Not long ago, Leo and I went to 1789 Restaurant for dinner, and I've been saving my description of our meal for this special anniversary in memory of the first anniversary of the death of Julia Child, as this was the restaurant chosen for Julia's gala 90th birthday party. I'm always worried when I dine at a restaurant "legend," since most of the time I end up being disappointed. Not only did I go to 1789 knowing about Julia's birthday dinner, but I knew that Gourmet magazine had named it as one of the top restaurants in America, and it appears in all the guidebooks and lists of "top" Washington restaurants, with a long pedigree going back to its 1960 opening. We weren't disappointed, though, and I can certainly see why 1789 received the honor of hosting Julia's 90th birthday dinner.
1789 is located in an old, Federal-era house right by the Georgetown University campus. The rather small rooms are all furnished with period furnishings and art, and there are antiques everywhere, including colonial silver and a wine shelf from a 16th century Irish monastery. Even though we dined on a week night, not only did we have to have reservations, we were only able to get 6 p.m. reservations, as everything later in the evening was already taken. I also took note of the restaurant's dress code, with gentlemen being required to wear jackets. When it was time to eat, we were escorted up a steep, narrow staircase (this old building is most assuredly not handicapped accessible) to the Wickets Room. The walls were done in old, light-colored oak panelling, and 19th century lithographs of caricatures and hunting prints were framed and hung in every niche of the panelling. A large, black, wrought-iron chandelier hung in the center of the room. From our vantage point at a square table near the wall, we could see into the Garden Room, which was painted a light butter-yellow, had floral and botanical prints, and featured a window wall looking out over the Georgetown U campus.
No matter how good the chef in the kitchen, one of the major things that can ruin a dining experience is the service, from the host to the waiter to the busboys, but Chef Ris Lacoste has no worries in this department. Service was not only impeccable, it was impressive. The wait staff was all formally attired in black trousers and bow ties, with the full waiters in white mess jackets (think tailcoats without the tails) and the waiter's assistants in long, white waiter's sackcoats. Our waiter, Micheal, was a young man, but he had eleven years of experience with 1789's owner, the Clyde's Group, and has spent the last five years at 1789. He knew everything about the food, the accompaniments, and the wines. If you had a question about an ingredient, he knew not only the answer but the history. He was intimately acquainted with the wine list and knew what went with what. After we had ordered and I was pondering wines, I asked him about a particular varietal with which I was not familiar and he told me all about the wine; but then, he actually suggested that I consider a different, more complementary white wine for our meal, a wine that was cheaper!
As our food was prepared, we were brought a basket of warm foccacia bread, sufficiently flavored with caramelized onions and cheddar and parmesan cheeses so as to almost constitute an amuse bouche. They make their breads and pastries in house, and the bread was clearly fresh and hadn't been rewarmed. My only criticism of the restaurant for the entire evening is for the foccacia, which I thought was ever so slightly too salty. Historically, though, 1789 was originally a French restaurant before becoming the quintessential Washington "American" restaurant, chef received her training in France, and the French do tend to like a bit more salt than do modern Americans. Along with our bread we received a square of fresh unsalted butter which had been sprinkled with crystals of sea salt and then given a splash of virgin olive oil (Micheal told us which kind, but I've forgotten) to add a little extra richness to the butter.
We chose seafood for our first courses. Leo sampled the Prince Edward Island mussels, which had been poached in a broth scented with garlic and Pernod (an anise- or licorice-flavored liqueur). On the edge of the plate were several grill-marked crostini (think fancy toast) and some saffron-yellow aioli (hand-made mayonaisse). He liked the mussels and even allowed his crostini to "accidentally" drop into the broth so he could eat it, as well. My first course was a large, soft-shelled crab that had been tempura-battered and fried, then cut in half, some green Japanese-inspired sauce inserted, and the two halves were then stood on end on one side of the plate, claws and legs waiving in the air. On the other end of the plate was a salad of mixed seaweeds with a few threads of carrot and some slivvers of mushroom in a lightly spicy dressing. A little bowl of ponzu dipping sauce (think flavored soy sauce) which I didn't use was served on the side. The crab was perfectly cooked and I thought the seaweed salad gave the course an interesting opportunity for crunch.
