Brad Kanus

A Restaurant Review of Tallula/Eat Bar's Bacon

As many of you know, my wife has a child that she claims is mine and I'm not allowed to give it away.  This means we have to feed it.  On the weekends this means taking her to brunch at places where kids are not frowned upon (children are never welcome anywhere - they're just not hated in some places).   Tallula/Eat Bar has "cartoon brunch," so we went. 

First of all, I don't know why the place has two names, but it does.  It's the same place.  One door, one hostess - it's one place.  The multiple names is just annoying without reason.  Good thing the place had great food. 

I figured "cartoon brunch" would not be as advertised, or worse, exactly as advertised with servers dressed as Disney characters.  The truth is perfectly in the middle - it's a screen with Looney Toons playing.  My daughter thought it was the shit.  She even said so.  I was then in trouble. 

Their brunch selection is pretty simple - everything you'd expect with... wait, I just looked at the menu as of 03-03-2013 at least one item I liked is gone.  Crap.  Well this review is basically worthless now. 

I really only decided write this review because their bacon is awesome.  Their bacon is a man's bacon.  If their bacon was a guy you knew it'd be the guy who had a wrench in his back pocket and hair on his knuckles.  A guy who knows how to use a chainsaw and carries a pocket knife everywhere.  Seriously - if their bacon was an actor it would be Clint Eastwood.  Very salty, super smokey and thick - that's Tallula's bacon.  It's just really damn good bacon.  I'm sure they've kept the bacon even though the menu has changed in the two weeks since I've been there. 

I got the three eggs any style, which was more like one and a half eggs scrambled.  The potatoes are perfectly cooked but lack seasoning. They are meant to carry ketchup to your mouth.  Something tells me they should be making their own ketchup, instead of providing Heinz if that's the case. 

The winner other than their bacon was their cheddar grits - that are no longer on the menu.  They were awesome, but now they are gone, so these words do not matter. 

My wife had their crispy pork benedict with jalapenos.  It was very good and the pork was, and this is becoming a trend here, great.  She wants to go back just for that and it's still on the menu (thank God). 

My wife also wanted me to point out that the waiter was super hot and very nice - everything I'm not.  So, if you're into cute guys slinging bacon - Tallula/Eat Bar is your place.

Give it a try.  The kids love the cartoons, the wife will love the help and you'll dig the bacon. 

Restaurant Review - Oya's Fine Sushi and Hookers

Oya lives on the internet HERE.  Outside the Matrix it lives at 777 9th Street NW in Penn Quarter - a yet to be bona fide "area" in my book. 

I'm going to let you know up front that this is going to be a brutal review for the Oya folks even though I love their sushi.  Please do take it personally - that's the only way you'll get better.

I went to Oya for the umpteenth time last Saturday with my wife and two of her sisters from Houston.  We "Ubered" to the location because we roll like people who pretend to have money - a facade that let us fit in well with Oya's crowd.

I hate the doorway at Oya.  It's always crowded because they've got valet service right there in the middle of everything and those guys are usually rapping with beggars, drug addicts and God knows who else out front.  It's a shit show starring a bunch of people who aren't there to patronize the restaurant. And because the valets are lazy as hell, the cars pile up in front of the place and people leaving get stuck trying to stop cabs from behind double parked cars and it's a mob scene all the time.  Think Old Ebbitt at about noon during high tourist season. 

Once you get in you're aware that there's a lot of wasted space between the bar and the door.  If you're lucky you'll realize the host desk is to your right tucked into an awkward, out of the way pocket.  That area gets jammed up during the rush - avoid sending your entire party to check in for your reservation.  One person will do. 

The wasted space I mentioned earlier becomes more and more noticeable as you try to grab a pre-dinner cocktail at a much too small bar where seating is scarce.  Beyond the bar is an oddly shaped and placed lounge area that leaves one wondering if it's okay to wait in there while you have a cocktail, or if it's just for people who came to drink their dinner.  In the end the design leads to you standing like a moron out in no man's land between the door and the bar with your drink.  It's the most uncomfortable thing you'll do with your clothes on that night - I promise.

The decor is very Vegas... early last decade Vegas.  You know, when Asian fusion was still cool.  White everywhere - looks like a P-Diddy party.  The kind of people who like the decor are the kind of people you don't like.  Or, you're one of the people who like the decor and I don't like you.   Either way - it's Vegas-douche-deco and it attracts a certain kind of crowd.

We were seated towards the back of the restaurant next to some not so convenient nor comfortable looking booths.  I appreciated our table status thinking of the embarrassing shift it would take to move everyone out of the booth every time I had to pee.  Booths just aren't sexy - that's why diners feature them. 

The waiter started with the age old "have any of you dined with us before?"  My two sisters hadn't and before I could head the explanation train off at the pass, they were giving him the honest answer of "no."  This meant a little switch went of in the waiter's head that turned him into Menu Explanation Sales Pitch Man - the super hero who defends us from over-complicated menus by pitching you the most expensive items on them.  He was just getting to the second course when my wife, who hates the sound of all men's voices, and their opinions on any subject even more, interrupted him with a simple declaration "we'll be having sushi exclusively."  At this point Menu Explanation Sale Pitch Man stashed his cape and told us he'd bring water and started to walk away without asking us if we wanted something else to drink.  This required that I blurt out "BIG SAPPORO" to his rapidly retreating back.  It worked - he turned around and took drink orders from everyone as he should have done in the first place.

My wife's sisters were a little perplexed at our out-right dismissal of the non-sushi menu.  We had to explain to them that Asian fusion is dead and that we wouldn't be trying to revive it here tonight.  Besides, the menu couldn't be more random if they tried.  From ribs, to mussels to miso to lobster mac and cheese to spring rolls and stuff spiced with curry and a caeser salad - the damn thing is everywhere and a sure indication that they probably don't do any of those many styles well, much less perfectly.   And it's tapas style to top it off!  So it's tiny, over-priced portions of shitty food.  It doesn't get any worse than that. 

One of the sisters quickly countered with her observation that the burger must be good because she had seen dozens of them flying out of the kitchen.  I had noticed the same phenomenon, but understood why so many "Kobe Burgers" were being ordered.  What she didn't know that I already knew is that it's the cheapest thing on the menu of a sizable portion ($16).  Most of the people at Oya couldn't afford to be there.  The faux 2004 Vegas atmosphere attracts a lot of people who would show up to order the burger - that's just the kind of people who respond to that type environment. 

To add insult to hardened arteries, Oya still thinks you're too stupid to realize that they aren't really selling a burger made of Japanese Kobe beef.  They assume you've never heard of the internet and aren't aware of the truth.  Read about the big American Kobe beef lie HERE.

The people at bachelorette parties or out before their community college prom were all doing the same thing - drinking lots of free water and splitting the burger.  Their waiter's face told the story everyone knows all too well.  Small bill - smaller tip.

The people there for the sushi were a different story - multiple bottles of wine, three or four flights of sushi, dessert and dessert cocktails.  These are the people who know what Oya does best - sushi.  It's the only reason my wife and I go and we'd eat in a truck stop bathroom if that's where we had to go to get it (not really... I might drive to Falls Church for it, but no further - it's good, but not drive out to the suburbs good).   

I could go into every roll, but I won't because they're all great.  Not just good - great.  One stands out among the others, the Short Rib Tempura Roll - a braised rib, avocado, white cheddar and mashed potato roll that stands on its own without the customary bath of soy sauce and wasabi.  So good  you'll order it twice.  We also enjoyed the Pork Belly roll as their twist on America's twist on sushi.

Go eat their sushi - that's what I'm saying.

I hate to ding the service because I know that the waiter is usually just one of the many links in the chain that holds together the entire process.  Often the waiter is not to blame, but he gets it anyway.  However, in this case I can bitch about the service because the kitchen, the manager and the hosts are not responsible for the job the waiter screwed up.

After we gorged ourselves on several hundred pieces of sushi, the waiter dropped off dessert menus.  Almost simultaneously we opened them and then quickly closed them - too full to even consider something more to eat.  Then our waiter disappeared...

Okay, he didn't literally "disappear" because we could see him working the tables around us while completely ignoring us.  We wanted our check. We needed our check.  We were not getting our check.  Purses on the table and my credit card in plain sight and the guy just kept walking by like we were not there.  This little game not only reduced his tip to below 15 percent from more than 25 percent, it kept him from turning the table quicker for more money making opportunities.  It was pure stupidity on his part.  He's got two parts of his job - bring shit and take the money.  If he doesn't do both, he's worthless not only to the customer, but to management as well.  Total bush league move by the waiter.

Now onto the hookers part.

About halfway through our sushi eating contest a forgettable white guy in jeans and a t-shirt sat down with a skinny black man in a suit in the aforementioned uncomfortable looking booth next to us.  I thought it odd only because they didn't look like they knew each other all that well and the black man was not really engaged at all with the white guy.  In fact, he seemed purposely distant.

Soon they were joined by a tall brunette with a kick'n body and a so-so face.  She slid in between the two and gave no physical clues that she was "with" either one.  At this point the only strange thing is the odd relationship between the two men.  The woman was in a sexy get-up, but nothing out of place on a Saturday night in the city. 

Then a tall blonde chick was led to the table by the host staff.  She was pretty, but wore what can only be described as a cheap cocktail party dress that was a loud, loud red.  She sat on the other side of the white guy and introduced herself to the brunette as if they had never met.  By now people are staring at the table because the blonde is cozying up to the white guy like they're an item and the brunette is trying to do the same.

A few minutes pass and the host staff delivers two more girls - both are "nines" if you know what I mean (and you do).  One is a brunette in a bustier, short skirt and heels that I'm pretty sure don't come off when sexy time starts.  She had a regrettable tattoo on her shoulder, but nothing too terrible. The other one was half-Asian, full hot and I can't remember exactly what she was wearing.  All I know is that the black guy was now sandwiched between the original brunette and Asian Heat and he didn't seem to be all that excited about it when most people clearly w0uld have been.

At this point every guy in the place has his eyes locked on the two nines and two eights pretending to care about whatever the white guy was animatedly talking about.  It was clear that nobody at the table knew each other well.  It was also clear that the white guy would be holding court and doing all the talking while the girls faux-fawned on him and the black dude just sat there staring off into space.  At that point I realized that that these women were prostitutes. 

