The Grille at the Ritz-Carleton, Washington, D.C.

It's always a bad sign when one has to wait at a restaurant's maitre d' stand for over five minutes before one is noticed by an employee.

My friends Robert from Arkansas, housemate Leo, and I walked in precisely on time for our brunch reservation at The Grille at the Ritz-Carleton today, and we stood there in plain view, occasionally popping in to the dining room to look around more in quest of a host/hostess. Finally after we'd been there seven minutes, a waiter noticed us. After fumbling with the reservations book to find our name, he led us into the main dining room to seat us in a cozy alcove (had it previously been a coat closet??) with a table for three overlooking the dining room and with a view out the plate glass window wall onto the street.

We'd only been there a minute or two when an older manager-type came up and said they were going to have to get the dining room ready for a private party, so he was going to have to move us to another room—all with appropriate apologies, of course, but still, we were having to move after having just gotten settled.

The manager seated us at a very interesting granite-topped, rectangular table with a love seat along the long side and two chairs at either end, then presented us with menus he'd grabbed as we followed him to the other dining room. Rather than being Restaurant Week menus, though, they were regular breakfast menus. When our (different) waiter arrived to fill our water glasses, we had to ask him for the correct menus. As he took away the breakfast menus, he noticed that our table setting did not have napkins, so he brought the correct menus, then made an extra trip to bring napkins; he only brought two napkins, however, so he had to make yet another trip to bring the third.

And thus the meal went.

After bringing our drinks (a mimosa for Leo and an iced tea for me; Robert stuck with water), the waiter announced he was ready to take our orders. Then, he discovered he'd not brought a pad on which to write the orders, so he had to go get one and come back. The Restaurant Week menus were very limited. First course was either soup du jour or Caesar salad, main course was salmon or chicken breast, and dessert was cheesecake or a charlotte. Good thing I hadn't brought my father here, cause if it doesn't moo or oink, he won't eat it.

So far, no one had announced the specials of the day or stated the contents of the soup du jour, so when Leo started to order, the first thing he asked was "what is the soup du jour." Well, the waiter didn't know, so he had to go ask. When he returned, he said it was "pepper.....red pepper soup." None of the usual flowery adjectives to describe the wonderous deliciousness of the restaurant's offering. So, that's what Leo ordered. Robert and I both opted for the Caesar salads.

While we waited, we were brought a very interesting bread basket with a huge assortment of breads, breadsticks, cornbread, and lavosh crackers. One particularly interesting piece was cut open, spread with a pesto-looking substance and topped with a tomato slice, black olive, and cheese and then broiled to melt the cheese. Another interesting piece was a small whole wheat olive roll with a whole black olive baked into the edge.

Our Caesar salads were okay, but terribly ordinary. They used commercial croutons and there were disgusting little anchovy filets on top of the romaine. Yes, I know that there is anchovy in a proper Caesar dressing, but that's all smushed up and there's not that much fish. Robert ate his dead fish, but I gave mine to Leo, since he likes that sort of thing. Leo's soup was served in a flat, double-handled soup cup on a service plate, and the first thing I noticed is that when it was put down in front of him, the handles were not parallel to his body but were askew. He ate it without much comment. Once he was done, there was a tiny bit left in the cup, so I asked to taste a little bit. I dipped the tip of my (clean) butter spreader into the soup and sampled it. There was very little red pepper taste to the cream soup. What I did taste, however, was shellfish—crab or lobster.

Leo is allergic to crab and lobster.

So, I asked the waiter on his next pass to check with the kitchen to see if there was shellfish in the soup, since Leo has an allergy. He took his time about it, but eventually a different, younger manager-type came out and explained that there was a little bit of lobster in the soup. Oh, my God. Well, Leo was okay, apparently not having ingested enough lobster to get his rash/hives, and he also said that alcohol (as in his mimosa) helped counteract the allergy. He's lucky. I have another friend who, had he eaten a cup of shellfish soup, would have been critically ill and in the emergency room on the literal verge of death. One would think that a restaurant in a major, high end restaurant chain like the Ritz-Carleton would know that there are people with serious allergies to shellfish, peanuts, and wheat, and would disclose those ingredients in menus and menu descriptions!