We stuck with seafood for our main course, though I was quite tempted to try the house specialty rack of American lamb. Leo ordered the New Bedford sea scallops on Thai rice noodles. He received a goodly quantity of large scallops which had been lightly rubbed with a red spice then seared on the grill and served rare on top of the noodles. The Thai rice noodles were combined with shrimp, peanuts, ginger, basil, lime, and spices to make a hot, spicy, delicious pad thai. I had the grilled North Carolina grouper, a thick chunk of fish which was presented on a fried green tomato and surrounded with a South Carolina risotto. This simply prepared fish was delicious. The fish was just cooked through, with no dryness or rareness anywhere. The green tomato was a nice touch. I didn't detect any cornmeal flavor in the breading, so chef may have used fine Japanese bread crumbs, or else white corn meal that was so mild I didn't notice it in the profusion of other flavors.
Oh, I should mention our wines. I chose, based on Michael's recommendation, the Chateau La Mothe Du Barry Entre-Deux-Mers (Cuveé French Kiss) 2004, a nice buttery, yet crisp, white which stood up well to the variety of foods we ate. Leo prefers non-tannic reds, so he ordered the Trinchero Family Selection Merlot 2003, a California wine. I thought it was rather pleasant for a domestic merlot (and Leo had never watched the movie Sideways until this week!).
Now, on to the dessert course. I wanted to do a cheese course first, but Leo is somewhat lactose-intolerant, so I thought a cheese course might not be the most considerate thing to suggest, and we went straight to the goodies. He had a warm chocolate cake with peppermint ice cream that he still talks about everytime we go to dinner. He had a large, muffin-sized, individual dark chocolate cake that was a little crusty on the outside and soft and warm on the inside, drizzled with a tiny bit of chocolate and accompanied by a handmade vanilla ice cream with little bits of fresh peppermint mixed in the ice cream, and garnished with a bright green sprig of peppermint. He didn't share.
Thinking of the warm peach cobbler served in lieu of cake at Julia's birthday dinner, I ordered the warm peach galette, which was a sort of an individual peach cobbler. It came with a handmade vanilla ice cream with a swirl of fresh raspberries. It was lovely, of course, but I was particularly intrigued with the pastry. They used pâte sucreé—pie dough with lots of sugar in it, making it almost like a cookie dough—yet the end result was layered and almost flaky, like a puff pastry! I have no idea how they did that, so I guess I'm going to have to experiment and try to recreate it. Another pastry challenge. Remember how Julia used to do those puff pastries on TV, making it seem so incredibly easy?
1789 Restaurant, 1226 36th Street Northwest at Prospect Street, Georgetown.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Julia Child (1912-2004)
One year ago today, our beloved Julia Child went to the great heavenly kitchen in the skies.
It is no exaggeration to assert that Julia was one of the greatest influences on American culture in the 20th century. Even today, we benefit from the quality, excitement, and variety of culinary adventures she started in the 1960s.
If you think back in American history, the time of the Eisenhower Administration was when Americans were learning to be peacetime Americans in the post-World War II, post-Korean War era. All of that military scientific and engineering ingenuity was being adapted to domestic uses. Fabulous new inventions helped the housewife save time in the kitchen. Convenience foods began to transform the American palate as exciting things like artificial creamer, frozen TV dinners, frozen fish sticks, Cheese Whiz, Lipton's Soup Mix, Sweet 'N Low, Rice-a-Roni, and McDonald's Restaurant franchises were invented. "Fancy" restaurants were known for their exciting menus of grilled steak and baked potatoes and grilled steak and baked potatoes. Other courses would typically be shrimp cocktail (boiled shrimp arranged around a small bowl of ketchup and horseradish "cocktail" sauce) and a wedge of Iceberg lettuce with a slice of tomato and some blue cheese (for the bold) or orange-colored "French" (for the rest of us) dressing. America plunged into a craving for cookie cutter sameness à la Father Knows Best or Leave It to Beaver. Into this bland conformity came Julia Child with her book Mastering the Art of French Cooking in 1961 and her Public Television series The French Chef in 1963.