Looking at the situation through the lenses of prostitution sunglasses let me unravel the scenario.  The white guy is some kind of mid thirties millionaire - new money millionaire.  Dot com/tech sector type of guy.  Dork in high school, college and even now, but all of sudden rich enough to hire hot women he can disappoint in bed.  I still don't know where the black guy fits in.  And obviously the women, looking back, are easy to spot as high-priced whores.  They look exactly as you would expect and act exactly like you'd expect.  Four women who don't know each other don't hang out with two men they don't know... it just doesn't happen.

Needless to say, my sisters found the situation to be awesome.  A rare glimpse into a world we know nothing about.  Oddly enough, the last time my wife and I were there we saw hookers.  They were with some Middle Eastern guys and the vibe couldn't have been more "Saudi Prince hires every whore in town, leaves prostitution market dry for a week." It was awesome then as well.

I'm not saying you'll see whores on the job if you go to Oya, but... I'm saying the last two times I went there I saw whores on the job.   It's free entertainment if you get tired of watching people from La Plata on a date sharing a burger. 

And one more thing...

Since my wife never reads my blog and therefore their is no recourse for what I write - I'll let the guys in on this secret.  There's a very hot waitress that works there who resembles Posh Spice with a more dumpy frumpy behind, if you know what I mean. She's awesome at locking eyes with all the guys in the room.  Please do fall for the trap because for a second, you think you still go it.  Just don't be to butt hurt when you catch her pulling the same trick with every other guy in the room.  She had me thinking I was Tom Selleck circa 1985 for a minute there and that's something quite special.

Pound the Hill

On Tuesday I had the pleasure of attending a food and wine tasting at Pound the Hill.  Originally a craft coffeehouse, Pound the Hill has since expanded its horizons to include a full-service bistro and wine bar.

Thoughtfully rendered dishes were paired with exquisite lesser-known wines.  Each course was accompanied by an explanation from both the chef and the sommelier.  My favorite nosh of the night was a chilled English pea soup.  Refreshing and bright, it was summer playfulness on the palate.

Pound the Hill's quiet back garden patio is the perfect setting for a relaxing summer meal or intimate party.  I'm just happy their 4-4-4 happy hour is still under wraps -- it's a wonder this place isn't a zoo.  I can't wait to go back.

Pound the Hill
621 Pennsylvania Ave SE
Washington, DC
(202) 621-6765

Au Ban Pain has a shitty $7 sandwich - but you already knew that...

I was forced by time and location to patronize an Au Ban Pain facility (I do not dare demean the word "restaurant" by calling this place one) today.  I got screwed.  I have a feeling I'm not the only one.  Here's my story and a picture of a shitty sandwich.

I'll admit it straight out - I'm a size queen...   Get your mind out of the gutter, assholes - I'm talking about sandwiches here.  Bigger is better.  If you have two sandwiches that are $5 - I'll choose the bigger one every single time.  Hence the reason I'm a huge fan of Jimmy John's.  So, I was more than a little miffed when I saw the selection at Au Ban Pain and the corresponding prices. 

I settled on their "Black Angus Roast Beef & Herb Cheese" sandwich.  I told the little lady behind the counter what I wanted and she told the guy standing next to her and he then told the guy standing next to him who was staring at the ceiling like it was telling him the story of Jesus' ninth birthday party where he turned a mud hut into a bouncy house. 

The daydreamer quickly shot into action by asking for a clarification on what I had ordered.  First he asked the guy next to him and then that guy asked the lady and then the lady asked me.  Apparently there are choices when ordering the sandwich even though the menu clearly states exactly what's on a "Black Angus Roast Beef & Herb Cheese."  To keep things as uncomplicated as possible I told the Mensa trio to make it exactly as it appears on the menu... they all had to look at the menu that was above and behind them. 

At this point I realized that I had a better grasp of the most important detail of their job than they did.  I had actually read the menu when deciding what I wanted - they didn't appear to be able to read. 

A little conference ensued and they came out with a plan.  The daydreamer grabbed a square piece of bread about the size of a child's palm and sliced it more or less in half... actually it was 25/75 with the bottom being the thicker part.  He then rushed the pieces over to the toaster thingy while the other two started laying out the meager ingredients that were to make up my $7 sandwich.

Here's what's supposed to be on the sandwich:

1. bread

2. mustard and mayo

3. roast beef

4. tomato

5. cheese

6. lettuce

Here's what was on my sandwich:

1. bread

2. a hint of mustard

3. three see-through slices of roast beef

4. cheese

5. one lettuce leaf

The tomatoes didn't make it at all and the mayo was forgotten as well. The meat, lettuce and cheese were all stacked together before the bread came out and all the lettuce left the scene as the transfer to the bun was made save for one leaf you can see below.  I was left with a mustard roast beef and cheese sandwich about the size of a McDonald's Egg McMuffin - and about as appetizing. 

There you have it... My crappy sandwich that I paid $7 for because I was pressed for time and nothing else was close.  At Pot Belly I could have had one of their "big" sandwiches for a dollar less and it would have easily been twice the size if this poor excuse for food. Don't even get me started on what Jimmy John's would have hauled out for me for $7. 

What's worse is that I had to do the walk of shame over to the register carrying the edible rip-off of the century to a guy who only asks "do you need a receipt?"  Clearly I don't want a receipt - who the hell wants to remember getting screwed like that?  It's bad enough I'm going to get yelled at by my wife for spending money on lunch, I don't need the receipt hanging around so she can rub my nose in it or post pictures of it to Facebook with the caption "look what my stupid husband did today."

The whole thing was disaster and I'm still hungry and that means I have to go foraging in the refrigerators on other floors hoping to find abandoned food.  And that sucks because if you get caught it's always a very awkward conversation with HR that ends with me doing my earnest impression of Fat Bastard from Austin Powers (I eat because I'm unhappy...) in hopes of generating either pity, laughter or both.  However,  it always seem to come down to what their definition of "abandoned food" is and mine is.  They don't gel.  You don't want to know more... trust me.

Restaurant Review - Cava Mezze again... and again... and again

This blog has a history with the folks over at Cava Mezze.  You might remember THIS.  It was followed by THIS.  Needless to say, Cava Ted probably wasn't planning on sending Brad Kanus a Christmas card this year.  And I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't a staff bounty for giving me a wedgie or a swirlie if I ever dared to darken their doorway.  Thank God nobody knows what I look like. 

The most important part of all that was written about Cava Mezze on this blog before was the fact that no matter what I thought of the place, my wife would be the one making the decision whether or not we'd go eat there.  She loves the place - as I stated.  We went last Saturday.  So there...  My reviews mean shit in the grand scheme of things.

The wife was craving a couple of their dishes and insisted that we head there early during the Clarendon Baby Hour (Saturday and Sunday before 6:00 p.m. -  same as Clarendon Octogenarian Hour) for some eats and drinks.  I told her that I hadn't been in a donnybrook in ages and didn't yearn to break that streak today.  Then I remembered that she doesn't read my blog and therefore has no idea why the staff at Cava Mezze would want to tenderize me with their fists.  So I dropped my opposition to the idea and pouted about the wasted use of "donnybrook" on a conversation that went nowhere. 

We arrived with the Snot Machine and were guided to a back patio area that couldn't have been better suited for dining with a toddler.  It's a shaded and roomy almost completely enclosed courtyard.  Great for any time of the day dining and even better for  private events.  Do check it out.

Things were looking surprisingly good since I gauged from where we were sitting that the kid would have to throw food items pretty far to bother other people and that acoustics were favorable to dampening her random brain shattering screams.  For once daddy needed a drink in celebration of going out to dinner with the Snot Machine, not to cope with going out to dinner with the Snot Machine.

With menus in hand we were immediately greeted by Adam Levine.   Okay, not the Adam Levine, but a guy who looked just like him, but better looking.   Adam Levine if he had decent biceps and a notepad...  I'm secure in with my masculinity - I don't mind admitting that even I thought the guy was better than average looking.  Should I have given him my number?  No, but neither should my wife have either!  Just kidding - I'm not gay and I didn't give him my number... Not sure if my wife did or not - she paid and it took a long time to sign her name (how long does it take to sign "Janis Kanus?")

(Just a note to men out there: Adam Levine is that guy who sings most of those annoying pop songs you hate and the guy your girlfriend/wife thinks of when you are engaged in sexual congress.)

We'll call the waiter "Cava Levine" because I didn't catch his name - I was too busy admiring his perfectly scruffy, but precisely arranged beard.  At this point it didn't really matter what the food was like for my wife.  Cave Levine could bring my wife a plate of worms covered in spiders and she'd love it - because Cava Levine brought it. 

Cava Levine is a very effective tool for separating women from their money without them noticing.  It think they know it too because they kept seating giggling groups of girls on the back patio where Cava Levine was working.  Had Cava Levine had a guitar and a talent for John Mayer knock-offs - bras and panties would have been flying (no, not mine assholes).  Do go just to see Cava Levine - the most beautiful man in Clarendon.

Now to the food.

If you read the other reviews, you'll know that I hate Mezze/Tapas/Midget Appetizers for a myriad of reasons, but the biggest being the requirement that you share your food.  I did not become a disgusting fatass by sharing my food.  Mezze is against my food outlook on food - MINE! I WILL BITE YOU IF YOU TOUCH IT!

The atmosphere on the patio helped me relax and try to open my mind a little.  Besides, it was the day before Father's Day - if I dropped $300 on what I wanted to eat, nobody (my wife) was in a position to complain.  I'm 20 percent sure I'm that baby's father and I'm entitled to one day a year of being an asshole without recourse.  

My wife's biggest craving - and the reason we ended up there - was for a dish not even touched by fire.  A cold dish.  What I thought would be a dull dish. 

You see, I don't always eat Tapas, but when I do - it's hot meat of some kind.  Salsa is not food - it doesn't even count as an appetizer, or against your Weight Watchers points.  Ditto for chopped up olives or other oily vegetable nominally placed in front of you to chew on while you decide how you're going to get your eat on!  That sentence is an indication I was trying way too hard there.  Please disregard the entire effort.

I was wrong about this dish.  It's called "Crazy Feta" and it comes with little straight jacket-shaped pita bread and is arranged on the plate to resemble Charles Manson.  Just kidding!  Or am I?

The Crazy Feta is quite simple,  but tastes like how dating Cava Levine would feel - amazing.  It's aged barrel feta with jalapeno whipped together to make the best "dip and chat" cold appetizer I've ever had.  It's good - really really good.  The feta is salty, creamy and shows signs of it's brine - it's good feta, not the shit Giant sells.  That salty creamy texture is livened with bits of stout jalapenos and cream.  Hot, salty, tangy and hard to stop eating.  Oh, and let me be clear - it's actually hot.  It's not some wimpy little dish with pantywaist peppers meant to give people a false confidence in their ability to ingest spicy food.  It's actually hot enough to make it enjoyable.  There are three ingredients in this masterpiece and you'll recognize them all in every bite - exactly how it should be.  If you happen to be sitting at the bar just for drinks - do yourself a favor and spend the $7 on this plate.

