iamthestretch

I don't like drinking and working. It slows down the drinking. I propose the following doggerel principles for a proper pub visit. (Is there a proper pub in DC, anyway? Or is that another topic?) 1) Eating is cheating. 2) Working is shirking. 3) Nooooooobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Whoops, down the hatch, vicar. etc. etc. etc.

This looks like a pretty big place going in on Bonifant Street right across from Thai Derm and Roger Miller. The sign out front promises the above authentic experience; we shall see. This block is becoming an interesting ethnic dining enclave anyway, with good Thai, Cameroon(ian?) and Ethiopian around the corner at Addis Abbaba. (If you include The Quarry House I guess there's "blue-collar American" as well.) Not like there's a ton of Burmese food on offer in DC. Sietsema liked Burma in Chinatown, but I haven't been there for years. Will report back once Mandalay opens.

Eh, I don't think 15 percent is a punch in the chops either. But, if it's going to bug you more than your server anyway, why bother trying to send a message that may not even be detected? Just tip your usual and chalk it up to experience. Having been on the other side of the transaction myself, I generally try to stick to three personal principles as a customer: tip 20 percent, smile and always say "please" and "thank you." If the service really stinks, I'm happy to initiate a conversation about it with "Is there a problem?" even if that conversation does, occasionally, have to finish up at "Well, screw you then, we're leaving!"

Some of my favorite everyday wines. All Southern Hemisphere and some admittedly not that easy to find. But worth looking for. Excelsior Cabernet 2002/2003, Robertson, South Africa -- Tons of black fruit, some chocolate, decent spine. $8.99. Kaiken Cabernet 2002, Mendoza, Argentina -- Currants, herbs, medium body, smooth. $9.99. Santa Ema Cabernet Reserve 1999, Maipo Valley, Chile -- Plums, some mint, nicely rounded. $8.99. Wynns Cabernet, Shiraz, Merlot 1999, Coonawarra, Australia -- Mulberry, cedar, spice. $9.99.

If you ask nicely at Palena, they'll serve you your cheese accompanied by sliced local apples and this stiff, orange Umbrian honey that tastes like a crystalized solar flare.

Oh the catfish Is a fat fish, That some consider lowly And has caught on rather slowly. But when it's properly fried, It cannot be denied, That it's nice to have inside. (Fried catfish sandwich with fresh-cut, fresh-fried, burn-your-fingers-hot potato chips and nearly narcotic tartar sauce. Only at CK. Only at Friday lunch. And soon, with real beer!)

Cantlers seems to get fairly regular praise here. And here's one major crab fan's detailed opinion on options out your way.

I'll be away one week in October. Unless the dinner is that week, I'm in and, in view of the high jinks last time, will be bringing a chaperone.

You drink that all by yourself, Joe, or is the wife now helping out again? From the focus length I'm thinking maybe solo...

Without wanting to start a fight, I think this holds true in America, too. I buy mostly Aussie, and other Southern Hemisphere, wines partly because I admit I remain relatively ignorant about the Northern Hemisphere and its classic offerings, and partly because what I have explored around my usual $15-$25 price point so far hasn't held a candle to the values I can find down South, even given recent currency fluctuations. I'm not saying I don't enjoy, or won't consider, say, Burgundy, Barbera or California Cabernet -- it's just that, frankly, I feel I can do much better for everyday drinking by drawing from South America, South Africa, Oz and NZ, even given the relatively limited distribution of those countries' wines in the U.S. Plus, on special occasions, I like to chew on a really massive Barossa shiraz. So sue me.

It sucketh not. Neither doth it blow.

Broke a promise to my waistline and combined an errand up Wisconsin Ave. with a stop at 2 Amys this afternoon. I've never been a huge fan of the stuffed pizzas there, as I find ricotta rather bland, but the special calzone today was right on: Lamb meatballs, fontina, pecorino and fresh tomato sauce. A bomb-ass belly bomb. I remarked on the fact that the place was packed despite the drizzle. "Eh, we're a foul weather restaurant!"

You mean the ad where the snotty Euro chick at the Temple of Beer Worship gives the Dartmouth-looking guy an "I'd do you" nod when he skips the 200-page brew menu and goes straight for a Samuel Adams? Next you'll be telling me that naked women actually won't come and wrestle in my back yard even if I do drink Pawtucket Patriot. Leave me some illusions.