Julia was an unlikely vehicle for mass cultural change. Born in 1912 to an upper middle class family, she was educated at Smith College and then joined the OSS (today known as the CIA) in World War II, where she met her husband, another OSS employee. After the war, they traveled the world with his State Department diplomatic career, eventually moving to Paris in 1948 for a new posting. It was their first meal in France after a week of dreadful shipboard food that inspired Julia's conversion to good food and good cooking. The simple goodness of fresh oysters on the half shell, sole meunière, a green salad, some crème fraîche, and a bottle of cold, crisp Pouilly Fuissé sparked Julia's revelation that food didn't have to be bland and boring. Soon thereafter, Julia enrolled in the world-renowned Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris and learned to cook. Eventually she met two French women, the three of them started a cooking school in Paris, and they began a ten-year collaboration to write a French cookbook targeted at the American audience. It was finally published in 1961, and the rest is history.
The French Chef lasted from 1963 through 1966. One of my earliest childhood memories was watching those black and white PBS shows with the big, tall (she was 6'2"), hooty-voiced woman cooking yummy food with funny (French) names. After a round of reruns, a color version debutted in 1970, with Julia staunchly staying with PBS and the "educational people" instead of crossing over to network television. Then over the decades, a succession of Julia Child cooking shows—all with companion cookbooks—hit the PBS stations, including Julia Child and Company, Julia Child and More Company, Dinner at Julia's, Baking with Julia, Cooking with Master Chefs, In Julia's Kitchen with Master Chefs, and Jacques and Julia at Home. Julia was the first television chef and celebrity, and she paved the way for Iron Chef, Emeril, and Martha the Criminal. Her shows—mainstays of Saturday morning PBS programming—inspired Americans to raise their culinary standards and to be more adventuresome in trying and tasting cuisines from around the world.
Eventually, age began to overtake Julia. In 2001, she announced that she was moving to sunny southern California to an assisted living home, and that she was donating her famous kitchen in her Cambridge, Massachusetts, home to the Smithsonian Institution here in Washington. In August of 2002, in time for a grand celebration of Julia's 90th birthday, the Smithsonian opened the kitchen exhibit at the National Museum of American History. There was a birthday party and a special $350 per person tribute birthday dinner created for Julia by Chef Ris Lacoste at her landmark Georgetown restaurant, 1789. Then, last year, just two days shy of her 92nd birthday, Julia died, leaving her indelible imprint on American culture.
Requiescat in pace, Julia. We miss you.
Julia's kitchen at the National Museum of American History
It is no exaggeration to assert that Julia was one of the greatest influences on American culture in the 20th century. Even today, we benefit from the quality, excitement, and variety of culinary adventures she started in the 1960s.
If you think back in American history, the time of the Eisenhower Administration was when Americans were learning to be peacetime Americans in the post-World War II, post-Korean War era. All of that military scientific and engineering ingenuity was being adapted to domestic uses. Fabulous new inventions helped the housewife save time in the kitchen. Convenience foods began to transform the American palate as exciting things like artificial creamer, frozen TV dinners, frozen fish sticks, Cheese Whiz, Lipton's Soup Mix, Sweet 'N Low, Rice-a-Roni, and McDonald's Restaurant franchises were invented. "Fancy" restaurants were known for their exciting menus of grilled steak and baked potatoes and grilled steak and baked potatoes. Other courses would typically be shrimp cocktail (boiled shrimp arranged around a small bowl of ketchup and horseradish "cocktail" sauce) and a wedge of Iceberg lettuce with a slice of tomato and some blue cheese (for the bold) or orange-colored "French" (for the rest of us) dressing. America plunged into a craving for cookie cutter sameness à la Father Knows Best or Leave It to Beaver. Into this bland conformity came Julia Child with her book Mastering the Art of French Cooking in 1961 and her Public Television series The French Chef in 1963.
