If you happen to spend a lot of time staring at the back of Baltimore cars, you will notice a variety of bumper paraphernalia. There are political stickers, those notifying the world that the occupant’s child is an honors student (again!), those trumpeting their academic affiliation, the ‘Believe’ stickers (for Washingtonians, Believe is a Baltimore campaign to inspire the populace to envision a city without crime and poverty, it has not worked yet) and those stating “Eat Bertha’s Mussels.”
Never having been one to resist the arguments of a bumper sticker, I promptly took myself down to Bertha’s Mussels, a Baltimore institution in the Fells Point distinct.
Bertha’s resides in a lovely building at 734 S Broadway. The front room is a low and smoky pub, followed by a large and airy dining room outfitted in solid oak. While the menu is varied and offers a good deal of interesting appetizers and main courses, everything except for the mussels is rather expensive, and honestly, if you are going to eat anything else, why are you bothering to come? Needless to say, we all had mussels. The portions were generous, huge plates of steaming mussels and various dipping sauces, including garlic butter and spinach, Spanish sauce, garlic butter and anchovies, etc. For the healthier version, garlic broth is available in exchange for butter.
While the mussels were meaty and filling, we found them to be a little
ubbery, not as tender as we were expecting. The sauces were delicious (we went for garlic broth and spinach, and Spanish sauce), subtly seasoned and light enough not to cover the slight flavor of the mussel, and there was more then enough to use up an entire container of sauce with one order of sauce.
However, we left not entirely satisfied. Our stomachs were full of bread and mussels and garlic, but somehow we were unfilled. Two of the three of us had never eaten mussels before, and left feeling as though, while we were glad we had done it once, we never had to do it again. The third felt as thought she had fulfilled her annual obligation and would not need to consume a plate of the creatures for another year. While I would recommend eating at Bertha’s to others should they have a desire for mussels, to those looking for a nice, non-mussel specific meal there is no need to obey the bumper sticker, and eat Bertha’s mussels.

There have been enough raves about the Dupont Circle Levantes that a last minute change of plans was made on the way to Penang last evening. Verdict: Just fine but not necessarily worth missing

You never have to search for the famous Greek Deli in the oddly-named Golden Triangle district of D.C. Simply turn onto 19th St. between L & M and look for the line that extends out into the street. And every one of the people standing the line walk away happy to have waited 10 minutes for the best take-out lunch in the area.
Greek Deli is nestled in an incredibly small storefront, maybe 9 feet wide, hidden in between the two sides of Nooshi. It’s a take-out only joint that’s open for breakfast and lunch and serves greek and mediterranean food – about 15-20 options sold it various combinations depending on what’s on the menu. Normal options include mousaka, greek chicken, lamb, gyros, and greek salads, served with sides of green beans and orzo. The man behind it all, known to his customers as Kostas, always works behind the counter yelling out to his clients to get their orders and then barking details to his assistants in the back.
The food is superb. I’m a huge fan of the chicken and green beans or the gyro, but I’ve never heard anyone complain about anything the’ve gotten there. And a former colleague of mind swears by their breakfast pita. So next time you’re tromping around golden triangle trying to decide between Cosi, Corner Bakery, or Chipotle, take a quick turn and grab some authentic greek food from Kostas.
Greek Deli | 1120 19th St. NW | Washington, DC | 202-296-2111

Hallmark is much maligned for giving sappy clich

For those of us without a car, Old Glory in Georgetown is probably the best “metro-accessible” place to go for barbeque within the city limits. True, that’s not saying a lot – DC is in total only 69 square miles – smaller than some New Jersey malls – and barbeque is hardly city food. Nevertheless, a few days ago found us in Georgetown demanding some pulled pork and it was either that or subvert our cravings to yet another Ben and Jerry’s run.
The interior is relaxed, rough-western style. It’s cute without dipping so far as a TGI Fridays or Cracker Barrel. Tables on both floors are equipped with abundant napkins and hot sauces.
On this particular trip, wings came first. Wings always come first. This place knows its wings and does them well – either as traditional buffalo wings or as buttermilk marinated pit-grilled wings. Sweet tea was acceptable, but not great. Next, we grabbed a OG Combo – one dish easily does for two – and chewed our way through a lackluster barbequed chicken, a soggy, tasteless pile of Carolina Pulled Pork, and a dry but very tasty couple of slices of Hand Sliced Brisket.
I can’t say it’s the epitome of a culinary experience, but Old Glory will get you full and satisfy a barbeque craving that’s looking for quantity over quality. I hear the bar is great, but can’t vouch for it personally – anyone who wants to give it a shot will have to crowd surf over a fashionable barricade of Urban Outfitters-clad college kids. Anyway, the wings are good.

Last weekend, I attended a surprise birthday dinner for one of my coworker friends. His wife made all the arrangements, and it almost worked, except that another co-worker, not even involved in the event, told him ‘happy birthday’ on Friday, tipping him off (with the help of a number of suspicious phone calls) that something was up. Oh well. He was still surprised to see us all waiting for him at Panache.
I’d never even heard of this place, rather new and tucked away as it is on DeSales Street, behind the Mayflower. The dining room is lovely, bar to the right and a comfy looking booths (clad in gorgeous bright red, against cream, almost caramel, walls). Our large party sat in the back, right in front of a rather prominent DJ booth, containing a DJ who kept a nice loungy-house thing going the whole evening. As the hours passed, the music got louder and the lighting dimmer; the music was good, but a bit much sitting so close to the speakers. At about 10:30, they started clearing empty tables to create a dance floor.
Time to order drinks. The waiter apologizes that they are out of my first choice, the Estancia PInot Noir, and my second, the Innominato Toscano. So I order a vodka tonic, which he has. He is also out of all the red wines except two, a Fruilvini Merlot and the house Cabernet Sauvignon. At $6 a glass for house and $9 for select, I’d have hoped they would have more selection in stock. Perhaps there was a snowstorm I didn’t notice.
Then, one of our party noticed something strange at the bar behind us. I turned, and at first wondered why such a messy drag queen was in such a nice place. Upon closer inspection, the big hat and hoop earring were those of a pirate costume, not a female impersonator. So, said member of our party got up, and asked the pirate to be in a picture with the Birthday Boy. The pirate agreed, and also told us why he was so attired: he told his friend that, if his friend found him a pirate costume, he would wear it out on the friend’s birthday. The friend found him a pirate costume, and it was his birthday.

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