods. and the aforementioned francis' carryout, depending on where you live, for it is on the other side of eastern ave in northeast; not a lot of people come out here unless they live here...

the distinction that needs to be made here is, i believe, that between being not allowed to sit at your OWN table that you RESERVED when a single member of the party has arrived and being refused seating at a more egalitarian, come on-come all, first parties come, first parties served, before the entire party has arrived. I accept this distinction. i agree with your thoughts wholeheartedly, i forgot to add. i only thought that a differentiation needed to be added.

the distinction that needs to be made here is, i believe, that between being not allowed to sit at your OWN table that you RESERVED when a single member of the party has arrived and being refused seating at a more egalitarian, come on-come all, first parties come, first parties served, before the entire party has arrived. if i have made a reservation and i am the only member thus far (and assuming i'm not terribly early and the previous party at our table to be punctual eaters) to arrive i would be perplexed to be refused the option of sitting at the table i had RESERVED. on the other hand, think of walking into palena cafe, zaytinya, jaleo, johnny's half shell and other establishments with the no-res policy, at half past six or seven and seeing the entire dining room full of tables, each with only a single occupant, staring longingily out of the windows with more than a glint of hope in their eyes, being deceived by the royal blue mailboxes that match their sisters' outfit that day. and the bar is rammed five deep, overflowing with sangria and people whose entire parties are there that, because they didnt walk up on the escalator but stood, now must wait in spirit with those lonely souls in the dining room for their companions to arrive. and after that they must wait for the meal to progress. then they may sit down to their dinner. lastly, i would assume that a restaurant such as gordon ramsay does not expect walk-ins nor would people attempt to show up and have a table without a reservation. thus the problems of which we speak would not be an issue.

a new addition to this area that would also satisfy would be what used to be francis' carryout, just opposite the glut food co-op on 34th street off the circle. formerly a hideous 'pizza seafood subs chicken' takeaway called 'francis' carryout' (and in a long lost time ago a fabulous coffee shop run by the most generous of jamaican men) the new place (which very oddly has not painted over the francis' sign: a thought: perhaps francis thought to himself: i should stop recycling garbage and calling it food and actually MAKE something, say something i grew up on... yes littlechinagirl, you too can escape this feeling, with a little pupusa; i'm a mess without my little pupuseria, i hear them sizzling, loud as thunder, saw the salsa come raining down...

post-perusal of the postings on osteria galileo, i may have to reconsider going to galileo again. the infamous trip i laconicly (not a word i dont think) related above did occur several summers ago. time for revisit methinks. perhaps. maybe if that sommelier chap went along... ive quoted myself. it feels strange and slimey. i should go to bed.

i love to hate it. and hate to love it: for both sides of the spectrum. exhibit a: a first rate, absolutely stellar meal at the (now deceased) "homey" vidalia (replaced by the urban chic, replete with frosted glass and a myriad of black paint) where the ENTIRE (marginally abbreviated from their regular one) menu was devoted to the restaurant week promotion, albeit with some surchages for ahem the pricier items. exhibit b: a woeful forgettable menu of chef boyardee preparations at galileo. how about 20.04 (or whatever it twas that they charged for lunch) for either ribbolita (which i believe derived from tuscan peasant's ingenuity at making their bread and tomatoes stretch into a stew ? ) or a portobello mushroom. with some salad. drizzled in safeway balsamic. or chef boyardees own recipe for veal ragu. and (ok youve got me) a terrific vanilla pannacotta with raspberries. and yes, as a member of the industry, i realize the inherent difficulty in charging 20 or 30 bucks for a three course meal and still serving quality and beauty; good things cost more money; pristine ingredients and preparation demand pecuniary provisions that can stretch into the stratosphere. but honestly, if youre not going to take it seriously then why bother at all? vidalia did extraordinary things for the cost (and a little extra). perhaps their food costs suffered for the worse. then again, i've returned to vidalia and spent hard earned money on their full menu and found it delicious, perhaps even to the point of their recouping whatever money they may have lost on me during restaurant week. need i say ive yet to return to galileo (on principle alone not the mention the quality of the food did not even merit its diminished price tag) ?