Julia was an unlikely vehicle for mass cultural change. Born in 1912 to an upper middle class family, she was educated at Smith College and then joined the OSS (today known as the CIA) in World War II, where she met her husband, another OSS employee. After the war, they traveled the world with his State Department diplomatic career, eventually moving to Paris in 1948 for a new posting. It was their first meal in France after a week of dreadful shipboard food that inspired Julia's conversion to good food and good cooking. The simple goodness of fresh oysters on the half shell, sole meunière, a green salad, some crème fraîche, and a bottle of cold, crisp Pouilly Fuissé sparked Julia's revelation that food didn't have to be bland and boring. Soon thereafter, Julia enrolled in the world-renowned Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris and learned to cook. Eventually she met two French women, the three of them started a cooking school in Paris, and they began a ten-year collaboration to write a French cookbook targeted at the American audience. It was finally published in 1961, and the rest is history.
The French Chef lasted from 1963 through 1966. One of my earliest childhood memories was watching those black and white PBS shows with the big, tall (she was 6'2"), hooty-voiced woman cooking yummy food with funny (French) names. After a round of reruns, a color version debutted in 1970, with Julia staunchly staying with PBS and the "educational people" instead of crossing over to network television. Then over the decades, a succession of Julia Child cooking shows—all with companion cookbooks—hit the PBS stations, including Julia Child and Company, Julia Child and More Company, Dinner at Julia's, Baking with Julia, Cooking with Master Chefs, In Julia's Kitchen with Master Chefs, and Jacques and Julia at Home. Julia was the first television chef and celebrity, and she paved the way for Iron Chef, Emeril, and Martha the Criminal. Her shows—mainstays of Saturday morning PBS programming—inspired Americans to raise their culinary standards and to be more adventuresome in trying and tasting cuisines from around the world.
Eventually, age began to overtake Julia. In 2001, she announced that she was moving to sunny southern California to an assisted living home, and that she was donating her famous kitchen in her Cambridge, Massachusetts, home to the Smithsonian Institution here in Washington. In August of 2002, in time for a grand celebration of Julia's 90th birthday, the Smithsonian opened the kitchen exhibit at the National Museum of American History. There was a birthday party and a special $350 per person tribute birthday dinner created for Julia by Chef Ris Lacoste at her landmark Georgetown restaurant, 1789. Then, last year, just two days shy of her 92nd birthday, Julia died, leaving her indelible imprint on American culture.
Requiescat in pace, Julia. We miss you.
Julia's kitchen at the National Museum of American History
Friday, August 12, 2005
Uni, Washington, D.C.
Last night, Leo and I finally popped in to Uni for dinner. Uni is on P Street between 21st and 22nd, next door to Mimi's, a place where we brunch frequently, so we've wanted to try Uni for some time. We'd also gotten a take-away/delivery menu from the place, and it looked intriguing. Taking its name from the Japanese word for "sea urchin,"
Uni is a sushi bar located on the second floor of an old row house. As one enters the restaurant, there is a leopard-print carpeted dining room to the right and a wood floored sushi bar to the left. Smooth, plain, light-colored wood paneling adorns the walls, and the windows are covered with square hangings of green tea ice cream-colored fabric. They advertise free Wi-Fi connections, and we saw several people in the establishment with their laptops. We got to sit by the front window in the overhang over the P Street sidewalk.
The menu is standard sushi bar fare, with the non-sushi items being some appetizers and some of the half dozen or so bento box offerings. Their beverage list included a number of interesting gourmet teas I wanted to try, though I ended up with iced green tea (Leo had dragged me all over downtown Washington on foot, and it was hot and humid out!). We started off with a salad of sliced, seared ahi tuna pressed with sesame seeds and cracked peppercorns topped with thin slices of green onion, and arranged on a plate drizzled with sesame sauce and garnished with a big mound of shredded threads of carrot and a parsley sprig.