While we snacked on the Crazy Feta we ordered alcohol.  I'm not going to get into the drinks thing because it's a pretty simple thing to get right.  Their wine list covers the taste and price point of their clientele.  Their beer selection is on par with most every other place in Clarendon.  I ordered beer and a bottle of wine because that's how I roll.  In fact, I ordered like five beers and we downed two bottles of wine and sold our kid to a meth addict for $20 and a bottle of Thunderbird.  Only part of that sentence is true - you decide.  No matter the truth - the price was right for what we consumed and we were satisfied.

In a strategy that could have only been aimed at seeing Cava Levine as frequently as possible, my wife ordered the next few dishes one at a time.  I didn't mind, the kid and I were completely engrossed in a newly released Dora the Explorer episode on my iPhone - the delay would allow us to finish the episode and discuss the different plot lines we would have taken. 

First came the orzo because we wanted the kid to share in the feast.  Perfectly cooked, spiced  strategically so that it's more than just pasta impersonating rice and absolutely a great partner to the Crazy Feta.  Yes, the baby liked it too.  

Then came the Braised Lamb Shank in a tomato risotto.  My wife happens to be a lamb connoisseur and she loved it.  I loved it.  The kid never got a chance to love it.  We inhaled that plate like we were being timed.  The lamb was so tender it was hard to tell it texture wise from the risotto.  I don't have to go into further detail - simply order it and enjoy it.  

And that's all I can reliably remembers given this has taken so long to write... shit.  I know we ate some other stuff and we loved it, but I can't really recall everything and I don't want to lie to you.  I tried to ask my wife, but she reminded that I'm only allowed to ask her questions on Thursdays (don't ask). So that's it.  That's all I have.  Sorry if this isn't the traditional way of ending a restaurant review, but what did you expect from me?

Hot guys, spicy cheese, lamb and orzo - it's all at Cava Mezze in Clarendon.  Go there when you get a chance and avoid anything "on the rocks" they charge for ice.   

Check them out http://cavamezze.com/locations/clarendon.

People We Hate/Restaurant Review - District Taco RIPPED ME OFF

Last week I half-ass sang District Taco's praises - at least for their F Street location.  This week I went back to try actual tacos and get more of their queso and I was screwed over like a chump. Here's my story. 

It's raining today so there wasn't a line out the door, which was nice.  The line still took forever.  I blame this on people not knowing how to order or what to order.  No matter - it still kind of sucked, but I had high hopes for the food. 

I ordered - it was a pretty simple order.  I asked for two chicken tacos on flour tortillas with sour cream, cheese and pico de gallo.  I also asked for a "large chips and queso."  I said "large" because they have a small personal queso that is a quarter of the size and half the price.  I wanted the big one because I was going to share with others in my office (bullshit, I was going to eat the whole damn thing by myself, but my story to my wife is that I was sharing).  The cashier confirmed I wanted the $5.50 queso and chips, not the personal queso and chips for $2.50.  We were set and the price I paid reflected what I ordered.  I got my number/object with its name in Spanish.  In this case I had the number 40 and a church (la iglesia). 

I sat out of the way and watched other piggish customers load up at the salsa bar.  There's nothing like free shit to drive DC people wild.  One woman must have made 25 little containers of salsa while I watched and put them in her purse.  Insanity. 

Pretty soon a woman was meekishly (not a real word) calling my number aloud.  I thought "that was fast!"  Not so.  The cashier didn't indicate what "protein" I wanted on my taco and the kitchen needed to know the answer.  Look at my receipt -  Download Taco rip-off.  Sure enough - the genuis taking the order left off the most important part of the equation.  I'm pretty sure the cure for cancer isn't rolling around in that asshole's head if can't get that task right.  Don't ask him to do anything complicated like count change...  Nevermind. 

I figured that once the taco protein situation was squared away that things would be alright.  I was wrong.  I was wrong like 70s vehicle design wrong.  And I wouldn't know it until it was too late.

It's a pretty hectic scene in there because the layout sucks and the order delivery system sucks  So when my number did get called and my order was delivered, there really was no time to sit and go through the bag to check and make sure they did what they're supposed to do.  Besides, I shouldn't have to check their work - it's not my job.  I have to believe that they're capable of delivering me what I ordered because that's half the battle in the restaurant business. 

I slogged through the rain as fast as I could behind a gaggle of assholes who apparently thought it was a sunny Sunday afternoon in Mobile, Alabama (walking slower than southerners talk is what I'm getting at here).  I got to my office just in time to inhale the food and get to my next meeting.  I was in a word - "excited."  I was trying to clap and open the bag at the same time because I was that excited.  Too bad they shit on my picnic.

When I got the bag open the queso container was tiny.  So tiny in fact that I laughed out loud.  Who would ever want this little dab of queso?  I figured it was a joke or they just put my large queso order in a bunch of small containers because they ran out of the big ones.  WRONG.  That was all the f*cking queso in the f*cking bag.  Do you remember at the end of Braveheart when William Wallace is being tortured to death and screams out in pain?  I did that, but louder.  For at least a minute longer.  And things just got worse from there.

I unwrapped the tacos to find that one had sour cream, cheese and chicken - no pico de gallo.  The other one just had sour cream and chicken - that's it - no cheese and no pico de gallo.  Not only did they f*ck up my tacos - they couldn't even f*ck them up consistently.  They literally suck at sucking.  They are bad at being bad. They are shitty at being shitty.  They are crappy... you get the idea. 

At this point I had to make a choice.  I could blow-off my meeting with the corner office folks and march over to District Taco and demand they make things right (read: lose my job, but get to have a very public meltdown)... Or I could sit there like a little bitch, eat my tacos and forget about it.  It wasn't until one second later that I remembered that I have a blog with literally tens of readers, and you have what you have here now.

I paid exactly $11.00 for this wallet raping, soul crushing lesson in honesty and integrity and how the taco industry obviously has neither (Download Card receipt).  

 They gave me the $2.25 queso.  I paid for the $5.50 queso.  I figure not a lot of people get the big queso so the people in the kitchen don't pay much attention to what is written on the order.  Maybe they're just confused because the menu doesn't really do a good job of designating between the two sizes of queso.  Either way - I got ripped off by lazy staff and shitty management. 

The messed up taco order didn't cost me anything because the toppings were included in the price of each $2.25 taco.  However, it's just a laziness not to get it right and I'm pissed I paid for their half-assed effort.  Had they got the queso order right and the tacos wrong, I would have been okay just dipping the screwed up tacos in the queso as a consolation prize.  The thimble sized container of queso they gave me was too small to even contemplate that move.   Here's a picture of the offending queso container -  View this photo.

I know what you're thinking - "Well, Brad it was only a couple of bucks, less than 25 percent of the bill - what's the big deal?"   I'll tell you what the big deal is.  My wife hates it when I spend money on lunch.  HATES IT!  So when I decide to go purchase lunch I'm doing so knowing I'm going to get my ass reamed by that lovely lady who shares a room and a child with me.  No sooner than I had left the front door of District Taco with my messed up order I already had a text message from my wife asking me "WTF are u doing buying lunch dipshit?"  So it really pisses me off when I put my ass on the line for some queso and District Taco doesn't come through! Can you imagine what she'd do to me if she found out I got ripped off?  I have to lie to cover my ass and in turn cover District Taco's ass and I really don't want to do that, but divorces are expensive and I'm not good at dating, so I'll do it. 

But District Taco will stand judged by the DC blog lurkers who come upon this post and I hope they feel the pain I have felt today (they won't - they have access to all the queso they could ever want already). 

Restaurant Review - District Taco

When have tacos not been "in" when it comes to the culinary scene?  Never.  I'm surprised DC hasn't been inundated with the world wide "street taco" phenomenon yet. (Should it be "inundated by" instead or "inundated with?")(Educated in the public school system -  lucky I'm not drooling uncontrollably right now much less spelling words of any kind correctly.)

District Taco started out like most taco producing places - in a truck.   They impressed enough people with their tacos that they were able to open two static locations - one in the district and one in a place where the name makes no sense - almost in Falls Church.  Technically it's in Arlington, but it's far enough into Arlington that it would make DC people breakout in hives, so it's actually Falls Church.

It lives in the internets HERE.

I went to the location at 13th and F - that's NW because I don't do SE, SW, NE or Maryland.  The place was packed.  Line out the door with district Taco staffer herding the crowd back against the wall and managing the blockage of the doorway so that fat and happy customers could make their way out into the open air to burp and fart their way back to their cubicles.  It was a lovely snapshot of urban life, if I may say so myself.  And I may.

The line goes pretty fast and that's because the owners aren't traditional restaurant guys. The little operational things you'll notice show that these guys are willing to think... oh shit, here it comes... I can't stop it... dammit... outside the box.  I should quit now.  Can not believe I just used the phrase "think outside the box."  I have failed at life... If you never read this blog again, I can't blame you for that decision. 

Shame...

Back to the task at hand.

I didn't order tacos.  Yep, I went to a taco place and didn't order tacos.  I'm that guy.  However,  I  know that no matter how good their stuff is, you're allowed to f*ck up your own meal by ordering whatever you want on top of the base - a protein and corn tortilla.  I can't help it if you put crap you don't like on top of the perfectly seasoned chicken breast - that's your problem, not mine and not District Taco's.  Your experience is in your hands.

I instead I ordered the burrito- the "mojado." I hate that word.  I hate I had to write it and I'm not joking around.  You see, I'm from the border of Texas and Mexico and "mojado" is another way of saying "wet back."  It's the derogatory equivalent of "wet" in Spanish.  It means "wet," but it doesn't really mean "wet."  People in El Paso, McAllen and everybody else on the border would be quite offended by the use of the word - even if these guys don't mean in it that way.  I would never ever use that word in front of someone of Mexican descent by itself and I would be damn careful how I used it in a sentence.   It's a very touchy word for a lot of people in this country these days.  I would advise them to steer clear of it.

After receiving the burrito I got why they call it "mojado" - it's served "wet."  It's smothered in a tomato sauce type salsa type liquid that is not spicy... it's spaghetti sauce for intents and purposes. So that makes the burrito like a very large enchilada with a flour tortilla instead of corn.  It's presented like a platter with chopped tomatoes and lettuce nestled beside the behemoth sack of beans, chicken and rice.  It's a fork and knife only ordeal.  It's a tie wrecker too - be careful.

