Sometimes when you go to a restaurant, you wonder if your experience there is all about mindset. The first time I went to News Café in Georgetown, I had spent the day traipsing around Georgetown during the blizzard. My friends and I were starving and just looking for anything edible – with the less-than-authentic name, we expected serviceable Italian at best. We ended up with a delicious dining experience in a beautiful space (my love of wrought iron and maroon definitely endeared me to the decor).
Somehow the night has been mythologized in our minds since then, and the same group of friends who hit it the first time decided to join me there again when in town for my birthday. And this time, our irrationally high expectations resulted in merely competent results.
Our first trip featured a delicious Pinot Grigio recommended by the restaurant, perfectly light calamari, and three entrees we gobbled up eagerly. I enjoyed my crabmeat stuffed shrimp, accented with lemon; my sister gave raves to her prosciutto-topped veal, and we all were wowed by my friend Becky’s creamy pesto spinach fettucini with salmon, which was one of the night’s specials. In fact, I’d hoped that same special would be available this time around.
News Café seems super-eager to keep its customers. They sent me a $10 gift certificate for my birthday (I neglected to read the weeknights-only fine print, so it will have to be used another time). They awarded my sister a coupon for free dessert for recommending the place to her friends, one of whom sat at our table with her own coupon for free chocolate covered strawberries.
Celebrating my birthday and armed with our many coupons, the night was starting to feel like an event. And it still ended up an enjoyable one, if not as amazing as we’d expected.
The $25 bottle of Pinot Grigio we ordered wasn’t as tasty as we’d remembered (inflated memories?), but that didn’t stop us from ordering two bottles of it. Our waitress wasn’t the cheerful, accommodating woman full of suggestions we’d had the last time, but she was certainly fine (though we were denied the use of one of our dessert coupons for no real reason). Fresh mozzarella and tomato was nothing overwhelming, but hit the spot. And man, that calamari was still tasty.
But the entrees seemed a bit more mediocre. No complaints from my sister about her veal, but my tortellini with prosciutto was definitely too salty. A friend’s shrimp pesto pizza was a bit more bland and congealed than I’d like to see, though she enjoyed it. And sadly, no salmon pesto special available.
But to be honest, if we hadn’t been expecting the moon, we probably would have been more than satisfied with our visit. So give News Cafe a shot – just don’t expect the meal of a lifetime.

It’s that time of year where we get a whiff of fall. This leads to one of my favorite activites – apple picking. We go to Homestead Farm in Poolesville, MD off River Road and get a haul of Golden Delicious (appropriately named), Jonathan, and Granny Smith apples. All good for cobblers, applesauce and, of course, fried pies.
For anyone who harbors the illusion that I am a sophistimacated foodie, I have this recipe to offer – fried apple pie. My first taste of a true fried pie was in Dollywood where they were the size of dinner plates. My arteries are still recovering. It was the perfect cross between pie and doughnut. Since DC is hardly the fried pie capitol of the world, I needed to figure out how to make my own or go without until our next Dollywood trip.
Thank god for Paula Deen, grand empress of tacky Southern food. Literally a week after the infamous Dollywood trip, there was a recipe for fried pie on Paula’s Home Cooking. It lived up to all of my fried pie memories.
I’d have to say that this is truly in the top ten of trashy food I have made. It uses a canned biscuit dough for heaven’s sake.
Fried Pies
1 canned flaky biscuit dough (should have 8 biscuits)
5 firm apples (Granny Smith, Courtland) peeled and chopped in to 1 inch chunks
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon
Juice of 1/2 a lemon
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Raisins or dried cranberries (optional)
Vegetable oil
Mix the apples, sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice in a bowl. Toss thoroughly and add the cornstarch. Simmer under low heat until apples are soft and have given up some of their juices. Pour of out some of the juices.
Roll out the biscuit dough until 1/2 inch thick. Spoon about 2 tablespoons of the apple mixture onto the circle of dough. Brush the edge with water and fold over in half. Press the edge with a fork to seal.
Deep fry in hot oil unto golden brown. Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Eat. Resolve to eat salad and sushi for the next week.

