As astute reader Audrey points out, despite the fact that they still haven’t renewed the domain name, the Washington DC Convention & Tourism Corporation & Restaurant Association Metropolitan Washington have posted the full list of restaurant week participants at http://www.washington.org/restaurantwk/.
Restaurant week runs from January 8 through January 14, 2007. Lunches are $20.07 and dinners are $30.07. Keep in mind that not everything on a restaurant’s menu is available for the restaurant week price and be sure to ask your wait staff to show you what is. Every year we hear stories of people who end up with very expensive tabs that they thought were included in the tip.
And remember to be nice to your wait staff. For some of these places, the restaurant week tabs are significantly lower than the normal price, and wait staff may see their tips decreases proportionally.
And finally, get reservations early. Like yesterday. You can book by phone with the individual restaurants or through OpenTable.com.
There are 170 restaurants are participating this year. Some options to consider:

• 1789 Restaurant

• Bobby Van’s Steakhouse
• Brasserie Les Halles
• Charlie Palmer Steak
• Inde Bleu
• Indigo Landing
• Kinkead’s
• Smith & Wollensky
• Taberna del Alabardero
• The Prime Rib
• Vidalia
• Viridian
• Zengo

Lately, I have had a huge decision to make around lunchtime. I work right between two good burrito stands, and that means that a decision has to be made when I’m in the mood for Mexican takeout stand goodness. Both stands are vegetarian and feature both black and pinto beans.
One option is Carlos Guardado’s stand on 17th and K Street, on the Farragut North side of K Street. His burritos have a fresh (quality ingredient) taste to them. To me…they are the perfect comfort food. He has three wraps to choose from (spinach, plain, and tomato), and maybe 8 small bottles of hot sauce. These sauces are not of the fruity hot sauce variety. He did have Uncle Brutha’s red and green sauces last week…and I do especially like Uncle Brutha’s green. Carlos also sells coffee.
The other option is John Ryder’s stand, Pedro and Vinny’s, at 15th and k (on the other side of K), which is all about variety. He has 8 wraps or so (including onion, whole wheat, garlic, and spinach), and 30 or so hot sauces, many of which are fruity (including Georgia Peach, raspberry habanero, pineapple, grapefruit, Jamaican mango). You can even order hot sauce by number and specify whether you want it fruity. Ordering a #7 fruity once yielded his homemade mango hot sauce, which is kept in a vodka bottle. He also has chips and hot sauces at the front of the stand…where you can sample them. You can order three different sizes here, unlike at Carlos’ stand.

You make your own change at Pedro and Vinny’s, and bag your own burrito. There is usually a line at this stand, and while on line, John will ask you what kind of tortilla you want, and whether you want cheese.
You need to check his website when the weather is not good…to ensure that the stand is open. In the winter, John will update his site Fridays, letting you know if he will be in be in town the following week.

I like both stands and tend to order the same things at both…small burrito, mixed beans, spinach wraps, and guacamole. But, it is nice that Pedro and Vinny’s has tomato salsa and a verger variety of hot sauces. Plus…I like the fruity hot sauces with their burritos, and the crunch of the onions. So…when I want quality comfort food…I go to Carlos, and when I want variety…I go to Pedro and Vinny’s. I usually spend $5 or $6 at either stand.

Keep in mind that both stands may be closed in bad weather, especially in the winter. Although, the weather has been nice lately.
Merry Xmas and Happy Holidays to all!