Taste wise - it's not going to beat the reigning king of the gigantic burrito, Chipotle, but it's not bad.  The rice, black beans and protein (chicken, beef, pork, platypus or rattlesnake) mix well and make for a hearty meal.  With the "smothered" concept in play, this may be your cup of tea - it is not mine.  I also didn't like the fact that they claim it has sour cream on it, but only put a few pencil thin stripes on the whole mess to give it a jazzy, sophisticated look.  Nobody wants a dash of sour cream - people want a bowl full.  I felt a little ripped off by that part.   I mean, you're putting together a 15,000 calorie fat bomb - why skimp on the sour cream?

The real pleaser was the chips and queso.  I ordered the big size that costs $5.50 and tastes like $550!  For $.50 they'll plop some chorizo or bacon in the middle because if you're going to be bad, you might as well go on a multi-state crime spree while you're at it (please don't).  It's perfectly creamy with just the right white hue to make you think it's Mexican farm cheese based.  Authentic?  No - it's better.   Go there and order it.  Do it now.   God forbid something terrible happens and you never get to taste this cheesy goodness.  I don't care if you're lactose intolerant - eat it!  The upside is so worth the downside. 

Chips appear to be made on site - greasy crispy awesomeness.  They don't have to be great since their friend Mr. Queso is so perfect, but it helps that they are.  When the paper bags carrying the chips show grease - you know you have a something special waiting for you.

I'll go back to get some tacos.  However, there is one thing they could work on.

Their ordering system is kind of unique.  You have a couple of guys at registers who enter what you want and give you a little card with a number and some kind of object on it with its name in Spanish.  It's kind of cool that you get to learn how to say "banana" in Spanish - which is "bananano" - just kidding... I think. 

The card with the number and object with Spanish name for it serve as your ticket to get your meal.  You walk toward the back of the place where there's a busy kitchen and four mouse-voiced women who call out your number/object and bring you your food.  These women spoke in voices that were a little softer than a whisper.  They darted through the crowd trying to catch a peek at everyone's card in lieu of raising their respective voices. This makes things a little hectic in the waiting area.  They'd do well to find some loud-mouthed people to scream the numbers/objects in Spanish to the crowd and have the lucky winner come forward to claim his or her prize. 

Surprisingly that's my only complaint.  They can just keep doing what they do and be very successful.  Although, I wish they'd rename that burrito.  I was thinking they could name it "Bob" after Ritchie Valens' brother in the movie La Bamba - seems nobody every did anything for Bob but treat him like a dog.  It would be a nice consolation prize for Bob.

Another one bites the dust in Clarendon - another shocking failure

A place I know as "3" in Clarendon has closed its doors following the demise of another Clarendon staple - Market Tavern.  I didn't know until I did a little searching on the internet that the restaurant's name was actually "Restaurant 3" and "3 Bar & Grill."  Check out the name mess HERE.

I suppose not being able to agree on the name of the place is not a good sign for the future success of any restaurant or business.  Maybe it means nothing, but it seems weird to me.  I may change my name to Brad, Bradford and Bradley just to see how that works.

If you don't know "3" then you don't know that it was a pork/bacon place.  I can assume that making bacon your theme at the height of the bacon trend (bacobonanza) four and a half years ago was probably a pretty safe bet.  The key word being "trend" in that last sentence.  Restaurants built around a trend need to be aware that trends stop trending and new things become trendy.   They needed to find whatever the new bacon was two years ago and switch direction toward whatever that was (I'm thinking the chicken and waffles bonanza of 2010 that's just hitting DC now). 

I liked the place and my wife and I were there last Thursday night with the snot machine celebrating someone not dying (long story, but a good one).  We sat on their patio and had appetizers, beer and wine.  A guy name "Mike" was working the patio and he was hands down the best waiter we'd had anywhere in a long time.  And maybe Mike was so attentive because the place pretty much empty.  So empty in fact, that I told my wife that they weren't going to survive... and they didn't.  Bottom line - find Mike and hire him!

I'm not too worried about the owners and their financial loss.  If you took time to read their menu and could decipher the terrible writing, you'd know the owners also own Whitlow's... so yeah - they're not hurting.  Whitlow's added a rooftop bar and pretty much make a gazillion dollars every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night.  The line for this Thursday evening started yesterday.

I have already talked about how hard it is not to be wildly succesful in Clarendon HERE.

I have a hunch that the owners aren't done with that location, but may instead by retooling the place for a new concept... a few years too late, but better late than never.  It's prime real estate and whatever you put there will have that "new" sticker slapped on it and the Clarendon Sheep will pack in there like... sheep and spend their money like sailors in port every Thursday through Saturday. 

I will suggest to the new owners that they should put the bar on the side of the building that faces the main drag.  Your Clarendon crowd is a "see and be seen" group and they need to see who is cruising Arlington's A1A while they drink.  Put the regular dining (with huge roll up doors for nice weather) and outside dining facing the side street so they don't have to ingest fumes from the buses as they chow down on whatever the new theme ingredient is.

Just a quick note:

You said "BEACH FRONT AVENUE" in your head after reading  a sentence in that last paragrph, didn't you... girls were hot wearing less than bikinis... go ahead - you can finish it.  Put the headphones on and pull it up on your iPod.  Don't pretend we don't all own that song. 

That is all.

Harry's Tap Room/Market Tavern - Epic Clarendon FAIL!

I was out last night walking the dog and pushing my kid around Clarendon like I do most evenings and noticed something amiss at Market Tavern.  It was empty! On a Thursday!  In Clarendon!  WTF? 

A very warm note posted on the front door explained that they had thrown in the towel - their last meal at that location had been served.  They thanked the people of the neighborhood and complimented the area on it's booming culinary economy.  It was a thoughtful goodbye from what had to be a very angry and frustrated group of investors.  Sadly, that's about the only thing they ever did right there.  Here's the note View this photo.

Let's take a walk through the forest of failure and see what went wrong here.

Market Tavern used to be Harry's Tap Room.  In late 2011 the owner did a major overhaul of the old Harry's decor and transformed the place into Market Tavern.  And by "major overhaul," I mean - they ripped down one wall and painted gigantic cows on the remaining walls.  It was one last effort at saving a place they tried so hard to kill since it opened in 2003.  Unfortunately you can't "unf*ck the football team" as my Mom used to say when making a point about how your past bad showings have a lasting  effect on how people view you.  I think her saying is perfect for the Harry's Tap Room/Market Tavern failure in Clarendon and we'll get to that in a minute.

The thing about Clarendon is that you don't have to try very hard to do well with a restaurant.  Restaurants in out-of-the-way places have to be perfect in order to attract people to their location.  In Clarendon there are too few restaurants for the amount of people who live in the area.  This means that by default restaurants do pretty well.   It also means they aren't charged with doing anything superior in order to survive and that's how an entire zip code ends up with shitty eateries.  Clarendon is dangerously close to being a place known as a model high density walkable community with some of the worst food options around.   

Just look at the crap that survives in Clarendon now.

Cheesecake Factory - it's all the shitty things about American chain restaurant dining gathered in one place.  Everything about the place is designed around increasing the bottom line profit.  Food and people come in a far second and third to the "experience" of being separated from  your money in exchange for what they mislabel as "food."   The restaurant has a warehouse loading dock attached to the building where tons of frozen shit is brought in daily to be prepared by passionless assembly line workers who care about as much about your dining experience as they do about washing their hands after pooping - which is to say, not very much.   The place is packed from the second the doors open until close.

Ri Ra - Shitty food meets astronomical high prices in this modern American take on an Irish pub that leaves both  groups of people embarrassed for themselves.  These assholes even charge a cover!  Packed every second of every day.  I really can't explain how crappy this place really is - there aren't words that exist that do it justice.

Liberty Tavern - Flat-bread-pizza-looking things that resemble what you see on TV, but taste like something you find in a TV dinner box.  Very expensive - poorly designed and executed menu.  On a scale of 1 to blah - it's a blah blah.   There's likely a line out the door to get in as you read this.

The point I'm making here is simple - you got to be very very very very bad to not make it in Clarendon.  And I can tell you, Harry's Tap Room was very very very very very bad.  People will put up with a lot of shit, but there's a limit on how much and for how long.  Right now they're charging $1 for ice in Clarendon.  You might remember me writing about that BS HERE.  That's still not enough to scare customers away.  You have to try hard to fail in Clarendon.

I went to Harry's Tap Room in 2003/2004 several times.  It was expensive as hell, the food was the definition of "whatever" and the service wasn't memorable.  I didn't return until the summer of 2011 and it was more of a coincidence of timing than anything else that led me there.  The wife and I were meeting another couple and lines got crossed so we had a few minutes to kill and were standing outside the place - we decided to sit down and have a drink. 

Our initial reaction was the same - looks like they haven't cleaned or updated this place in ten years.  Ceiling tiles were water stained and wood trim pieces beaten and scarred all over the place.  It was still stupidly expensive and lacked quality and variety on the drink menu.  You got the feeling this was the restaurant the owner forgot he owned and just let it go. 

The couple we met for dinner asked us about our short stop into the place and they echoed our complaints having been there recently as well.  They had decided to try the place again after a five year hiatus from the place.  They explained that they had eaten at every other place on the block a dozen or more times in the past five years, but never there.  Their trip back was no surprise - Harry's Tap Room still sucked. 

Unfortunately the owners really didn't understand how much damage they had done to the location.  When they repackaged the place as "Market Tavern" in late 2011, it failed to fool anyone.  Even if I thought my first trip to Market Tavern was far superior to any experience I had at Harry's Tap Room, the stink couldn't be washed off of the place.  In a mere six months the plane was in a dive the pilot couldn't recover from.  An almost impossible thing happened and I'm still unsure how exactly they managed to screw it up that badly. 

There's a promise of a new concept coming to the location.  I'm going to assume by the tone of the letter posted in the window that the same owner is coming back with yet another restaurant.  I can't think of any other reason to post that letter and promulgate that goodwill unless that's the plan.  Let's hope he does much better than he did this last - and in all honesty, it shouldn't be that hard with the hoards of hungry 20 and 30-somethings with money burning holes in their pockets.

I do have one thought about a new place, though. Where they're going to have trouble is not understanding their customers. Clarendon people love to see and be seen.  They do not like being tucked away upstairs where they can't have one eye on the bar crowd and one on the street - and vice versa.  If they try to use that upstairs space as the main dining area again, they're going to lose again.  I don't know how to fix the problem, but I can tell you that's definitely a problem. 