A couple weekends ago, I was puppy sitting my parents new dog, Winston. Stuck in the far reaches of Upper Northwest, and isolated from my usual weekend activities (OK, fine, that mostly means cleaning my apartment, but still), I decided, at the last minute as usual, to bring the fun to me and have people over to cook brunch.
WRC and EJG arrived with fixings to make plum pancakes with blueberry sauce, JK with salad and roasting peppers, SNH with corn for grilling, PL with assorted pastries, NM and MA with requisite beverages. I had not planned so much as bought things that looked like a good idea: Ricotta Saltada and Niçoise olives in Herbes de Provence from Whole Foods, eggs and cream (from the Giant). As the others cooked, PL and I schemed the fate of said orphan ingredients.
Omlettes were going to be much too much of a hassle, and not very interesting, so I thought that perhaps we could fake a Spanish-style torta – like the ones I’d loved so much in Sevilla last year, only minus the potatoes. What we did:

9 eggs
½ cup heavy cream
½ cup milk
Chopped Niçoise olives in herbes de Provence
Ricotta Saltada, shaved.
3 large cherry tomatoes, chopped.
Tarragon
Savory
Black Pepper
Nutmeg (ONLY A PINCH!)
Bake at 400 for about 30 minutes.
The result was yummy, but probably too sweet. This could be corrected by using light instead of heavy cream, or by omitting the tomatoes. I feel like the latter might be a good idea, but it needs a non-salty flavor, and I’m not sure what would be better. Onions? Spinach? Hmmm……
This is why I love experimental cuisine.

So, yes, there actually is a serious BBQ place in Chinatown. I hadn’t heard about it until I saw it on FoodTV, which was sort of surprising. Now I should put out the disclamer that I did not grow up in a BBQ area, nor have I actually seriously smoked anything in a smoker before. I have, however studied BBQ quite a bit, and have always sought out real BBQ. We should also define now that BBQ is not the same as grilling. BBQ to be is cooking a particular cut of meat over low temperatures (typically somewhere around 180 degrees, give or take), indirect heat, and smoke. Grilling is cooking over direct heat.
So anyway, until now, the only place I’ve found halfway ok BBQ here in the DC area is Rocklands. Capital Q BBQ is located right next to Matchbox in a small, unassuming space in the middle of Chinatown. It’s a Texas BBQ place so most of the stuff they have is beef. I’m a pork BBQ guy myself, but I digress.
I ordered the combo plate with three meats: pork ribs, brisket, and hot link (sausage). It’s served with your choice of two sides and either mild or spicy BBQ sauce. My observations:
~ Ribs: Surprisingly not good. I am one that likes texture and some chewiness in ribs. I know lots of people talk about falling-off-the-bone softness, but that doesn’t mean that the meat should be half-dissolved when you put it in your mouth. It was a very strange texture. I couldn’t tell if it was the sauce or if it was the ribs. They definitely had the smoke rings and whatnot, but they were just too soft. I much prefer dry ribs, anyway, and I’m not sure they there was any dry rub on the ribs anyway.
~ Brisket: Really nice. Very soft, tasted good, no real issues. I’m not a big brisket fan, but I would definitely go back for their brisket.
~ Hot link: Best damn hot link I’ve had since I left Chicago. It’s a pork sausage that’s been smoked and is really spicy. I am craving them already and want to go back.
The two sides I got were:
~ Baked beans: I think it was because we got there to eat at 11:30am, but the beans were still a bit crunchy. Not good. But well-seasoned… I think if I would have showed up later in the day it would have been fine. Would eat them again.
~ Home fries: I thought these would be french fries, but they are proper home fries like you get at breakfast, i.e. sauteed cubes of potatoes.
Portions were fairly large, overall the BBQ was good, but not the best. I think Rocklands’ ribs are better, but I want to go back already. Especially for their hot links.
707 H Street, NW
Washington, DC
in the heart of Chinatown – 1 block from the MCI Center
202-347-8396

I’m feeling rather smug today. You see, I woke up unconscionably early yesterday (Sunday) morning – 9AM, having gone to bed at 3! – and decided that the thing to do was go to the Dupont farmers market for fresh plant-based goodness. As I approached the first stand, I could hear their bright green goodness calling my name, beckoning to my then-less-than-now cholesterol-coated heart strings.
I knew I was trapped, so I just went along for the ride. I called my mom and told her that (a) I was coming for dinner, and (b) we were having fried green tomatoes. My parents house, you see, is where all my serious cooking happens these days: they have an awesome kitchen, while I have a toaster oven.
After a ridiculously long wait, the 90 bus finally came to take me up North. Scouring my parents’ cookbook collection, I found but one recipe for this vaunted staple of American cuisine, and this was quickly rejected, as it involved mayonnaise. So I thought about what I wanted from the dish, and how I felt it should taste. A quick trip to the store for supplies, and the experiment began:
Green tomatoes
Salt
1 cup corn meal
1 tablespoon flour
Freshly ground pepper, to taste (I used quite a bit)
Buttermilk
Brown sugar
Oil.
- Slice the tomatoes into rounds, just under 1/2 inch thick, lay out on a plate.
- Salt them, not too heavily but a good bit on each tomato.
- Let sit 30 minutes (this draws out the juices)
- Make batter by mixing Corn meal, flour, and pepper in a wide bowl
- Pour buttermilk into another bowl
- In a large cast iron skillet, heat oil as hot as it gets
- Dip each tomato slice in buttermilk and then dredge in the batter
- Fry. About 2 minutes on a side, then 2 minutes on the other, then again on the first, etc. about 10 minutes. You want them to be still gooey in the middle.
- Remove from pan, place on a paper towel and immediately sprinkle with a TINY BIT of brown sugar.
- Do the next batch.
Be sure to do these in batches. Unless you keep your pan very well seasoned, the first batch won’t work.
I ended up eating them with hot sauce (I would have added Cayenne to the batter, but my grandmother does not eat Cayenne), and I’m feeling a bit smug about this dish. It was really good.