I was feeling rather unadventurous, so I ordered the maki mix, a standard sushi roll assortment. They brought me a square, white, ceramic dish with six pieces of California roll arranged in the center, then in each of the corners of the dish were three pieces each of cucumber, tuna, salmon, and eel sushi rolls. Small mounds of wasabi (green horseradish) and gari (pickled ginger) were at the nine- and three-o'clock positions, respectively. All of the sushi was very nice and fresh, and I was particularly impressed with the California rolls. The ubiquitous California roll (cooked crab legs, avocado, and cucumber) is so typically haphazardly thrown together and is one of the "common" sushis that everyone eats, that care is not always taken. Uni's version, though, used real crab meat instead of imitation, and they used flying fish roe to decorate the outside instead of the less expensive masago roe, all lending itself to a very tasty, rich taste.
Leo ordered a la carte, selecting tuna, fatty tuna, eel, and sea urchin roe sushi nigiri. They each were very large pieces of fish, and the uni was served with two pieces of roe instead of the usual one. Leo let me taste one of his unis, and I was impressed with the freshness and smooth richness of the roe. Uni has a rather unique, intense flavor, and I wasn't quite expecting the double dose I got! Leo also liked the restaurant (he usually trashes most Asian restaurants) and said the fish was very fresh.
For dessert, Leo had tempura ice cream, where a long roll of vanilla ice cream was encased in tempura batter, deep fried, sliced in half, then drizzled with chocolate syrup. I assume it was good, since, despite his "diet," he ate the whole thing. I had the sake ice. It was lovely. Now, sake is the the traditional Japanese rice wine, and it was mixed with sugar and water, frozen and mixed, and it ended up coming out very much like a granita, looking like a pile of distinct ice crystals. They took preserved Japanese cherries and plums, put a few in the bottom of a large martini glass, then mounded the sake ice on top of the fruit. As the sake crystals melted, they "marinated" the fruit in sake. It was a wonderful dessert for a hot, steamy, Washington evening.
Uni is a sushi bar located on the second floor of an old row house. As one enters the restaurant, there is a leopard-print carpeted dining room to the right and a wood floored sushi bar to the left. Smooth, plain, light-colored wood paneling adorns the walls, and the windows are covered with square hangings of green tea ice cream-colored fabric. They advertise free Wi-Fi connections, and we saw several people in the establishment with their laptops. We got to sit by the front window in the overhang over the P Street sidewalk.
The menu is standard sushi bar fare, with the non-sushi items being some appetizers and some of the half dozen or so bento box offerings. Their beverage list included a number of interesting gourmet teas I wanted to try, though I ended up with iced green tea (Leo had dragged me all over downtown Washington on foot, and it was hot and humid out!). We started off with a salad of sliced, seared ahi tuna pressed with sesame seeds and cracked peppercorns topped with thin slices of green onion, and arranged on a plate drizzled with sesame sauce and garnished with a big mound of shredded threads of carrot and a parsley sprig.
I was feeling rather unadventurous, so I ordered the maki mix, a standard sushi roll assortment. They brought me a square, white, ceramic dish with six pieces of California roll arranged in the center, then in each of the corners of the dish were three pieces each of cucumber, tuna, salmon, and eel sushi rolls. Small mounds of wasabi (green horseradish) and gari (pickled ginger) were at the nine- and three-o'clock positions, respectively. All of the sushi was very nice and fresh, and I was particularly impressed with the California rolls. The ubiquitous California roll (cooked crab legs, avocado, and cucumber) is so typically haphazardly thrown together and is one of the "common" sushis that everyone eats, that care is not always taken. Uni's version, though, used real crab meat instead of imitation, and they used flying fish roe to decorate the outside instead of the less expensive masago roe, all lending itself to a very tasty, rich taste.
Leo ordered a la carte, selecting tuna, fatty tuna, eel, and sea urchin roe sushi nigiri. They each were very large pieces of fish, and the uni was served with two pieces of roe instead of the usual one. Leo let me taste one of his unis, and I was impressed with the freshness and smooth richness of the roe. Uni has a rather unique, intense flavor, and I wasn't quite expecting the double dose I got! Leo also liked the restaurant (he usually trashes most Asian restaurants) and said the fish was very fresh.