A bad dinner affects humans differently than a bad movie or a bad day at work. We feel the same outrage that might be inspired by a factory poisoning the air, or the realization that last night’s hookup isn’t going to call: we took something in, into our very bodies, and trusted it and made it part of ourselves. There’s a deep feeling of betrayal and hurt to go along with the disappointment; we needed the comfort and sustenance of a good meal and now we won’t have another chance until tomorrow. Perhaps eating is just too basic to the human condition to risk messing up.
Are you listening to me, you people at Montsouris? I wrote a note to all my writers yesterday about how we should try to approach every restaurant positively. You’re making me look bad!
Taking over for Johnny’s Half Shell in Dupont, Montsouris comes to us from the owners of the very pleasant Montmartre over in Capitol Hill. With two solid restaurants as forbears, how is it things could have gone so wrong? While the few tables at the front of the restaurant look rather nice, most of the clientele is crammed into a bizarre row of cheap, diner-style seats facing the kitchen. It’s knee-to-knee and elbow-to-wine glass as diners struggle not to eavesdrop on each other, and there’s the collective feeling of confused faux pas. What could be wrong with my hair today? Perhaps I should have worn my pearls? Why oh why have we alone been consigned to this nasty and impersonal galley, when such lovely tables are visible off in the distance?
Now, in the eighties it was considered a mark of distinction have your French server hate you. Their prime purpose was to aggressively lounge near the kitchen, arms crossed and eyes glaring, cursing under their very French breath. But today that form of bizarre sadism lives on only in the very low-confidence, or the very out-of-business. I’m not sure which category Montsouris falls into yet, but I can say this: each sneer, each forgotten wine order, each ignored attempt to flag down fork, water glass, or menu, are small bruises to my soul. It wasn’t that big to begin with, and now it’s black and blue. Thank you very much.
And now I could spend a page writing about the food, but you know it’s going to be bad. Should I even bother? Assume that a good meal would have vindicated everything else, and draw your conclusions from there. The appetizers were by turns boring or inedible, the steaks grainy and cold.
I emerged from Montsouris a beaten woman; practically in tears, and with that odd combination of hunger, nausea, and leaden depression that only the a truly bad dining experience can provide. And so it was that, a few minutes later and with my stomach still churning over the catastrophe across the street, I crept into the bar at Urbana and ordered two appetizers, a glass of wine and a desert. They were lovely.
Montsouris
2002 P St. NW,
Washington, DC
20036
202-833-4180

We’ve reached that time of year again: when it gets really cold outside and the daylight ends really early. It’s that time when you look out the window at work, and even though it’s only five o’clock, it feels like nine o’clock, and all you can think is “I gotta get the hell out of here!” When it gets this cold outside, I usually think about two things: getting a job in Arizona, and cooking comfort food. So since there are no job postings on this site, I thought I’d post some good recipes in the coming days that are really simple to make at home, have great taste and flavour, and comfort you on these Arctic nights we’ve been having. Call it the musings of the Five Ingredient Bitter Winter Chef (with all apologies to the Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic).
Generally, I like to make some good soups and braises in the winter, so that’s what I’m going to start with. Today’s recipe is for a Curried Squash & Apple soup. I was bored in the kitchen one day, and kind of threw it together, and ever since then, the fiancée orders me to make this about once every month and a half. So here we go. First, the ingredients:
One fresh butternut squash or pumpkin
One medium-sized onion
One or two tart apples (Granny Smith, Braeburn, etc.)
Stock of your choice
Thai Curry Paste (I recommend Mae Ploy Brand)
There are three kinds of curry pastes – red, yellow, and green. The green is the spiciest, followed by the red, and then the yellow. You can usually find it in the Asian food aisle of your local grocery store, especially if that store happens to be Whole Foods, Wegmans, or oddly enough, the Giant near the Rhode Island Avenue Metro station. These are your five main ingredients, but you’ll also need some salt, pepper, a little cinnamon, and some cream (or half & half) to finish with. Once you have what you need, here’s how you do it.
First off, cut the butternut squash (or pumpkin) in half lengthwise, and remove the seeds & “strings.” Put the squash (or pumpkin) halves cut side down on a sheet pan, and put in the oven for about forty-five minutes at three hundred seventy-five degrees. While the squash is roasting, peel and dice the onion and the apples in a small dice. To keep the apples from browning, you can put them in a bowl of water with a little bit of lemon juice until they’re needed.
Once the squash (or pumpkin) is finished roasting, remove it from the oven and let it rest for a few minutes. Scoop the squash out of the skin, and put it in a bowl temporarily. Heat some butter or oil in a heavy saucepan and sauté the onion until translucent but not brown. Once the onions are sautéed, add some curry paste, squash, and the apple, and mix thoroughly. Add the stock of your choice, and bring the whole mixture to a boil. Once the mixture has come to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer it until the apples, squash, and onion are tender (about fifteen to twenty minutes).
Using a blender (immersion or regular), blend (or purée) the soup until it is a uniform consistency. Add some salt, pepper, a little cinnamon (little is the operative word here, as you don’t want this to be a sweet soup) and some cream (or half & half). The cream will add some body, and also lighten the soup’s colour. Taste and adjust seasonings, curry paste, etc. to taste. That’s all there is to it – very simple, and very satisfying. My next recipe will be for a dynamite braise that uses Manischewitz wine (yes, I know, I know – most people would rather drink motor oil, but you won’t be drinking it, and trust me, you’ve never had anything quite like this before). Stay tuned!
Do you have a particular ingredient that you’d like to figure out a way to use? If so, drop me a line and let me know, and I’ll put a tested recipe up in this column.