i concur. gastronomic wanderlust leads us to the nectar's and palena's and such places, whilst equally driving us to [insert your miserable dining experiences here]. tis a delicate balance and one that merits astute observation.

why do other restaurants bother? why do we bother going to them? sometimes i wonder why i waste money on a place i "wanted to experience" in all its gustatory misery and egregious sauna-like red wine pours. ah late summer nights, when a young man's thoughts turn to such ponderings (so that was nine dollars: and now metro is 1.35, so for every 6 2/3 metro excursions i will be missing a plate of THAT tuna or pate/terrine or cheeseburger or cheese; perhaps i should transform myself from a masstransport-user to a velocipedal one), strolling, ambling, blundering out of palena to happy and full to care and wanting only a tapeworm to take care of that pesky business of digesting and the concomitantly and infinitely greater and more important result of an empty stomach, the better to not make a dour metro journey home and instead sit down to another extraordinary meal. where to begin? an antipasto plate of such focused clarity where each and every component shined on its own but the magic didnt start until the leucodermic mozzarella di bufala introduced it's virginal-white creamy-self to the pungent anise and fennel flavored salami; together they rode on the lightest of tomato tart "pizzas" to my ever grateful mouth. hazlenut and artichoke salad was no slouch either. the dining companion's chilled pea soup was simply a revelation, in flavor color and texture; these were no ordinary peas. crawfish tail and summer truffle royale were extravagent additions that still knew that they remained second best. a rose from languedoc we gleefully slurped. life was good. derek was charming as he was from our last trip (and his memory must be sharp as one of frank ruta's knives as he recalled our previous visit. over a year ago.) i spy the time and notice it creeps toward working time so i will be laconic: a pork-fat nimbused pistachio-foie gras and chicken pate with a robust carmine almost brick color. not so in texture. literally dissolving in my mouth. cubes of salty porkiness led to me to assume the inclusion of pancetta or some such salted and cured meat product. and the perfect square of foie gras in the center, like a beacon to weary travelers sick of dining at establishments that believe they have something to offer (apart from pecuniary draining and disappointed tastebuds). i longed to don a palena sandwichboard and walk connecticut avenue with pate in hand and merely gesture to the foie gras to the sandwich board and to palena. perfectly grilled tuna recieved a blast from an ignited piquillo pepper puree tempered by an exquisitely airy and cloudlike basil oil (not an infused olive oil but rather basil leaves supreme liquid apotheosis.) and it went on through a completely unostentatious beet salad, a cheese plate with a few (ahem) additions to it (and cheers again derek) and a glass of the black sheep of the sauternes family, lubiac i believe the name to have been (and cheers again derek). utterly and simply delicious with a wave of flavors not normally found in one-dimensional dessert wines which merely taste of sweet; indeed the sweetness whispers itself rather than blaring it out and only for a moment or two as the amber nectar (glorified honey) touches your lips. and the rhubarb tart. goodness. i cannot say more because of time constraints and the inability of language to convey the experience; apologies for the dismal failure of an arbitrary concept to adaquetely describe the heavenly untellurian evening i spent.

in abominable distressing times such as these, i furtively wish that this county's servicing would sail back over the ocean blue and admit the europeans (ok i can only speak for the germans, french and english) are far more accomplished in this touchy issue than their progeny; for the record, servers in the aforementioned countries (though this practice has begun to wane given the recent frightening aping of america by some europeans) are paid a WAGE, much as most people. TIPS are EXTRA, meaning that if i believe i have been the recipient of exceptional service resulting in an exceptional experience, i will make it known with a postprandial pecuniary provision. only a thought...