For dessert, Leo had tempura ice cream, where a long roll of vanilla ice cream was encased in tempura batter, deep fried, sliced in half, then drizzled with chocolate syrup. I assume it was good, since, despite his "diet," he ate the whole thing. I had the sake ice. It was lovely. Now, sake is the the traditional Japanese rice wine, and it was mixed with sugar and water, frozen and mixed, and it ended up coming out very much like a granita, looking like a pile of distinct ice crystals. They took preserved Japanese cherries and plums, put a few in the bottom of a large martini glass, then mounded the sake ice on top of the fruit. As the sake crystals melted, they "marinated" the fruit in sake. It was a wonderful dessert for a hot, steamy, Washington evening.
Au Pied Bistro, Georgetown, D.C.
Last Tuesday after I got in from the airport, we walked into Georgetown for a late-night supper at Au Pied Bistro, on M Street near the M and Pennsylvania merger. One of my friends asked me yesterday why I would go to a restaurant called "with the foot café," and that stopped me for a minute until I remembered the history and provenance of the bistro.
Back when I was living in D.C. years ago doing my undergraduate internship at Georgetown, there was a popular bistro on Wisconsin called Au Pied de Cochon, or "with the foot of the pig." It was an elegant French place that specialized in country French cuisine, and in France, braised pig's feet are a popular "comfort food." I remember eating there once, and had some of the most exquisite monkfish in a lobster nantua sauce (which, of course, made the monkfish taste like a great big piece of lobster). The restaurant gained a certain international notoriety back in 1985 when it was the site of a famous KGB defection at the height of the Reagan-era Cold War. It's now the location of a Five Guys burger place. When Au Pied de Cochon closed early last year after nearly 30 years at the prior location, the concept moved to Au Pied Bistro, with much of the old staff moving to the new location, and with many of the menu items remaining the same.
We arrived after ten, and the restaurant had about half a dozen occupied tables. They seated us in the corner table by the front window overlooking the street (why do we always get seated by the windows?). I noticed the walls were covered by large numbers of over-sized canvasses which must have been painted by high school students attempting (badly) to emulate the French post-impressionists. It was certainly colorful, though.
Leo started with an entree (remember, this is a French restaurant!) of baked mussels. He got a plate full of mussels on the half-shell, stuffed with butter, garlic, herbs, and tomato, then baked. I had a nice crock of potage St. Germain, a classic French soup of pureed peas, lettuce, leeks, and herbs enriched with cream. It would have been great with a shot of sherry.....do you remember that old crêpe restaurant national chain called The Magic Pan? They used to serve their potage St. Germain with a small vase of sherry and a tiny bowl of crème fraîche. Mmmm.
As we moved on to our plats, Leo had scallops on a bed of leeks. It was rather different than what either of us expected. A wide band of sauteed, chopped leeks ran down the center of his plate, flanked by bands of white rice. On top of the leeks were a collection of tiny scallops. Looked interesting, though I didn't detect a lot of enthusiasm from Leo. I had a half roasted chicken scented with rosemary and arranged on a bed of caramelized onion-flavored mashed potatoes. My food was very good, and reminded me of the country food of the original restaurant.
For dessert, he had a crème caramel (served in a rectangular piece) and I had a mousse au chocolat. My mousse was thick, dense, and very dark chocolate, with just a hint of espresso but I didn't taste the hint of orange liqueur which is also part of the classic French recipe. That didn't stop me, however, from eating all of it.
We'll likely be back to Au Pied Bistro. While the food wasn't spectacular, it was functional and tasty, and, more importantly, the place is both within easy walking distance and is open late for dinner.