Someday we'll talk about the bigger picture and how Clarendon's culinary future looks more ballpark concession stand than dining destination.  Too many people concentrated in one place without discriminating palates create a disasterous  food culture.  As Clarendon grows and its restaurant scene refuses to, it's likely to jump the shark in a culinary sense - and that would be the opposite of good.

(I totally wanted this to be way better than it was, but it took my three days to write and I just lost all the will to care about it.  This is as half-assed as Harry's Tap Room was.  My apologies.)

Restaurant Review - El Centro D.F.

Jesus H. Christ I was so inspired to write this review on the metro this evening and now I'm not the least bit interested.  We shall carry on.

El Centro D.F. (let's cut the D.F. from here on out, okay?) lives HERE on the internet and at 1819 14th Street NW - near the Black Cat.

It's Mexican food... or more precisely, the famous Richard Sandoval's take on Mexican food.  Is it authentic?  No.  There's no such thing as "authentic" when it comes to Mexican food.  Believe me, I'm from the border and can tell you that "Mexican food" really is just a core idea of how to use the few things people in northern Mexico had at their disposal.  

The essence of Mexican food is its simplicity - no complicated lists of hard to find ingredients and very simple ways in which to prepare the food.  It's cheap, easy and most importantly - pretty good for what it really is. 

"High end Mexican" food really makes me laugh.  It's as if the owners of Rosa Mexicana think that Mexicans go out on their birthday and eat really tiny, expensive versions of their normal cuisine.  The truth is that just like in America, Mexicans eat steak and lobster when they want to get fancy. They also love fine Americanized Italian cuisine.  What we know as "Mexican food" is comfort food for them.   Paying out that ass for a tiny taco because you don't understand the culture is stupid.  

So, when I saw El Centro's menu and the prices - I was excited.  For once a quality name was doing Mexican and it wasn't $25 a plate.  I would not be disappointed. 

I got to the place early because that's what I do.  I was meeting my wife and some friends and wanted to scope the place out minus their bullshit.  It was the best move I've made in a while. 

When you enter the place you feel like you are entering the set of a movie where a Mexican cantina scene is about to be filmed.  Rough looking (but heavily shellacked) tall tables, exposed brick walls backed by a walk up kitchen and darkened traditional height tables greet your eyes from the bright high ceiling entrance.  A staircase on your right flies upstairs to a rooftop bar that we'll explore last (terrible sentence - I hate that I wrote that). 

Part of the exposed, walk up kitchen's charm is the small L-shaped bar opposite of the front door tucked away behind all the stainless steel kitchen stuff. From this vantage point you can watch everything being made as it is ordered.  And that's cool.  That's brave. That's crazy.  That's the reason you should love this place - they're not afraid to make their food in front of you.  

I sat with a Negro Modelo (remembering when I drank them in Juarez for $.25 a pop and hating that I now pay $6 for the privilege of drinking Mexico's shot at the original Michelob) at the little bar watching the men in the kitchen do their thing.  I highly recommend doing exactly this when you go.

They make most everything on the fly.  Chicken breasts are constantly being seared in sauce pans and set aside to keep up with the high demand and longer prep time.  Warm tortillas of the corn and flour variety reside in a sealed steam chamber-thingy and are never waiting long before they become the three sides to a taco or the death blanket of a tasty enchilada.  You will no doubt watch them make something you will decide you have to eat.  It's ten times better than surfing a menu and having your imagination do the reality of each dish no justice. 

By the time the rest of my party showed up I was pretty sure I knew exactly what I wanted.  It's called "Chicken Zarape" and it's one of the best dishes I've ever had. 

Chicken Zarape is rice on one side, refried beans on the other with a chicken breast in the middle.  Of course, it's not exactly that simple of a dish, but it's not all that much more complicated than that either.  Remember, this is Mexican food, not rocket science.

The moist, tender chicken is treated with a chipotle sauce, cheese, bacon and pico degallo.  The white rice is first placed in a pan, bathed in cream and then dusted with a little of this and a little of that (I couldn't tell exactly what was being added from my vantage point) while it's heated to serving temperature.  It's probably the best rice I've ever had in my life.  I could eat it alone three times a day and die happy.  And I noticed that others enjoyed it as much I did because they were ordering the same dish with rice flanking the chicken on both sides in place of the refried beans.  And it's not because the beans aren't good - they are.  The rice is just that damn good you're forced to forgo the frijoles. 

My only complaint - the chicken breast wasn't completely trimmed and I was forced to spit a bite out into a napkin, which I hate doing with a passion.  It's gross.  If I see someone else at the table do it, I'm done eating.  I can only assume it affects others the same way.  The general rule with chicken is that if the diner needs to trim the meat from the bone and connective tissue - don't cover it with a sauce so that you can't see what you are doing.  If it's covered in sauce - it better be 100 percent meat. 

The rest of the table had tacos with various fillings.  All were good. Nobody had a complaint.  I wish I had more of a sexy rundown on the tacos for you, but they're tacos - there's not a lot to get into there.  If what you put in the center is prepared well, it's a good taco. 

The Chicken Enchilada Divorciadas looked amazing as I watched them prepare them in the kitchen.  It's two enchiladas filled with chopped and slopped chicken (dipped in a sauce) and covered with two kinds of sauces that make it one kind of awesome.  This will be the next thing I order there. 

Now for all the other stuff...

They claim to make the guacamole table side.  That's not quite true and that's fantastic.  There is nothing more useless than Rosa Mexicana's table side guacamole charade.  At the end of the day it tastes the same, but you get charged more for getting to watch.  That's stupid. 

At El Centro they literally mix the guacamole at your table as it is being delivered.  You're in control of the heat - mild, hot and hotter are you choices.  The difference between them is simply how much pico degallo they add.   It's good stuff and you can customize it to the different tastes at  your table.  Although at almost $10 a pop you'll be saying "holy guacamole" when the bill comes.

The place is popular - walking in for dinner means a wait.  Although, they're pretty good at fitting you in.  By "fitting you in" I mean literally "fitting you in."  The have several long high top tables that seat around eight.  If you're dining six, they'll put two people you don't know at your table.  It's weird. 

The bathrooms  are unisex and both are one holers.  This sucks for women (lots and lots of seat pee).  This isn't great for men.  It's an old building and I guess they make do with what they have.  Hold it if you can.

I was luckily not told about the rooftop deck and bar when I arrived early.  Had the hostess sent me up there I would have never seen the awesome inner workings of their kitchen.  However, it's a nice bar and deck area.  I'm not sure they serve food up there, but it's worth going up there to have an over-priced Mexican beer and pretend you're culturally aware for a bit.

The Tequila menu is filled with disgusting ripoffs and you should avoid it at all cost.  To be fair - all Tequila north of Mexico is a ripoff. 

The truth about Tequila is not something you want to hear, but you should arm yourself with this knowledge so you don't look like an asshole in front of someone like me. 

In Mexico there are a severely limited number of places where Tequila is actually made.  In fact - there are way more brands of Tequila on the market than there are distilleries that make the stuff.  This means a lot of the different brands are actually the same exact thing.   Maybe they tweak something here and there after it has been distilled and before it gets put in the bottle, but it's all basically the same crap.  Go to Puerta Vallarta and take a tour - you'll never think of Tequila the same afterward. 

The funniest thing is that any asshole with some money can have his or her own brand of Tequila.  People in Los Angeles have been doing this for years.   Order your custom bottle and label and have them shipped to one of the few distilleries in Mexico and they'll fill them up and ship them back and you're in business.  All you have to do is win the marketing game from there.  The explosion of brands since 2000 is evidence of this practice and we all fell for it.  Everybody is selling the same thing in a different package and we're running around like we think we can tell the difference! Dumb.

Don't let that get you down, though.  Most people in Mexico don't swill Tequila while enjoying tacos, so you're not losing out on the representation of the real experience. 

Do go eat at El Centro.  Sit with people you don't know, drink expensive shitty Mexican beer and enjoy some really really good food. 

Sorry this sucked, but I was really not feeling it...

Restaurant Review - Jackson 20

Jackson 20 (or J20 if you're a regular) lives on the internet HERE and the postman delivers their mail to  480 King Street, Alexandria , VA 22314.  Yes, I know... it's in Alexandria.  It's worth the trip, trust me.  And the last time I checked, all roads leading into Alexandria have return lanes, so you're not stuck in 1998 forever.

This is going to be a rather short and sweet review.  I enjoyed the place. I enjoyed the food.  I enjoyed the simplicity and therefore shall honor that simplicity with something simplistic of my own.

Jackson 20 is adjacent to, or part of the, the lobby of the Hotel Monaco in Alexandria.  This makes for a very international crowd.  French men in capri pants are to be seen any time of year... if you're into that. 

Like every other place not named "McDonald's," Jackson 20 prides itself on "locally sourced" food.  Good for them.  I really don't give a damn if it came from a farm down the street or one in Ixtapa, Mexico - as long as it's good.  However, if the promise of local food makes a place high in your list, count J20 in.

The atmosphere is dark, loud and wooden. There's something middle ages about the place that I can't quite put my finger on.  Maybe it was the leather and metal menus that were probably some of the coolest I've seen in a while.  I thought about taking one for my collection, but felt it was actually valuable and didn't want to be met a the door by a cop wanting to know why I steal menus. 

My wife found the walk from the front door to the table rather informative.  She shopped every table she went by noting what looked good and her list was rather long.  She wanted the pork sliders (a trio of BBQ, fresh bacon and pig head on sweet potato biscuits), the shrimp fritters (no longer on the menu for some reason), the ribs and the fried chicken.  Not being one to tell my wife "no," I told our guests what they'd be having for appetizers and dinner.   They ended up very happy.

I had the the Virginia Cheddar Macaroni & Cheese with Bacon and Country Ham (don't get the city ham, it's pretentious and prissy).  It was a salty, saucy satisfying mac & cheese dish in a culinary era where the dish is done wrong more often than right.  It had a perfectly plate-like bread crust on top that proved the to be the perfect partner to the creamy center (alliteration is annoying, sorry).  Damn good.   Even better the next day (big portions). 

We also ordered the Pork Chop and were very impressed with the sweet and salty qualities of the perfectly prepared hunk of pork.  It's smothered in this bacon and sugar infused molasses that was so good it would be worth bottling and selling by itself at the hostess station.

Overall they get an A+ for the food.