The fine folks at Washington DC’s Convention and Tourism Corporation are usually a good place to go for information about the upcoming Restaurant Week. On their site, they’re linking to www.restaurantweekdc.com – which, the fine folks at Network Solutions tells us is either going to be renewed, or deleted, but gives us no further info on RW07.
Remember kids, always check your links, and don’t forget to renew your domains! Not every bit of mail from a domain registrar is spam, you know?
It just seems like it.

A spicy thing happened to me on the way to a Matisyahu concert this week (Matisyahu being the Hasidic reggae singing sensation who performed in the U Street / Cardoza neighborhood of DC recently). Several friends and I ambled into “Oohhs and Aahhs Restaurant,” a Soul food establishment at the corner of U Street and 10th Street, N.W.
The owner answers to the name Aji, doubles as chef, and creates sweet and spicy dishes for customers who savor Southern cuisine. Though Aji swears to be a native Washingtonian, he wears a French chef’s hat, sports a wireless phone headpiece, and walks with the swagger of a man who was reared much further south of the Mason-Dixon line than the nation’s capital.
Some of Aji’s dishes, like collard greens and catfish, are no surprise for a soul food restaurant. But the menu also includes curiosities like a dish called chicken wings and waffles. Though Oohhs and Aahhs offers teriyaki salmon and lobster, I’ve always been one to shy away from seafood. So I stuck with the baked chicken dinner, which comes wrapped in tin foil and is served in a plastic to-go container.
It seems a crime to pay $13.95 for chicken in a cafeteria-style restaurant nestled in one of D.C. poor neighborhoods. But the intoxicating aroma of the baked chicken and its savory taste make it worth it. The best part is you get to select two of nine possible sides as part of your dinner at no extra charge. Though sides include macaroni and cheese, rice with gravy, French fries, and potato salad, I opted for collard greens and string beans. I wasn’t disappointed.
Since I try to eat healthy I hoped ordering hot tea wouldn’t be too tall an order. Unfortunately, Oohhs and Aahhs doesn’t carry Lipton tea or the likes. As an alternative Aji offered to nuke a cup of sweet tea in the microwave. I took him up on the idea. The thought of drinking sweat tea hot instead of ice cold wouldn’t have occurred to me, but I’m glad I tried it.
After Aji serves up your order you take it upstairs to a small dining area yourself. Don’t expect the look and feel of the restaurant to be the culinary version of “The Devil Wears Prada.” The ambiance is simple and the tables sport plastic covers that remind me of, well, a southern-stylebarbeque.
Aji, for his part, says he doesn’t get out much. It’s no wonder. Starting last month Oohhs and Aahhs opened its doors for late-night service (11 PM until 5 AM) from Thursday to Saturday. Don’t look for Aji’s grilled shrimp on Sundays or Mondays: Oohhs and Aahhs is closed so Aji can take a rest from serving Washington’s tired, hungry, and poor for lack of beef short ribs. Oohhs and Aahhs is located at 1005 U Street, N.W. and is near several hot clubs. Among these venues is the historic Bohemian Caverns where many music greats played during the jazz era, and where many still do today. The U Street / Cardoza Metro is across the street from Oohhs and Aahhs.
This post is by Guest Bogger Jay D. Krasnow from www.hyperactivestyle.com. Thanks Jay!