Back when I was living in D.C. years ago doing my undergraduate internship at Georgetown, there was a popular bistro on Wisconsin called Au Pied de Cochon, or "with the foot of the pig." It was an elegant French place that specialized in country French cuisine, and in France, braised pig's feet are a popular "comfort food." I remember eating there once, and had some of the most exquisite monkfish in a lobster nantua sauce (which, of course, made the monkfish taste like a great big piece of lobster). The restaurant gained a certain international notoriety back in 1985 when it was the site of a famous KGB defection at the height of the Reagan-era Cold War. It's now the location of a Five Guys burger place. When Au Pied de Cochon closed early last year after nearly 30 years at the prior location, the concept moved to Au Pied Bistro, with much of the old staff moving to the new location, and with many of the menu items remaining the same.
We arrived after ten, and the restaurant had about half a dozen occupied tables. They seated us in the corner table by the front window overlooking the street (why do we always get seated by the windows?). I noticed the walls were covered by large numbers of over-sized canvasses which must have been painted by high school students attempting (badly) to emulate the French post-impressionists. It was certainly colorful, though.
Leo started with an entree (remember, this is a French restaurant!) of baked mussels. He got a plate full of mussels on the half-shell, stuffed with butter, garlic, herbs, and tomato, then baked. I had a nice crock of potage St. Germain, a classic French soup of pureed peas, lettuce, leeks, and herbs enriched with cream. It would have been great with a shot of sherry.....do you remember that old crêpe restaurant national chain called The Magic Pan? They used to serve their potage St. Germain with a small vase of sherry and a tiny bowl of crème fraîche. Mmmm.
As we moved on to our plats, Leo had scallops on a bed of leeks. It was rather different than what either of us expected. A wide band of sauteed, chopped leeks ran down the center of his plate, flanked by bands of white rice. On top of the leeks were a collection of tiny scallops. Looked interesting, though I didn't detect a lot of enthusiasm from Leo. I had a half roasted chicken scented with rosemary and arranged on a bed of caramelized onion-flavored mashed potatoes. My food was very good, and reminded me of the country food of the original restaurant.
For dessert, he had a crème caramel (served in a rectangular piece) and I had a mousse au chocolat. My mousse was thick, dense, and very dark chocolate, with just a hint of espresso but I didn't taste the hint of orange liqueur which is also part of the classic French recipe. That didn't stop me, however, from eating all of it.
We'll likely be back to Au Pied Bistro. While the food wasn't spectacular, it was functional and tasty, and, more importantly, the place is both within easy walking distance and is open late for dinner.
Brookside by Day, Tulsa, OK
Oh, brunch Sunday. Tony and I ate at Brookside by Day yet again (where he made me go for Sunday brunch when I visited in March and where we used to go every frickin' Sunday after Mass when I used to live in Tulsa) and he ate his usual eggs Benedict with runny egg yolks. I, on the other hand, had a fabulous chicken fried steak and gravy with good, plain, no-additive mashed potatoes. In D.C., every kitchen has to add something to the mashed potatoes--roasted garlic, wasabi paste, pureed parsnips, etc., etc. And chicken fried steak in D.C.? Non-existent. At least nothing that deserves the name.
Costa Azul, Tulsa, OK
Sunday in Tulsa, Tony and I went to Costa Azul, a "real" Mexican place in the, shall we say, "ethnic" area of Tulsa. This is one of the places we used to go to a lot back when I lived in Tulsa cause the food is always so good, though it helps to be able to speak at least a little Spanish there. We'd already had a late brunch (what? Tony get out of bed before noon?), we'd just had bubble teas (wow! bubble tea made it to Tulsa!) at the mall, and we were eating dinner rather too early so we could go to a QAF finale watch party, so we kept it fairly light.
I ordered the birria stew, $8 (only available on weekends) and Tony ordered a seven seafood stew, $11, filled with crab legs and shrimp in a rich red tomatillo broth. They were both wonderful, but we ended up taking it home in go-boxes, cause we had gotten so stuffed on nibble food.