try as they might (and boy do they try) these faux-irish disneyesque pubs wouldnt know joyce or yeats or wilde or swift if any of those artists walked in and quoted their own works (in irish mind); i consider them the chi-chi's of pubs (nightmares from which iam still trying to wake). nanny o'brien's does, however, have the feel of an (pardon my uk/eire-ism) an old man boozer, the establishments where a core group of aging men drink and smoke in the exact same stools, having the exact same conversations, confined in a routine they will still be doing 10 years after they die. in short, a place where a stranger is not warmly welcomed. alas alack, ive not found a watering hole that apes the boozers across the water in this city of ours; tis simply not something we have. or do we? have i dismissed something? i was thinking yes and maybe i have yes and then yes yes there must be one yes and i asked yes and they said:

the venerable seafood "shack" (by which i mean a tableclothed restaurant in a drab grey concrete building holding none other than second story books) johnny's half shell at 20th and p does phenomenal po'boys and hotdogs in addition to other scrumptious plates. lunch is quite easy on the wallet if you choose not to get crab cakes (who will land with such vicious force on your wallet that twenty dollars will be obliterated in the blink of an eye). oh yes and they do take-away.

summer's past i've spent many a wonderful hour munching on sauteed (!) soft shells with corn puddin' and old bay-basil beurre blanc at johnny's half shell. as of yet i've not paid my visit but i would bet against smarty jones winning a triple crown (hang on now...) that johnny's has that same prep. beauty is ephemeral but this dish seems to have defied this law; its been on the summer menu for at least 4 years now.

for those searching in vain for ligurian lusciousness i believe that coppi's on u street has some entrees in addition to stellar pizzas (if only her name was amy and she happened to have a twin sister identically named i may be converted away from my own personal pizza cathedral in the shadow of THAT one). sadly, mournfully, lugubriously, the vigorelli just opposite the uptown has gone the way of the dodo, gravity-defying food-stacking, serially printed novels and those four years of a blue america and grey confederacy. does anyone remember that place? and one more thing: nutella calzones. order. you will not complain.

a june-shockingly frigid and predictably drizzly early evening thursday found myself and the mother meeting in the warm environs of the accomadating bar area for nibbles, specifically those derived from the milky nectar of sheeps, cows and goats. my ohmy. but before that highly-anticipated dish, we indulged our force-fed fat tooth and had the foie gras with pistachios and carmelized banana. a refreshing dish in that, as opposed to so many other medallions of delectable liver i've had, this one had not been seared to a potatochip crispness but rather roasted (?) and a better gelatinous hunk i've not had in a long while. (note to self: greek rose with foie gras: good idea.) cheese. oh. everything those had promised and more, so much more. carianne cotes-du-rhone villages remarkably stood head to head with the weedy ashy pungency of montenebru, a spanish goat, the stinkiness of... goodness i've forgotten the name of the stink cheese. suffice to say its effluvium announced the arrival of the cheese before the plate arrived. lincolnshire poacher (cheddar who? cheddar - what's that?) from england, gorgonzola piccante did its best to obliterate the palate but only succeeded in making this cheese-chowman the happiest man on earth. oh yes. frangelico with the baked alaska: try it sometime. cheers to the nectar boys and girls for a fabulous evening!

im smoking right now. its eggtraordinarily delicious. oh wait, wrong topic.

my thoughts eggaxctly. this eggcess must be eggtirpated, driven to eggtinction, eggerminated as it is eggtremely eggasperating eggcruciating egghausting, slain by king arthur's eggecutive eggtroardinary eggcalibur. egguberantly yours, froggy ps: who's up for an eggtravagrant absinthe eggcess? hooligan?

having chased away more time at cashion's bar than a narcissistic garrulous amphetamine addict at a mirror, i urge urge urge you to treat yourself there. palena's cafe will undoubtedly delight with delectables, as would the flagship jaleo. service from the barstaff at those three will not disappoint. most unfortunately i cannot comment on the aforementioned establishments ive not experienced, i.e. nectar, citronelle, le paradou and firefly. general consensus here and elsewhere (no not a certain website with chomping chewing canines) seems to regard those most favourably.