There are places in DC that require a special occasion, and places that require an ID. There are places that require you to know someone to get in. And then there are the places that require a certain something, a particular je ne sais quoi, places that need…
To be blunt, there are places in DC that absolutely require an expense account. There are certainly more expensive restaurants in the city than Charlie Palmer Steak, but it would be difficult to find one with more people dining on someone else’s bill. Lobbyists come to prove that they know how to scratch-a-back. Hill staffers come to blow off steam on dad’s credit card. Bosses bring their new employees, retiring employees, and once in a while, a secretary. Is anyone here actually paying for themselves?
I surely wasn’t. The occasion was a visit from Uncle Bill. Not my uncle per se, but certainly an uncle, in from Minnesota to sell paper. He already had a drink in hand when we met him at the minimalist bar that fronts the famed view of the capitol. A lady had bought it for him.
A recent Chowhound post described Charlie Palmers as ‘Hotel-lobby chic’ – the large, white dining room, the loud crowd stuffed into serious suits, and the waiters in slim, wire-rimmed glasses. At any moment you expect to see a potted plant. But while these are the usual at a DC steak house, the menu is more original. The required chops, steaks, and fries are joined by more exciting fare like a Ricotta Ravioli with Peekytoe Crab and Brown Butter Basted Skate Wing. It’s a combination that relies heavily on the quality of the ingredients but doesn’t mind giving them a hand when necessary; a more grounded version of Corduroy.
One bottle of excellent Pinot Noir later we were feeling appropriately political. I slurped my way through a squash soup, smooth and rich, with chewy apple dumplings. I gave one to amg and wished I hadn’t. Brussel sprouts and chestnuts were perfect for a sprout lover like me, a tender baked parmesan gnocchi was a very close second. The truffle basted rib-eye for two arrived as a huge slab of protein, presented for inspection and then whisked away to be broken down into more manageable anatomy. Reports say that it was a bit overwhelmingly meaty, but I was more interested in my New Hampshire ringneck pheasant, stuffed with foie gras and crusted in rosemary cured bacon. It was truly outstanding; simple and salty and tender and I almost cried when I realized I couldn’t possibly eat another bite of it.
After such heavy indulgence, it was a relief to find the crème brulee trio to be more like a caramelized mousse. I’d like to think that the lighter desert selection is a commentary on the kitchen’s careful forethought, but who knows. In any case, it was a perfect finish to a meal on someone else’s dime, and there was nothing left to do but to lean back in the warm glow of conspicuous consumption and port and play ‘spot the hooker’.

When my friend Wayne called one evening, just before spring, he told me that the beloved dive bar Stoney’s would be closing. Its building on L Street was being gutted, forcing the joint to close. Stoney’s was famous for good pizzas, massive grilled cheese sandwiches and cheap beer – three of my reasons to live, frankly. We had to go say goodbye to our old friend.
Stoney’s stood out in that it was a good ole’ fashioned neighborhood bar. It wouldn’t cause a fuss in East Baltimore or East Des Moines, the south side of Philly or Boston; would have fit in perfectly in Western Pennsylvania by replacing the Redskins’ photos with Steelers and Iron City neon lights. The kind of place with grizzled old late-night diner waitresses who might bring you what you ordered, and cuss you out if they got it wrong. Pictures on the walls of local sports scenes; some remembered, some forgotten, and all with a permanent layer of dust. Regulars straight from Central Casting – old men looking for a cold sip and a hot bite, straight from the job – if they had one. A gruff bartender who didn’t care how old you liked your Scotch because they only had one bottle – a gallon-sized plastic drum made from the finest distillery in Kinhump, Iowa. Stoney’s was an institution, a bar stuck in time, with a 1950s menu and decor. It wasn’t a created by a celebrity chef or HGTV interior designer, just a guy who liked beer and hearty chow. It harkened back to a different era, when D.C. wasn’t a place you went out in, but got out from.
We took solace that last beer-soaked night knowing that the owner would be looking for a new location for Stoney’s. When that new location turned out to be Logan Circle, we wondered how a new Stoney’s would look in yet another rapidly-evolving neighborhood, a place that used to be more hookers than homes. I went there Wednesday night, not really sure what to expect. Would some of the old regulars be sitting on a crooked bar, laughing at the Yuppies shopping at Whole Foods across the street? They’ll certainly be griping about the Redskins’ losing season, right? Maybe expressing shock that Alfonso Soriano left town, and wondering how much ole’ Frank Howard could make if we were playing today.
I walked into a perfectly clean, crowded bar full of freshly-scrubbed young professionals. A bar that now has a larger wine and microbrew selection, a heck of a lot more seating, and no rickety stairs to negotiate when heading to the bathroom. None of the old guys were there at all. Conversation was more policy than prose, and the waitresses were actually attractive. As though my system wasn’t shocked enough, Stoney’s now takes credit cards! Fortunately, they still have the best grilled cheese sandwich in town, or else I’d have been in Bizarro DC.
It’s a great place to go for a cheap meal and good drink. It’s definitely respectable. It is what every suburban chain bar and grill strives to be, and somehow misses. Still friendly, still inviting, but different. Changed…much like it’s new neighborhood.
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3 Whammies! out of 5. Stoney’s gets a Whammy! each for still being a great value, with heavenly grilled cheese sandwiches and good beer, and their choice to take credit cards saved me 2 bucks in ATM fees. That’s gotta be worth an additional 2 Whammies! there. Stoney’s lost 2 Whammies! by being completely unrecognizable from the old place and for being too close to Whole Foods. Nothing worse than eating fried foods and drinking beer and watching lean, healthy people walk out with organic cheeses, veggies and whole-grain pastas, knowing that you should be eating better. Plus, the way the hungry Whole Foods shoppers were drooling over my fried foods and beer was VERY distracting.
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Stoney’s
1433 P Street NW
Washington DC 20005