Times sure have changed. My mother remains firmly convinced that the reason I turned out to be 6'7'' is because, while carrying me, she religiously followed the orders of her doctor to sup a nourishing pint of Guinness every day with dinner. And, who knows, there's about as much evidence to support that contention as there is to back up the claims of the zero-is-the-only-safe-dose brigade today. Want to worry about something substantial? Worry about the chemical body burden that is our children's price of entry into our industrial society. Makes the odd glass of wine and chunk of unpasteurized cheese look pretty innocuous by comparison, no?

How about a weekend lunch at 2 Amys? No worries about the kids as everybody else there will be towing a couple too, and the food usually pleases all family factions. I've never tried to get a gift certificate from them, though.

Sage advice from the chef last night to the bacon boys at the bar. "Fat Equals Flavor!" I must be getting jolly tasty.

It's like Jaws or somefink, me old mucker. "Just when you thought it was safe to go back and fry lemons." Three words: Stuffed pig. Unbelievable. (Edited to add: Try a Bronx or two -- it's the 19th Century Gin and Juice.)

Abandoned this week by my spouse, I disdain eating at my house. Tonight I'm bound for Palena And wine and fritti at their bar. Tomorrow, though, as Mark has said, It's Eve, and rums, and (doubtless) morning head. That's not so rough, you prob'ly think, and wonder idly why I whine. It's simply this. When cat's away, it doesn't do, for mice to have too good a time!

There was really a fine dining restaurant in Richmond called The Redneck?

This thread has some good recommendations in your general area. Some more here. Enjoy your stay.

There is a lot of good writing in this thread already about Restaurant Eve and lots of high praise -- all deserved. I don't think there's much doubt but that it has vaulted right up near the top of the list of the area's best restaurants, the few that could look good in any company and in any city you care to name. I won't try and detail the menu; others have done a good job of that. But two things in particular struck me after enjoying a five course tasting there last night. One was the flat out fantastic cooking -- the precision and delicacy evident in everything from a borderline incredible lobster creme brulee to gnocchi that melt away so suddenly on your tongue you almost expect an audible "pop." There's a sureness and a deftness of touch that, in my limited frame of reference, reminded me most of a dinner at Veritas in New York a while back with a friend who swore Scott Bryan's cooking there would be his clear choice for a final meal on Earth. The second impression, and we're into the realm of metaphysics here, is of a real generosity of spirit associated with the enterprise. This manifests clearly in the service, which is correct while remaining friendly and unaffected. Sure, mnebergall is a regular and clearly had put in a good word for us. (Thank you again, Mark.) But the family at the next table over celebrating their excited daughter's sweet 16 were treated just as solicitously, as were the pharma guys denting their corporate credit cards on the other side of us. It also shows up in a $65 five-course menu that starts looking a lot more like a round ten courses after multiple amuses (oh, those deviled quail eggs with osetra caviar), petit fours, cookies and other treats. No nickel and diming here folks; who knows how far out the full nine course degustation would stretch itself? I wasn't going to write much, so that's more than enough. Final assertions -- their mojito rocks, the Ken Forrester Petit Chenin is a steal and the Tokaji will make you high. As we wilfully flouted the speed limit back up the GW Parkway late last night, the lights of DC were shimmering on the Potomac, Earlimart were banging out "We Drink on the Job" on the car stereo and I felt a sense of profound and almost absolute contentment.

Yeah, but how's her handwriting?

This is not as cryptic as it appears. Turns out that Mark went out last weekend and personally infused a brace of plump little mourning doves with several ounces of hot lead. In keeping with his informal position as the genius loci of Eve's bar, he had brought them into the restaurant for the crew to savor and was nice enough to deal my wife and I in when we ran into each other on our way to the tasting room. Perfectly cooked with prosciutto, foie gras, Swiss chard and a jus made the old-fashioned way (shoot a bunch of birds, cook a couple, render the rest unto gravy) they were among the most downright delicious things I've ever eaten. If you could do that with common pigeons, there'd suddenly be a whole lot less sky rats around my neck of the woods. Thanks, Mark. Next time I get my hands on some Kudu steaks, your phone will ring.

Sweet. A loophole. PS: So who started the whole "fries in a paper twist" thing in DC? I think the first time I had it was at 15ria when it opened. As to "TRUFFLED fries in a paper twist," I think we all know the culprit (benefactor?) on the other side of Dupont Circle.

One could do a neat little reviewing style comparison exercise with Todd Kliman's recent piece on the same place -- but only if one were willing to be hit up for $2.95. Mutter. Grumble. Make the reviews free for all time and maybe I'll start contributing to your Restaurant Rater thingummy, City Paper powers that be.