Sometimes I think Sunday brunch is my favorite meal. It’s usually associated with friends, it’s well-priced and it has a leisurely pace unmatched even by the most luxurious dinners.
My sister and I spent our lazy hazy Sunday this time around at Tallula in Arlington, and it had all the elements of a great brunch. Our waitress was friendly and laid-back, the Bloody Marys were spicy and the food was comforting. If my sister didn’t live in Pittsburgh, we could have a weekly tradition on our hands.
While my sister went with the omelet ($8), I decided to go a bit more unusual and try the short ribs over cheesy grits (at $15, the most expensive selection on the reasonably-priced brunch menu). Though the spice factor of the sauce was a bit much with my peppery drink, it nevertheless was a breakfast that really woke me up. The rich grits were complimented by a green salsa, and the meat was as tender as you expect from a good pair of short ribs. I was less impressed with Mandy’s omelet and home fries, but I’m notoriously fussy about my restaurant eggs, and she enjoyed it heartily. We split a single biscuit with pancetta gravy ($3), and cursed ourselves for not getting our own orders of the rich, creamy dish.
The atmosphere is low-key but elegant, with the sounds of the restaurant’s centerpiece-waterfall lulling you out of your cranky morning mood or pesky hangover. This won’t be the last time I start my Sunday at Tallula.

Have you ever been unceremoniously dumped? Then read Nora Ephron’s Heartburn. This book is for the foodie with a broken heart. It’s set in Washington, D.C and is a treatise on heartbreak and food. I know Nora Ephron is responsible for some of the worst movies ever made (e.g., You’ve Got Mail!). But this book is written in the wry, acerbic voice of When Harry Met Sally and not the gloppy, saccharine voice of Sleepless in Seattle.
Based on her own experience being cheated on by Carl Bernstein — when she was seven months pregnant — Heartburn chronicles the history of Rachel Samstat’s relationship with her husband Mark and her discovery that he’s been unfaithful. The hook is that Rachel’s a food writer. The book consists of her brilliant observations of life (“Show me a woman who cries when the trees lose their leaves and I’ll show you a real asshole”), food (“Anyone who wants to write about food would do well to stay away from similies and metaphors because if you’re not careful, expressions like ‘light as a feather’ make their way into your sentences.”) and relationships. Interspersed are some very dated recipes. This is the 70′s, before the 80′s health craze, and it’s reflected in her recipes. For example, her Chez Helene Bread Pudding recipe calls for 2 cups of sugar and 2 sticks of butter. She has a recipe for sorrel soup and I’ve never seen sorrel in my life.
Recipes aside, it’s her voice, the wonderful New York voice, that is the key to the book. She constantly observes the vissicitudes of love with a healthy sense of humor and a great deal of cynicism. For example, she writes about her therapist’s analysis that Rachel “picked the one person on earth you shouldn’t be involved with,” by saying “There’s nothing brilliant about that – that’s life…Robert Browning’s shrink probably said to him, ‘So Robert, it’s very interesting, no. Of all the women in London, you pick a hopeless invalid who has a crush on her father.” And then she breaks my heart and the heart of every hard-core amateur cook with this observation, “I loved to cook so I cooked. And then the cooking became a way of saying I love you. And then the cooking became the easy way of saying I love you. And then the cooking becamse the only way of saying I love you. ..every so often I would look at my friends who were happily married and didn’t cook and I would always find myself wondering how they did it.”