The other noteworthy item about J20 is the beer list.  It's not the biggest, but it's big.  It's split into to parts - "beer" and "big beers." J20 features five beers on tap with four being from Virginia (locally sourced!) and one from somewhere else.  They've got 30 hoity toity hipster snob beers in cans in bottles with the most expensive being $8 and the majority being $6.  Their "big beers" are actually the large bottled beers you're starting to see gain a little popularity - they run up to $30 per bottle and guaranteed to make you look like an asshole for ordering it. 

If I were you, I wouldn't go to Alexandria.  However, if you have to go to Alexandria, you need to go to Jackson 20.  We went there on a whim - literally found it out of convenience and were very happy with place.  We plan on going back to enjoy the lovely bar scene next month when we have friends in town staying at the Monaco because we don't like them enough to let them stay with us.  I can not wait to have the sliders again. 

Restaurant Review - The Hamilton... Another Look

A few weeks ago our lovely contributor and editor, Domnicella wrote up the newish eatery HERE.  You can catch all of her snarky food and stuff HERE.  My take on the place starts below this sentence. 

What you need to know before we start...

The Hamilton is owned by the same folks who own Clyde's and Old Ebbitt.  As you know, not a negative word can ever be uttered/written about either eatery and if you've read the reviews in the major locals lately, the trend continues with this juggernaut of a restaurant/bar/Wal-Mart/concert venue.

It doesn't matter that Clyde's has taken a serious turn for the worse and Old Ebbitt's regular gig is mugging sunburned tourists who relish in the fact they are masticating close to the White House.  The Clyde's Restaurant group is finished with the quality stage of their life and has moved onto the more fruitful quantity stage as their latest effort proves.  These sacrosanct DC institutions are above reproach and not a dirty word shall be cast toward them.  Lucky for you, I'm a honey badger and honey badgers don't give a shit.

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The Hamilton lives on the internet HERE.  The Hamilton lives in the real world at 600 14th Street, N.W. Washington, DC 20005.

I've eaten at the Hamilton roughly 15 times since the first of the year.  There are two reason for this:

1. It's close to my office.

2. It's new and everyone wants to try it.

Since I'm close and everyone wants to try the place, I'm stuck going all the time (remind me to tell you about the time I went to Fogo De Chao four times in one week).  That's not all bad since I now know the place very well - much better than some star struck professional food critic who burns through the place because he or she knows you don't piss on a Clyde's establishment in DC and keep your job.

Here's the deal...

First of all, the name is misleading.  The Mayflower, The Willard,The Jefferson and The Hamilton - which one does not belong?  The Hamilton - it's a restaurant and the others are hotels.  My lunch dates have been lost more than once because they were looking for a hotel with a restaurant inside, not a restaurant with a hotel's name.  If you're meeting someone at the restaurant and they're late, you might ask them if they're standing a few blocks away in the lobby of the Hamilton Crowne Plaza Hotel and then direct them to the other Hamilton down the street.

The place is big - really really really big.  There are two large bar areas with a large dining room sandwiched between them and that's just the east wing of the place.  The west wing is a gigantic dining room that feels more formal, but serves the same food. Of course they've got the obligatory private rooms and bars galore because it’s DC and private events are staple.  And there’s a large basement music venue as well.  The place is massive.

I always enter on the 14th street side and greeted by approximately six Hamilton employees milling around at a very awkwardly positioned host station.  They've all got Secret Service-like wires in their ears and you're not sure if they're going to seat you or frisk you.  Undoubtedly you will feel overwhelmed upon entering because there are simply way too many people standing near the door.   I think they mob you for your own safety - the place is huge and you could get lost if you don't have a compass and a good map.

The decor is wood... lots and lots of wood and a very high ceiling.  And more wood. It's new, nice and wooden - you'll love it.  It's an entire forest shellacked and pinned to the giant walls for your enjoyment.

The menu is very Clyde's-esque: huge.  You've got a lot to choose from and you fear that they do a lot of things, but none of them well.  That's not true - they do a few things well.   However, they don't do them consistently and we'll get to that.

You can't mess up charcuterie and cheese trays.  They do both of them and offer a wide selection for those of you who like to pick and peck your way through over-priced drinks.  Both the cheese and cold meats are exclusively American born and are diverse in flavor and form.  I highly recommend you don't order cheese trays because it makes you look like an asshole, but if you have to... The Hamilton is a good place to do it.

The rest of the food is what you make of it.  Nothing on the menu (and of their different menus -lunch, dinner, brunch, late night, last night or next week) stands out as a "signature dish" defining the place.  Although a slice of a Southern Yellow Pine with some maple syrup for folks to gnaw on would fit.  I truly believe they offer a little something for everybody so don't be afraid to invite your picky friends.

They offer sushi and are bold enough to have a little sushi bar right in the middle of the place.  Oddly, it's pretty damn good for something so out of place in that restaurant atmosphere.  Try the "fish and chips" sushi roll and let sweet potato flakes on sushi blow your mind.
Outside of the sushi, here's what I've had and what I thought:

The Hamilton Burger - It's a burger.  It has cheddar cheese that is apparently from Vermont, which means something, but I'm not sure what.  Comes with a fried egg.  They will ask you what temperature you prefer, note it in their little book and then deliver you a burger cooked medium.  I hope you like medium.

Sweet Potato Fries - I don't care for sweet potato fries anywhere, but my coworker does and she says The Hamilton's rank in her top five.

Baked Fish & Chips - It's flounder in the middle, buttered breadcrumbs on the outside and $20 on the bill - total rip-off.

Ramen - A restaurant brave enough to name their dish within proximity of the supermarket sodium noodle bash must knock it out of the park.  It's good.  Has pulled pork, noodles, nori (strips of seaweed), hoity toity bacon, poached egg and mushrooms - not necessarily in that order or ever all at the same time... more on that in a minute because it's a part of a bigger picture here.

Swanky Grilled Cheese - Probably the easiest thing they do and one of the best.  Sweet meets salty and creamy and they lived happily ever after.  It's $9 and comes with a pickle spear - that's it.

There are two main problems I have with the food - it's not always on time and it's almost never consistent. 

Sit at the end of the middle bar where the servers fill out drink orders during the lunch rush and you'll get a sense things are quite chaotic.  I have yet to eat there and not witness someone get angry about the time it has taken to bring out their food.  In fact - just last week two guys at the bar walked out because they had to go and their food was nowhere in sight.  I had arrived with a friend after them and was served my food roughly ten minutes before they decided to cut their losses and head back to the office hungry.  This is something that happens all of the time at the Hamilton and it hasn't gotten better as they've gotten older and more experienced. 

The second problem is the consistency in the food.  I almost always order the Ramen these days because I like the general taste and it's exciting to see what they put in, or leave out of it each visit.  Sometimes it comes with a poached egg, sometimes not.  Same goes with the Nori and the scallions.  The mushrooms vary in make, model and quantity.  Infrequently the top of the noodle soup sports a dressy edible coral reef looking thing that really ties the whole dish together.  Order the Ramen at the middle bar and the man in the apron will offer you some "red rooster" hot sauce that really improves an already pretty good dish.  In any other part of the place they'll tell you that they don't have that hot sauce anywhere.  Chopsticks and the big boat spoon you'd expect with the dish are present half of the time.   They ought call it the "box of chocolates" instead of Ramen because you never know what you are going to get. 

Both problems I'm sure are products of the sheer number of asses in seats in the various dining rooms and the overwhelmed kitchen that has to try to keep up with all of them.  I've always wanted to describe something as a "Herculean task," so I'll do so right now.  Feeding all those people in a consistent, timely manner is a Herculean task.  Too bad the owners can't find anyone with a Hercules-like resume to help them out. 

The truth about the food - one out of four times it's not going to be up to your standards or it's going to be very long wait to receive it.

If you'd like to get an idea of the size and scope of the place - go to the bathroom.  The revelation of just how big of an operation they've got going there will hit you about the time you step into the long hallway where the bathrooms are located.  Besides being a path to relief for diners, it's the main artery from the kitchen and busing stations to everywhere else. It's busier than a New York City sidewalk.  Waiters, bus boys and flocks of people with earpieces fly up and down the hall at a break neck pace.  Trays of new food fly past bins of discarded food in the opposite direction - you have to wonder if there are ever fantastic accidents that look like they're right out of a Hollywood film.  My advice to you - stay out of the way and if you're with children, tell them to hold it.

I didn't want to have to talk about the bathrooms, but since I brought them up, why not?  The bathrooms are odd.  Kinda big, kinda laid out counter intuitively and there's a part-time bathroom attendent who kind of twits about doing nothing more than making sure nothing truly disgusting is left behind.  The biggest problem is that they don't have paper towels to dry your hands off with.  They have those stupid blow dryers that just push the water around on your hands.

If you're going to charge me $12 for a burger that is 70 percent bun and doesn't come with a side, you can spring for paper towels.  Hell, if you've got a guy whose only job is to stand around and watch me pee, you can probably afford paper towels. 

(FYI - if you want a "burger and fries" at The Hamilton, it's going to set you back $17.   Bobby Van's behemoth burger is $15 and that includes a pile of fries that will make your cardiologist piss his pants.)

My overall grade for the place isn't high.  If The Hamilton was someone you went to high school with, it would be that charismatic "C student" who had flash, style and nothing of substance to offer.  If I were you, I'd go at least once to see what all the fuss is about.

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Quick note on the concert venue

The guests list reads like a "who's who" of  the "nobody I've ever heard of network."  I might be enticed to go hear the music if it was free and the beer was heavily discounted.  Hell, I might pay full price for the beer if there was a guarantee of paper towels in the bathroom

Restaurant Review: The Hamilton

The Hamilton is a colossal restaurant, occupying the cavernous space that was once a Borders bookstore.  The space is sumptuously adorned with gleaming wood on seemingly every surface, complemented by warm hues throughout.  Gorgeously executed, Clyde’s Restaurant Group was clearly not shy about dumping boatloads of money into this place.  Unfortunately, our awe ended there.

Upon entering The Hamilton, my dining companion and I were greeted with “hi.”  We said hi back and waited to be greeted further.  The hostess stood there blinking at us, as if our roles were reversed and we were supposed to be welcoming her to the restaurant and inquiring after her reservation and seating preference and so on.  We silently stood our ground, and after several long moments she decided to usher us to one of the dining rooms.  No inquiring after our names, no checking the reservation system, no sense that she’d been through the routine before.  It was utterly bizarre.

The food was true to that of all Clyde’s establishments: average.  Not bad, but not great.  Nothing tantalized our taste buds or tempted us to finish our plates.  As per usual, the menu sounded far more enticing than the executed product; I can’t help but feel disappointed every time I dine at one of the Clyde’s restaurants.  The Hamilton is no exception.

