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!
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19Dec
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08Dec
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’. -
07Dec
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 -
01Dec
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. -
30Nov
If the Springfield of Simpsons’ lore really was Springfield, Virginia, I know where Homer would be tomorrow.
According to the DC Examiner, one of the two DC-centric daily commuter papers fighting tooth-and-nail for your free readership, the Fractured Prune donut shop in DuPont Circle will be giving away free samples of their delicious, baked-while-you-wait wares, from 4 – 8 pm on Friday, December 1st.
Never heard of the Fractured Prune? You must be one of them Dewey Beach people. The Prune has been a welcome addition to the Ocean City sugar scene, quickly ranking with Dumser’s and the Candy Kitchen as must-stops while at the beach. They take the best ideas from Cold Stone Creamery (the wide array of toppings and fillings) and leave out the worst (knock off the damn singing and make my friggin’ waffle cone!). It’s a Build-Your-Own-Donut. Those who have tried the Prune’s dough-with-the-Os can attest to their warm cakey delights, customizable to your heart’s content. The picture with this story is the Sundae, but French Toast is my favorite…or the Reese’s Cup…or the Morning Buzz…or…
For some ideas of what kind of donuts you can have, check out this link. I apologize in advance if you gain weight.
Thanks to FUD friends Liz and Duane for the catch! -
30Nov
What makes for a good Mexican restaurant experience? My own criteria is hardly objective. If it’s Salvadoran-influenced, I’ll probably be a fan. If the dishes’ only defining characteristics are excessive amounts of cheese, I’m disinterested. Salsa is more pureed than chunky and pico de gallo-esque. Corn tortillas (crispy or otherwise) trump flour offerings. Words like “barbacoa” and “carnitas” bring me joy – and I’m not talking about in a Chipotle setting.
This gives you an indication about my preferences (or prejudices). And while El Paso Café in Ballston would probably earn raves from any fan of Mexican food, I essentially like it because it fits my style. Plus, the cozy atmosphere and generous margaritas are another bonus.
The place makes a mean pupusa – arguably not up to the standard set by Samantha’s in Silver Spring, but inarguably delicious, particularly the pork and cheese variety. If you’re not a fan, their queso makes for a fine starter as well. Other offerings of deliciousness included the delectable lobster tacos (a special; loved the accent of avocado), and the carnitas, which while a little on the sweet side, were wonderfully savory.
Service was a little spotty (we had table bets going on whether our waitress had registered my desire for a beer in a boot-shaped glass that I saw at another table, or would honor my friend’s request for water – she hadn’t, in either case), and the awkwardly placed bar with no stools in the middle of the restaurant doesn’t make for a comfortable situation when you’re waiting for a table. But when you’re picky about Mexican food and find a spot you like, you tend to overlook these tangential qualms. El Paso Café is worth a shot.
Plus, they have strolling mariachis. What more do you need?
El Paso Cafe
4235 N Pershing Dr
Arlington, VA 22203-3202 -
29Nov
Bardia’s New Orleans Café of Adams Morgan is the best casual Cajun place in the city. Without any peer, without even any near competition. But having said that, the hands down best casual Cajun outside of the city is Bethesda’s Louisiana Express Company. Which is better? I dare not speculate. There would probably be some kind of explosion or something.
The preeminent decorations inside this bare-bones eatery are awards. The walls are papered with them. And although a decade or more of Washingtonian readers could easily have been mistaken, this time they struck gold. The savory, spicy smell of jambalaya smacks you in the face as you enter, and ensures you your own seat on the metro when you leave .
I tried the shrimp bisque which arrived steaming and smelling of ripe tomato. AMG dove for a his iced tea at first bite, so I got to polish it off myself with a one of the city’s most perfect, buttery biscuits. The french fries, red with chili powder, were hot and good. Poached Eggs Creole came on a bed of fried grits and perfect andouille, and the catfish po’ boy was crunchy and moist and huge. The final bill…under $30.
Was it possibly better than Bardia’s? Better to not think about it -
28Nov
I call this collection “Odes to a Food Allergy.”
the turkey divine
but why did somebody put
mushrooms in stuffing?
and
chop them way too small
`shrooms invisible to eye
make me Shiitake.
Of all the foods to be allergic to, it’d have to be something that can be disguised like an Eastern Bloc spy. Ugh… I practically starved during the portobella boom a few years ago.
And, just to add insult to injury, I attended a weddding Saturday where the fliet mignons were covered in a delightful steak sauce…made of mushrooms. A tell-tale bit of mushroom would have been enough to scare me away to the lemon caper salmon, but no bits of `shroom could be found.
I’m guessing I’d have been a bad Smurf. -
27Nov
After another Thanksgiving, I thought I’d ease everyone back into the daily grind with something unusual for this web site: a culinary op-ed of sorts. Recently, the people in charge of New York City have begun a debate on whether or not to ban trans-fatty acids in restaurants. In order to understand the implications of this, it is necessary to know a little bit about what trans-fatty acids are, and why officials would want to ban them.