We'd made the mistake of ordering a bowl of their delicious white chile con queso and a bowl of guacamole dip for our tortilla chips. The bowls were huge! There had to be at least a half dozen avocados in the bowl, and the guacamole was freshly made, too, since it was still bright green and there was no hint of lime juice to slow the oxidation that makes guacamole turn brown soon after it's made. And you know how much that huge bowl of guacamole cost? $4.50.
I ordered the birria stew, $8 (only available on weekends) and Tony ordered a seven seafood stew, $11, filled with crab legs and shrimp in a rich red tomatillo broth. They were both wonderful, but we ended up taking it home in go-boxes, cause we had gotten so stuffed on nibble food.
We'd made the mistake of ordering a bowl of their delicious white chile con queso and a bowl of guacamole dip for our tortilla chips. The bowls were huge! There had to be at least a half dozen avocados in the bowl, and the guacamole was freshly made, too, since it was still bright green and there was no hint of lime juice to slow the oxidation that makes guacamole turn brown soon after it's made. And you know how much that huge bowl of guacamole cost? $4.50.
Rosa Mexicano, Washington, D.C.
A couple of months ago, one of my friends and I went to a place here in D.C. called Rosa Mexicano, near the MCI Center. I'd been looking forward to trying it, since the original Rosa Mexicano is in New York near Lincoln Center, and received rave reviews. It's a fancy place for a Mexican joint, with a no-longer working waterfall in the dining room (it sprang a leak and flooded a law office on the floor below, so the insurance company won't let them turn it back on) and white cloths on the tables. In addition to a full bar, they had a special tequila bar set up with all kinds of fancy and expensive tequilas. The menu was pretty fancy, too, with none of the down-home country favorites most people expect from Mexican restaurants.
Most entrees were in the $20- to $30-something price range. We were there mid-afternoon, so we just had several appetizers, since they are usually wonderfully tasty teasers of the kitchen's main offerings and really more than enough food for a pick-me-up. We had some queso fundido (melted white Mexican cheese with chorizo sausage and charred poblano peppers), some cornmeal masa empanadas stuffed with crab meat with some mango pico de gallo, some rather stale chicken flautas with sour cream and salsa verde, and a roasted duck quesadilla-like thing (it had another name which escapes me right now) covered with a hot, spicy, yellow sauce that didn't quite cover the dried out tortilla edges. Each of these appetizers cost between $8 and $12 each.
We also had their signature guacamole en molcajete, a fresh guacamole dip prepared tableside to order at a big cart that made the rounds of the dining room (a molcajete is a big mortar and pestle carved from volcanic rock). Guacamole for two was $14. It was interesting watching the guacamole being made. They used a lot of fresh cilantro, fresh diced onions, an assortment of dried spices, and fresh jalapeño peppers were split, cleaned, and diced in front of us. Our rather chatty waiter then selected a single avocado (just one avocado for the two of us!) and added it to the molcajete for blending. It tasted very good, what little there was.....
Most entrees were in the $20- to $30-something price range. We were there mid-afternoon, so we just had several appetizers, since they are usually wonderfully tasty teasers of the kitchen's main offerings and really more than enough food for a pick-me-up. We had some queso fundido (melted white Mexican cheese with chorizo sausage and charred poblano peppers), some cornmeal masa empanadas stuffed with crab meat with some mango pico de gallo, some rather stale chicken flautas with sour cream and salsa verde, and a roasted duck quesadilla-like thing (it had another name which escapes me right now) covered with a hot, spicy, yellow sauce that didn't quite cover the dried out tortilla edges. Each of these appetizers cost between $8 and $12 each.
We also had their signature guacamole en molcajete, a fresh guacamole dip prepared tableside to order at a big cart that made the rounds of the dining room (a molcajete is a big mortar and pestle carved from volcanic rock). Guacamole for two was $14. It was interesting watching the guacamole being made. They used a lot of fresh cilantro, fresh diced onions, an assortment of dried spices, and fresh jalapeño peppers were split, cleaned, and diced in front of us. Our rather chatty waiter then selected a single avocado (just one avocado for the two of us!) and added it to the molcajete for blending. It tasted very good, what little there was.....
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