The most frustrating aspect of our experience was the service.  We dined at The Hamilton for brunch, and it was evident that our server was hungover.  Things started off poorly and slid downhill from there.  Upon arriving, we sat at our table -- without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, a glass of water, or even a menu -- for close to ten minutes.  All the while being constantly passed by various waitstaff.  It wasn’t until we flagged someone down and threatened to leave that our server appeared.

From then on it was one botch after another: a tea was forgotten and then burned because it sat in the scalding water for too long; an egg dish that was requested without meat was served with bacon on the side as well as whisked into the sauce; soda and water were never refilled, regardless of repeat requests.

In fairness to The Hamilton, we visited it fairly soon after it opened.  Mistakes happen to the best of us, and opening glitches are common.  I’ve worked in the restaurant industry and fully appreciate how demanding it can be.  None of the above will botch a meal.  However, when one hiccup after another occurs over the course of a single meal and not a word of apology is spoken?  We couldn’t have fled fast enough.  It will be awhile before we return.

The Hamilton
600 14th Street NW
Washington, DC
(202) 787-1000
http://www.thehamiltondc.com/

Check out what @domnicella's eating (and snarking) at Fox and Bunny and Woodpecker Stew.

The Cava Mezze Response to Earlier Post

It wasn't long after I posted my missive on Cava's $1 dollar ice and general hatred for tapas that who I assume is the owner of Cava (CavaTed) responded to me via twitter.  I'm a fair guy and don't mind letting a person defend themselves against my criticism.  If anything, I respect the guy for calling me out.

Here's what CavaTed had to say... and please follow CavaTed on twitter, by the way. 

Tweet #1

to be a critic you should at least understand the business you are being a critic of. So I'm willing to help you out. 

Tweet #2

if u would like to sit down with me to explain how a biz is run I will be happy to do it. I assure you your numbers are off

Tweet #3

also for profit, what about the fees the govt charges us to allow us to sell liquor. Or the taxes we pay, employee costs...

Tweet #4

we charge 1.00 for rocks, because we pour a larger amount in the rocks glass than we do neat.

Fair enough.  Here are my responses.

Tweet #1

The idea here is that I don't understand the business I'm critiquing - neither do 99 percent of your customers.  What stands out to me, stands out to them.  If I understood your business I'd likely pull punches and give you and every other restaurant owner breaks because I "get it."  Most of us know exactly zero about the airline industry, but we know what we don't like and that's the bottom line when it comes to customers.  I don't have to tell you that, you have two restaurants for a reason. You've either done something very right, or you owe the bank a lot of money - I'm sure it's the former.

Tweet #2

I'd sit down with you, but I'm afraid you'd make me eat tapas.  I'm sure my numbers aren't perfect, but you can see Russia from their porch (a little proximity joke and a Palin reference for your reading pleasure). 

Tweet #3

I get the whole concept of "overhead" and taxes associated with serving the devils brew.  I get it to the point where I understand why someone might charge $1 for a glass of ice.  I think you need to arrange a meeting with THIS GUY, not me. 

Tweet #4

I received at least 50 emails saying you'd say this.  Apparently your staff has told a lot of people this same thing. Yelp reviews confirm this as well.  Some of your former staff emailed to say it was complete bullshit.  I don't know what the real story is other than a lot of other bars in town stock Maker's and frozen cubes of water and they don't charge for them separately.  Are you the most expensive Maker's on the rocks in town?  Not by a long shot.  However, you've itemized the bill in some respect and it pisses people off.  It pissed off William Shatner (not the real one) and in turn pissed me off, so I wrote about it.  

Bottom line - I'm a fat little guy with a blog and cozy room in his mother's basement and you shouldn't have taken time away from counting the giant stacks of cash on your desk to correct my critique.  You have effectively wrestled with a pig in the mud and learned that I like it.  

If it makes you feel any better, my wife is still going to eat at your restaurant.  She doesn't order her wine "on the rocks," so she should be able to avoid our point of contention. 

People We Hate/Restaurant Review - Cava Mezze

This is a rare occasion where the "People We Hate" feature meets the "Restaurant Review" feature.  Cava Mezze has earned their place as the first and currently only dual award winner.  Please enjoy their evisceration. 

First of all, we're talking about the Clarendon location here ("Clarendon" is in Arlington and if you don't know that, you're a loser).   I couldn't care less about the Capitol Hill location because I refuse to go anywhere near the place (Capitol Hill) unless I'm at gunpoint, which is likely if you're hanging out in that neighborhood between the hours of midnight and midnight. 

A buddy of mine, who we'll call "William Shatner" because of his uncanny resemblance to the popular thespian, texted me this past weekend saying he was charged $1.00 for "rocks" at Cava Mezze.  I quickly responded, "I told you people in Clarendon would eat anything if it's considered trendy!" 

I then immediately started developing a business plan to ship rocks from my hometown in West Texas to serve to the Yupsters in Clarendon.  If they want to eat rocks - I know where to get rocks.  I was going to be rich.

Too bad the follow-up text from Shatner stated that "rocks" meant "ice" and that they were associated with his favorite judgement inhibitor - Maker's Mark.  He made it clear that he was charged $7.00 for a "Maker's" and an extra $1.00 for "rocks," or the ice that comes with a "Maker's on the rocks." 

I immediately called Shatner and asked him if he was drunk and actually in New York City where that kind of shit flies.  He described the people sitting around him and I was convinced he was actually in Clarendon.  It was at that point I decided to hate Cava Mezze with every cell in my body.

First of all, a fifth (750 ml) of Maker's is less than $30 at your local liquor store.  If you do the math, once you're four drinks in, you've bought a bottle.  They bought the bottle for like $20 at wholesale, so roughly three drinks in they've paid for the bottle and the 20 more drinks left in the bottle are all gravy ($140 profit on a $20 investment isn't bad). Do they really need to charge for the glass of ice that goes with alcohol they're already raping you on?  No. 

If you figure they serve 500 "on the rocks" drinks on a typical Thursday, Friday or Saturday night, they're clearing $6,000 a month on ice alone.  Not a bad little profit for including what should be included in a drink to begin with, but getting to charge for it. 

I don't fault people for trying to make a buck and Clarendon is the place to do it.  You could serve shit on a shingle in Clarendon and make millions.  There are simply way too many people and not enough restaurants and bars to handle them.  Couple that with a general attitude of faux superiority and you have a gold mine. 

However, they need to put a sign up that says:

"Hey, we're a bunch of dicks and are going to charge you for the ice in your drinks.  We could have hid the charge in the price of the drink itself, but that would have been a palatable solution to the problem and rendered us unable to show how much we dislike you as customers.  Please enjoy the wallet raping experience we try so hard to provide for each and every one of our customers."

If they're going to get all shitty about the ice, they ought to make the drink menu "a la carte."  Price it all out like they do with pizza toppings.  Premium vodka is X dollars, tonic is X, limes are X and ice is $1 - you do the math on your drink before you order and don't get pissy that were you charged for each element in the drink. 

I can't say enough what a shitty move it is to sneak a glass of ice on the check. 

Now we can get beyond the ice and on to the food... kind of...

It's "tapas" and that's a Spanish verb meaning "to rip white yupsters off with tiny plates of food." Tapas aren't solely Spanish dishes these days.  Mediterraneans have "mezze" and the Chinese have
"dim sum" - both have been adapted to take advantage of the widespread yupster ignorance of the culinary history and norms of foreign cultures. Never has a concept played to the idiotic faux discriminating palate of uppity white consumers than tapas and it's newly spawned buddies mezze and dim sum.  All of them are  basically over-priced tiny little dishes made for "sharing" so that Americans can pretend they are eating in a cafe in a foreign country.  Mass produced a day ahead of time and placed in hotel pans for storage, mezze is as close to eating at a Mediterranean all-you-can-eat buffet as the people of Clarendon can get. 

I've never been and I'm never going (especially since I'm destined to get a spit sandwich after this post) because I hate tapas and I hate the kind of people who would want to eat tapas (which isn't true, because I love my wife and she f*cking loves tapas).  If you want to go - be my guest, but bring plenty of dough if you want ice. 

Restaurant Review - District Commons

District Commons – 2200 Pennsylvania Avenue N.W.  and in Cyberspace HERE .

The opening caveat…

You must know that District Commons is owned by Passion Food Restaurant Group – which means it’s beautifully decorated, well run and completely devoid of that personal touch that a “restaurant group” can never seem to deliver.  I hate to be down on franchises and conglomerates, because they deliver wonderfully for consumers in every other market except the restaurant market.  There’s something about making really good food that doesn’t fit well into the corporate cultures mentioned above.  Here’s why I think that is - the main problem is that the guy cooking your food works for a guy who works for a guy who works for a guy who sits in an office and dreams up ways to make money – not good food.  This is where “theme” and “concept” come in and it’s more about atmosphere than eating.  They provide a “dining experience,” not a “food experience.”  Food comes in a close second to profit margins and you’ll notice if you’re paying attention.

Bottom line…

It’s good, not great and it doesn’t have to be.  It’s located in an area where it’s one of only a few places to choose from and at least one other choice is owned by the same restaurant group (Burger Tap and Shake – another “let’s take something simple, cheap and good and make it complex, expensive and average” concept).  Out of the choices in the immediate area, District Commons rates very high.  Put it against the crowded field of downscale (the stuff that doesn’t matter) meets upscale (the price) and it’s somewhere in the middle. Try it - don't just read this and assume I know everything because I don't and my wife will tell you that as often as you'd like to hear it.

The details…

If you head to their web page you’ll see they’ve written up a quick synopsis of what they think they provide to diners.  I chopped out the most important paragraph and pasted it below.

"District Commons epitomizes cool comfort on Washington Circle. Passion Food Hospitality's newest venture is a 21st century take on the traditional American tavern. This space stands the traditional dark wood tavern on its' head, updating it with dynamic and stylish verve!"

Their “21^st century take on the traditional American tavern” is an excuse to dip into the downscale where they can while still charging upscale prices.  You don’t have to be all the observant to notice the deep contrasts featured in a place that bills itself as a “21^st century take on the traditional American tavern.”

The interior is beautiful and laid out with an eye for efficiency and style.  Dark wood, dramatic accents and floor to ceiling windows really drive the atmosphere.  There’s no doubt the restaurant group mentality of “dining experience” was used to create this very cool, very clever space.  Just being in that space is nice and something worth doing at least once." 