Normally, fat comes in four types: saturated, polyunsaturated, monounsaturated, and trans fatty acids. Saturated fat (such as butter, coconut oil, and palm kernel oil) is solid at room temperature, and is generally quite bad for you, in that it has been shown to be correlated with heart disease. Unsaturated fats are liquid at room temperature (olive, canola, soybean, corn, and vegetable oils), and while still bad for you, are less bad than saturated fats (although the fat content in your diet should come from unsaturated fats as much as possible).
The trouble is that all the flavour and goodness in various recipes comes from saturated fat. Some enterprising companies have discovered that if they add Hydrogen to an unsaturated fat like vegetable oil, it takes on properties that make it behave like a saturated fat (in terms of taste, texture, and body). These hydrogenated or partially-hydrogenated oils (which are sold as margarine, vegetable “spreads,” oleos, and shortening) are also called trans-fatty acids (or TFA for short).
Recently, authorities have become concerned because of a link between TFA’s and a number of health problems. TFA’s have been shown to raise the level of LDL (“bad”) cholesterol, while lowering the level of HDL (“good”) cholesterol, which leads to an increased risk for heart attack and stroke. Also, there seems to be a correlation between TFA consumption and obesity levels. The federal government, which is in an excellent position to enforce such a ban nationwide, has been silent on this matter, so some municipalities have started to take matters into their own hands. New York City, as the first major city to consider this, is being watched very carefully. Fast-food restaurant chains such as McDonald’s, Burger King, and Wendy’s, worried about potential drops in profit margins, have already (supposedly) started investigating alternatives for their fried foods.The proposed ban would only encompass restaurants. People would still be able to purchase margarine, shortening, etc. for home use.
As a professional chef, I am opposed to this sort of regulation for two reasons. First is because it’s badly written legislation that unfairly targets restaurants. Only restaurants would be subject to a ban on ingredients that are otherwise perfectly legal to use. Restaurants generally use a shortening in their deep fryers because it’s cheaper to use, and it doesn’t have to be changed as often as oil (and believe me, changing the oil in a commercial deep-fryer is not trivial). As such, the practical implication of this ban would be to quadruple the cost of anything fried.
The second reason I am opposed to this ban is because I really believe that it is not for a government to regulate what I eat. I am an adult, and I should decide what level of risk I’m comfortable with. I understand that there is a large amount of obesity in our society, but at the end of the day, people are responsible for their own diets, and for their level of activity (or lack thereof). What will happen if this ban comes to pass is that restaurants will most likely revert to using saturated fats such as butter, which is why the American Heart Association does not support the ban as it is currently written.
This sort of regulation first started in the late 1970’s when officials were concerned about Peking duck (which requires that the duck is hung to dry for half a day). It then moved to artisanal sausages and salumerias, and now to TFA’s. As a result, a lot of old-style artisan work is being lost. I admire the New York City government’s intentions, however the practical implications would be to shield people from one danger, while exposing people to another. Where does this end? If they come after Five Guys next, then my friends, the terrorists have truly won.
Got an opinion? Post a comment, or send an e-mail to dcfud.writers@gmail.com. For more information on TFA’s and their health implications, check out the American Heart Association’s web site. -
24Nov
For those of you that have eaten your way through the previous six articles in this series, here is the next installment. The prices I mention are after the discounts (and before tax and tip).I mentioned the Ballston Front Page’s Wednesday burger night in the fourth installment. I recently looked at their website and read about their free Thursday night (4-7pm) taco bar, which is at the bar. They also have $3 import beer bottles that evening, and DJ Smokey at 10pm. The Front Page also has selected half price appetizers Mondays through Fridays between 4-7pm.
I have yet to check the place out…but sushi bargain hunters may want to try the Ballston Mall’s Asahi Kaiten Sushibar for $2 a plate (which consists of 2 pieces) conveyor sushi lunch on Mondays through Fridays. This is a place where the sushi rotates on a conveyor…and you grab what fancies you. They also have six different bento box specials for lunch Mondays through Fridays at $8 each. Happy Hour drink specials are half price beer and cocktails on Mondays through Fridays from 3pm-7pm and Saturday from 4pm-7pm.
Several of us enjoyed the lunch buffet last Sunday at Sangam in Ballston. They had a good selection of Indian food, especially for $8.95 per person.
I will say this…between the Chocolate Show (that DCFUDie ZAF wrote about), Sangam’s lunch buffet, and DCFUDie Ray’s Thanksgiving spread yesterday…I think I’ve finally learned to pace myself…when it comes to eating huge meals. I wonder if I could do that at a churrascaria. 🙂
The Front Page (Ballston)
4201 Wilson Boulevard
Arlington, Virginia
703 248-9990Asahi Kaiten Sushibar
671 North Glebe Rd. Unit 1248,
Arlington, VA, 22203 (Ballston Mall)
703 248-0777Sangam
1211 N. Glebe Road
Arlington, VA 22201
703 524-2728 / 2711Where To Eat In Arlington When You Are Nearly Broke I
Where To Eat In Arlington When You Are Nearly Broke II
Where To Eat In Arlington When You Are Nearly Broke III
Where To Eat In Arlington When You Are Nearly Broke IV