Young zaf’s earliest toy was a big bowl of water. She’d mix in little squeezy tubes of food coloring, flour, sugar, sand, eyeshadow, and whatever else happened to be lying around. The resulting gloop was called ‘cake’. The nearest adult was asked to eat it.
Finally, zaf discovered He-Man dolls, so no lasting harm was done (except to the carpet), but in a universe without Matell, zaf might have gone on to work at Mini Bar.
Hopeful diners must plan their meal one month in advance. The day exactly one month prior to the meal, to be precise, and Minibar’s website goes so far as to suggest calling early in the morning if you want your first choice of the 6 PM or 8:30 PM seating. There are only six chairs, and confirming the reservation requires a dizzying back and forth of credit cards on the phone, confirmation by fax, and finally a signed contract. On this particular night I waited downstairs in Café Atlantico with five other apprehensive diners, at least two of whom had been looking forward to this for six months. We talked with that hushed, nervous intimacy among strangers that usually means an imminent bungee jump or something. I calmed my butterflies with a mojito poured over cotton candy. I’m telling you, butterflies. For a meal.
The counter, set upstairs with chairbacks to the rest of the restaurant, was manned by two chefs; one who acted as ringmaster, and one who prepared little things in the background. Our particular chef said he could perform both sides, but not at the same time. Why? I have seen cooking technique whittled down to such minimalism that it looks choreographed, but that’s always been just a metaphor. This was like they were doing some kind of crazy ballet that also happened to turn ingredients into tiny, bite-sized dishes. At the end of each act they’d pick up the plates (or wire baskets, or gelatin-glass trays), nod at each other to get the timing just right, and click them down on the glass counter in front of each diner at precisely the same moment.
Each of the 30-odd dishes was constructed, passed out, and whisked away: the famous olive oil bon bons. The pork rinds with Maple syrup. The smoked oyster with apples. Some of them were downright tasty: I could easily eat a whole bowl of the Zucchini in Textures (creamy zucchini seeds – light but savory) or the Linguini made from jellied feta water. Also perfect was the tomato sorbet wrapped in avocado that made up the Guacamole. And the single spoonful of England clam chowder: Squirts of creamy potato foam with a single clam. Other dishes seemed more like modern art – there to make an interesting point instead of to please. The deconstructed glass of wine consisted of a number of herb and spice shreds, embedded in gelatin with alcohol sprayed on top.
And some of the dishes were just fun. I started giggling at course 7 (saffron yoghurt meringue), continued on through the cotton candy fois gras and Lobster Americain (served skewered on a pipette of its own shell-juice) and didn’t stop laughing till after course 32, a Halls lollypop.
I highly suggest the wine pairings, dumbed down for us plebeians into either “Lively & Fresh” or “Luscious and Sexy”. They say that dishes change about every six months. I’ll be back then to feed my inner 3-year old.