There are certain things you just like to have in your neighborhood. A dive bar. Decent takeout food. And in my case, a great Italian deli.
Luckily, I happen to live minutes from one of the area’s best, The Italian Store, on Lee Highway in Arlington. I’d heard good things, and my roommates implored me on Sunday to treat myself to one of their sandwiches. Let’s hope this isn’t the beginning of an addiction.
I had a prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich with onion, tomato, vinegar, oil and oregano. It was heaven. With one bite, I was taken back to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, where I spent my college years. The ingredients were fresh, the portions were generous, and the taste was authentic.
But expect to wait for it. I grabbed a number and there ended up being a good 15 people in front of me, leaving enough time to browse the store, pick up a pumpkin spice frappucino from Starbucks next door, and still feel a bit impatient. The many workers behind the deli counter certainly move quickly, but the demand here is great. Sandwich selections abound – I was tempted by the capri, featuring spiced ham, prosciutto, genoa salami and provalone, and other options from the mortadella-anchored Genoa to the spicy Napoli, looked equally enticing. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how I can work pancetta into the menu for my upcoming birthday party.
My sandwich, a small version, cost me around $8 once they added in all the fixings, and in general, the place’s selection of imported pastas, wine, cheeses and other ingredients doesn’t necessarily appear cheap. But it’s good, and if I can’t waste my money on food, what can I waste it on?
Next time, I’ll try to resist a sandwich and give the place’s pizza a try – the pies looked pretty New York-tastic upon first glance. But does that mean no prosciutto? No worries. They’ll even put it on your pizza.
The Italian Store
3123 Lee Highway
Arlington, VA 22201
703/528-6266

My friend Ray and I were stood up by all our friends for Thursday night Happy Hour last week. We’d planned for a raucous* night over at Whitlow’s on Wilson. When we figured out it would just be the two of us, we decided to put notions of bar food and beer aside and hit up Delhi Club for an official Welcome-To-The-Neighborhood dinner.
We made a good choice. We still managed to get a little tipsy on a couple of glasses of Pinot Grigio, but the food certainly beat any hamburgers or onion rings our other options would have offered us.
Our tastes didn’t run particularly adventurous: I went with the Chicken Malai Tikka ($12.50), distinguished from the classic dish by its hint of cardamom, while Ray couldn’t pass up the chance for a good butter chicken (also $12.50). My tikka was more assertive than I expected, with the yogurt marinade tenderizing the dish nicely, and I inhaled it quickly. I definitely snuck my way onto Ray’s plate more than a few times to dip our chewy garlic naan into his butter chicken sauce. Ray compensated for my thievery by asking for seconds on the flavorful rice we got with our main courses; the kitchen was more than happy to oblige.
The decor is intimate, casual and classy and you can’t beat the location, directly across from the Clarendon Metro. Next time, I’ll experiment with some of the lamb-options, perhaps – and I’m definitely indulging in the Indian Ice Cream with pistachios and almonds.
Delhi Club
1135 N. Highland Street
Arlington, VA 22201
*Language has been slightly exaggerated to make my friends sound wilder than we are.

We at DCFud have told you before how much we love our Pho and our bubble tea. So it warms my heart when I stumble upon a place with delicious renditions from both – and at a location convenient to my annoyingly-placed workplace in Springfield.
Saigon City in Springfield has become my lunch haunt of choice as of late. The place is low on lunch specials (and their dinner-priced Vietnamese selections aren’t ridiculously cheap, either), but I’m there for the Pho, which at $5.75 for a not-that-small small serving, is certainly a manageable price.
I’ve sampled two of their Phos so far, one with eye of round and brisket fat, and another with dark-meat chicken. Though the fat wasn’t appealing in the first choice, both had the typical flavorful broth, delicious meat and slippery noodles which you come to expect from a good Pho (and after having seriously sub-par Pho at Springfield Mall not too long ago, it was a welcome change). The traditional garnishes of bean sprouts, mint and lime were all provided in excess, and the dish benefited from a splash of soy sauce and a bit of hot sauce.
But what drew me to the restaurant was the brightly-colored poster boasting they had Bubble Tea. I tried two of the slush varieties: Thai Iced Tea and Green Tea flavored. Both were refreshing, with slightly firm balls of tapioca filling the bottom of my glass. After frequenting a plethora of Bubble Tea providers in both New York’s Chinatown and Pasadena, CA, I’m always delighted to happen upon a decent DC offering, where the drink seems more rare.
Saigon City is sort of a take-out/dine-in hybrid; it appears to be a regular restaurant, but you pay at the register. The servers are harried but friendly. After seeing me there twice this week, they’re already treating me like a regular. And if my Pho and Bubble Tea cravings continue, I’ll probably become one.
Saigon City Restaurant
6333 Brandon Ave
Springfield, VA 22150
(703) 569-0303