The staff is clad in their favorite denim pants and topped with uniform button up shirts and long aprons.  The contrast of casual cool and fine dinning is intended and a part of the experience.  You wouldn’t want to order a miniature $26 ribeye from some chick in a “NYU” t-shirt would you? At the same time the menu isn’t something a guy in a waiter’s tux would hand you either.  It’s their corporate mandated look of rebellion that is there to lull you into a sense that this well oiled machine might have a personality hiding in it somewhere.  Yesterday’s “flare” from Office Space is today’s denim as a part of the uniform look. 

For the people into beer snobbery and overpaying for it, District Commons can accommodate you nicely.  They have an extensive list of beers by the bottle (and the occasional “ironic” can) and a decent selection on tap.  The good news is that all the tap beers are $6.00 for 16 ounces of pure craft beer bitterness.  Not a bad deal.  Plus, they have $3.50 “working man’s pale,” which includes Miller Lite and Budweiser and that’s a deal anywhere in DC... assuming you're man enough to be seen in public with a Miller Lite in your hand. 

Wine is wine – everybody has a big list of the same stuff.  We ordered two bottles of the 2009 Jovino Pinot Noir at $42 a bottle.  The retail on that at your local grocery store is $15 – shit x 2. 

Two words for you – Pretzel Bread.  I don’t remember ordering it, so I thought it was complimentary, but it wasn’t.  It’s $2 says the menu, but worth every penny.  Comes with “beer mustard butter” and it’s very good.  Cap City shouldn’t hate the player, they should hate the beer mustard butter.

The menu is downscale-down home done upscale- up town.  “Traditional” dishes (whatever those are) are done with a little flair.  What entrees aren't "down home" aren't all that suprising for the $25 price point - fish, duck and more fish.  To round out the menu they seem to try hit every possible trend of the current and recent past with their “pig board” (upscale bacon that is so six months ago), flat breads (doing pizza without having to call it “pizza”) and mussels.  And please don't think I think there's something wrong with following trends - if it makes money you can't argue.

The food is consistent – frighteningly consistent.  Two people at my table ordered the same thing and it was as if one was eating an exact replica of the other’s dish.  Again, it was creepy consistent.  Exact portions, same layout and nearly identical pieces of fish gave the five of us pause.  If District Commons does any one thing better than everyone else, it’s consistent presentation and taste – an important factor in a successful restaurant, but it's often at the expense of having over-the-top good food. 

I had the chicken – looked phenomenal as it passed by a few times on serving trays.  It’s called “brick pressed chicken” and I can only guess that means they set a brick on the thing and shove it in their concrete oven.  It was good; bone-in with skin.  I didn’t like that the skin was stretched over to make it look like a whole half of chicken when that’s not what was served.  I was a little grossed out by the presence of connecting tissue and fatty giblets of chicken goo that usually get trimmed away before cooking.  However, I’m the type of person that is bothered by that and most people aren’t, so no points off for that (not that we’re operating on a point system here).  The mashed potatoes and rainbow chard were great and matched nicely overall with the dish.  It's honestly in my top ten chicken dishes in DC and misses the top five for the inclusion of chicken goo.

Dessert was dessert – sugar in some form.  It’s hard to mess up. 

The gimmicky part of District Commons is their “DINNER BELL” specials that start sharply at 10:00 p.m. Monday through Friday and at 9:00 p.m. on Sunday.  They apparently ring a bell (we’re Pavlov’s dogs!) letting everyone know they’re ready to serve a “family meal.” A clock reading 10:00 p.m. apparently isn't warning enough and a bell is needed as a reminder (tautology at its best).  

The "family meal" is a $12 face stuffing fest literally featuring what they are cleaning out of the walk-in freezer.  A couple of southern classics like chicken fried steak and fried chicken share headliner status with Midwestern meatloaf, Mexican huevos rancheros and an Asian throwback dish from the restaurants group’s once great TenhPenh.  The only thing missing here is some mention of a “kitchen sink” on the list of "family meal" menu options.

Somehow this gimmick is tied in with the staff (who are forced to appear subtly rebellious in their denim).  I can only guess they are pitching a communal meal concept that people in big cities think people in little cities participate in on a nightly basis.  Their description of the fiasco makes you wonder if the staff sits and eats with you (now that's rebellious!). 

The truth about "family meal" time is that they unload all the crap they’re about to have to throw away under some hipster guise of comfort food.  It’s about profits, not food.  It’s the kind of clever thing restaurant groups and their fancy pants consultants come up with to squeeze every last bit of profit out of the place.  If you’re into eating what amounts to “shit we wouldn’t dare put on the menu and charge full price for,” then you better eat a big lunch, because the bargain basement prices don’t start until late.  I would also assume the price reduction, the time of night it’s served and the location of the restaurant are all aimed at the college kids that infest the area – at least partly so.  You’d be stupid not to entice them over once your more discriminating customers have left in search of more expensive bitter craft beers with clever names. 

I’d like to get over the restaurant group thing and just give this place nine stars out of five and tell you that if Jesus was around and he was looking for a place to crush some good food one last time he’d pick District Commons, but I can’t.   No matter what I will always feel like I’m a victim of some incredibly detailed plot to separate me from my money when these restaurant groups are involved.  As an unabashed capitalist it pains me to say that I wish there was more focus on food than profits here.  Then again I must remember they got into the business to make money, not meals and they have exceeded their goal many times over.

I’d go again…  pretzel bread and $6 drafts of shitty bitter beer are hard to pass up. 

Restaurant Review - BLT Steak

We occasionally (all the time) review places we've eaten.  This is one of those occasions.

Disclaimer on restaurant reviews:  I don’t usually pick on the service unless someone went out of their way to screw things up on purpose, or I’ve been there enough times to have a feel for their consistency.  Too often there are factors behind the scenes that may affect the speed and quality of service on a single night.  It’s unfair to eviscerate wait staff for one bad night that may have not been their fault at all. 

With that said...

This is an expense account steakhouse.  The food is, by restaurant law, outrageously expensive.  Expensive to the point you get the feeling that the entrees are actually turning a healthy profit and that the alcohol sales are simply keeping someone’s yacht named “Corporate Card” in Miami fueled up and stocked with strippers.  Don’t let that scare you away because part of “being DC” is overpaying for shit and acting like it’s no big deal - just like Congress does (political pokes are done, I promise).

BLT is a wide open space with a lengthy bar separated by a half-wall from the large dining room.  Far from the traditionally dark steakhouse feel of yesteryear, BLT features dark and light colors in the open space and anchors their grand back wall with chalkboards featuring specials on food, beer and wine.  The chalkboard removes a little of the sophistication from the room and brings a campy feel of a New Orleans bistro.  I don’t know if this was their intention or if it helps me feel any better about dropping several hundred bucks on a meal.  In fact, I’m now starting to think it’s a little insulting.  If I want to order from a chalkboard, I’ll got to Potbelly. 

If you’re not in a big group, you’re left to occupy the sides of the dining room and that seating can get quite intimate.   My wife and I sat very close to a table where a married couple was canoodling… married, but not to each other, by the way.  To say the least, their discussion was riveting and exactly how we envisioned spending our fifth wedding anniversary together. 

The excitement of infidelity in the air was only heightened as we quietly hoped that the television crew from “Cheaters” would burst through the kitchen door at any moment.  No dice. As the night wore on we were actually more worried one of their spouses might burst through the front door with a shotgun.  Then again, they looked like they had been cheating a while and had the whole mechanics of not getting caught worked out.  However, the thought of being collateral casualties in a lover's dual stuck in our psyche, and conversation, until they left. 

I don't have to tell you the service was out of this world. Although, I pretty much just did and I'm giong to continue to do so after this sentence.  When you are set to order a $40 naked steak, they have a team of people swarming your table to take care of all of your needs.  You wouldn’t expect anything less and they wouldn’t dare deliver less.  I was impressed with how their team of little Salvadorian ninjas worked the table without interfering with any part of our meal.  Simply awesome.  

They start you off with some kind of puff pastry monstrosity that is as filling as it is delicious.  You want to screw up your dinner?  Eat one of these things whole and I guarantee you won’t be hungry afterwards.  They’re great, but they detract from the larger part of the meal.  I don’t know why the restaurant would hamstring its entre menu with such a huge giveaway snack before the meal.  And I don’t care how many people tell me that they are “deceivingly large” because they are “mostly air” – half of one gave me the feeling that I’d be full soon and a whole one would have closed out dinner for the night. 

 The Sommelier was excellent.  The wine list is longer than a Bill Clinton speech, so you either need to arrive early to go over it, or enlist the help of the Sommelier.  The Sommelier looked over our attire, jewelry, pre-dinner cocktails and quickly computed in his head our price range for a bottle of wine and made a suggestion.  He got my number exactly right ($70 - $100 range he came in at $85) and the wine was perfect.  Later that weekend we picked up two bottles of it at Total Wine for $25 – shit. 

 I’m from Texas, which means I know a ton of different ways to completely ruin a steak and pretend to be very proud of what I’ve done.  I’m more of a connoisseur of how it’s done wrong since there’s only a couple of ways to do a steak right.  I never expect to have a bad steak at a steakhouse – especially one where the 10 oz. Hanger Steak is $29.  We ordered the porterhouse for two, a $92 investment in a loin and strip with a bone in the middle (we’re always thinking of our dog) along with sides of Mac n’ Cheese (not on their menu online) and creamed spinach.

They leave the 28-day dry aged porter house to speak for itself and… it didn’t say much.  Cooked to the proper temperature, quartered perfectly for sharing, but dry.  Dry and tasteless… Not impressed at all.  Salt, pepper, butter, olive oil for moisture – anything would have helped.  My side of the porterhouse was summarily portioned off and dunked in a rather pedestrian béarnaise sauce. I had the overwhelming feeling of “blah” when I was finished.

 The Mac n’ Cheese was greasy and mostly tasteless. The chef had not solved the ancient mystery of getting the cheese to stick to the noodle.  Oh wait, it’s no mystery, it’s a matter of putting eggs in the mix.  We took it with us, and it mildly improved after a reheat the next day.  Our daughter loved it second day, but she eats the dog's food like it's candy, so you can't really take her taste in food all that seriously. 

 The creamed spinach… well, it’s creamed spinach, impossible to screw up.

 The same goes for desert – it’s sugar, it’s always good. 

I have to give the place props for the interesting couples sitting next to us, their service and the Sommelier.  The rest wasn’t great, but pretty much forgivable if someone else is picking up the sizable tab, which is the key here - don't pay for this experience with your own money, let the corporate card absorb the disappointment.