Bistro Français, Georgetown, D.C.

For one of the great cities of the world, Washington, D.C., is rather unique in that there is virtually zero late night life. I suppose this is not all that surprising where the town's Chief Resident is known for going to bed before 10 p.m. and for ordering the White House Christmas tree lights turned off at midnight. The political appointees and bureaucrats all follow suit, so they roll up the sidewalks in D.C. after ten.

This "problem" manifests itself particularly for those who enjoy the city's rich and thriving arts community. Unlike New York, where people routinely go to a show or a concert and then head out to dinner, a Washington concert or show goer will be hard pressed to find a restaurant still open at 11 p.m. in or immediately near any of the three main theater/arts districts.

Thus was my problem after opening night of the ballet this week. What with a dress rehearsal all afternoon and a performance that night, as I don't ever eat before a performance, it turned out that I'd not eaten all day long, and I was famished. My friend Ian decided he wanted to take me out for dinner after the show, and since it was too late to go to his favorite IHOP (for some reason, the subway stops running at midnight in this city—see above), and even though I was exhausted, sore, and my legs were like rubber, he insisted that I come all the way to Georgetown to eat.

Limping and moving slowly, I made my way from the Kennedy Center to Georgetown, walking along the very shortest pathway that just happened to be along the Potomac to Washington Harbor and then up. That was the day the weather happened to change mid afternoon, moving from our "springtime" warmth to a little bit of real winter. The temperature had fallen below freezing. There was a brisk wind blowing off the river. That wind was so strong and chill that the festival marketplace at the harbor—usually jammed with people drinking and partying out on the patios of a half dozen restaurants—was deserted. But I trudged onward, fulfilling my engagement to meet Ian at Bistro Français.

Those of you who are regular readers of mine know that I'm no stranger to Bistro Français....and neither is Ian. But, it does happen to be the only sit-down restaurant anywhere within walking distance that stays open past midnight, and we tolerate their oft-times "Parisian" service (as it was on this visit) since there are no other options. The very first time Ian met in person, we did an opera followed by dinner at Bistro Français so he kind of thinks of the place as "our" restaurant. So, naturally, the waiter doesn't even have to ask him what he wants for dinner: a Coke, a water, and an omelette aux fromage suisse et fines herbs avec pommes frites.

I did the night owl prix fixe meal, so I started with the liver mousse and a glass of their house burgundy. It came with some interesting, smoky-tasting olives I couldn't place or identify. For my main course, I had the pork tenderloin on the recommendation of the waiter. It was okay, with the slices placed atop a tomatoey sauce. It came with a big serving of ratatouille, which, of course, I did not touch since I'm allergic to eggplant. I mentioned that to the waiter, but he just said, "Oh." Since the dish was his choice, not that I would have taken it, but I expected him to at least offer to replace the vegetable.



Dessert was a nice little apple tart on puff pastry (with a corner eaten off before we remembered to take a picture).