There was one bit of amusement. The nice young manager who discussed the soup problem was nattily attired in his three-piece navy blue suit, but he missed one little bit of sartorial detail: his fly was fully unzipped. After he left the table, we had a bit of discussion about it. Then, Leo announced he was going to tell him. Robert and I both chimed in simultaneously, "No!" and we tried to explain to him that in American culture (Leo is from Hong Kong, remember), we don't tell strangers such things in public. Our main courses arrived, and who should bring out the three plates but that manager! After he set the plates down, Leo said, "Sir, I need to tell you something," and Robert and I both said "No!" again as the poor manager turned to Leo, expecting to hear a comment about how the food was so wonderful or something. Leo said across the table, "You need to zip up," and after that was met with a look of confusion, he continued, "Your pants." Robert and I were mortified.

We all had the same main course: Cajun spiced grilled salmon. I thought my salmon was quite good, even though I've never beeen a big fan of the Cajun or "blackened" spice craze of the '80s. A couple of peeled, steamed asparagus spears decorated the plate. The fish rested on a thick smear of what I thought might be grainy, thin mashed potatoes, but which Robert insisted was grits. We still aren't sure what it was.

The waiter lost service points because our entrees arrived before he had given us appropriate flatware. And, when we were all three done eating and had placed our knives and forks in the traditional "four o'clock position," he interrupted our conversation to ask if we were done and could he take the plates.

Both of the desserts were a visual surprise and quite unexpected. Leo had the vanilla bean cheesecake with banana chocolate sauce. As you can see, a light, fluffy cheesecake mixture had been put in a rounded mold, then set on a circle of pressed, molded cake and dusted with cocoa. The banana chocolate sauce included nuts of some kind, and that strip laying across the top of the cheesecake was a very thin, unsweetened cracker of some sort. Leo reported the cheesecake to have a very pronounced vanilla flavor (I could see vanilla bean seeds in the mix), and, since he prefers the heavy, dense, cheesy, New York style, it wasn't his favorite, though he said it was good.



Robert and I both had the strawberry charlotte. Now, a traditional charlotte is made by lining a charlotte mold (this is a traditional charlotte mold) with either lady fingers or slices of genoise (a type of cake), then filling the mold with alternating layers of filling, fruit, and cake. A typical strawberry charlotte would include fresh strawberry slices as garnish and there would be a strawberry puree to add to the layers, with the primary filling being strawberry puree folded in with whipped cream and stabilized with a bit of gelatin. Well, here at the Ritz-Carleton, they took the banquet caterers' route out, filling a big sheet cake pan with a thin layer of cake and using what tasted to me like strawberry Jello whipped with whipped cream and a very gelatinized strawberry puree, then cut the dessert into squares. The garnish was a raspberry, not a strawberry. On the plate you'll also see a smear of what we think was minted sour applesauce (though I thought I tasted a bit of grape) and an egg-shaped dollop of what Robert called "the most artfully presented Cool Whip I've ever seen." This dessert was tasty enough for what it was, but it certainly was not what I think of as a strawberry charlotte.



Having entered the restaurant from their on-street door, we opted to walk through the hotel's lobby on the way out. It was, as expected, quite luxe. We noted in the main lobby a huge round console table fully covered with containers cram-filled with expensive white and cream flowers, including a lot of long-stemmed white tulips, white roses, and white symbidium orchids.

So, what was our over all impression of The Grille? Well, the food was fine for a $20.06 prix fixe menu, though nothing special. Our waiter was attentive and nice, but poorly trained. There are some definite management service issues here. And, they are unwarrantedly very expensive—Leo's average sized flute of mimosa was $12 and my iced tea was $4.75! We'd also noted during our long wait to be greeted several flyers advertising future dinners, such as a Valentine's Day dinner for $95 per person and a Scotch and cigar dinner later this month for $125 per person, so this is not an economical place to eat.

I'm afraid that The Grille at the Ritz-Carleton falls into the category of the typical, severely over-priced, faux-elegant hotel restaurant. If you're on somebody else's expense account, it's okay enough food, but one should never equate priciness with gourmet dining.

The Caucus Room, Washington, D.C.

How wonderfully convenient it has been this week to have to have business luncheons during Restaurant Week. Today I got to lunch with a friend who's in the midst of party politics here in D.C. working for a certain politician-not-to-be-named, so it was so appropriate that we got to go to that seat of lobbyist largess in Washington, The Caucus Room. The Caucus Room is conveniently located about half way between the White House and the Capitol, just north of Pennsylvania Avenue. Its owners include big name politicos intentionally from both parties, and when Congress is in session, the place is usually packed with lobbyists and politicians. It's long been on my list of restaurants to experience, but places that cater to lobbyists always have what we call "expense account prices," meaning us normal people usually can't afford to eat here outside of Restaurant Week.

We walked in a couple of minutes prior to our 2 p.m. reservation and were immediately whisked in to one of the main dining rooms, walking through passages lined floor to ceiling with rack after rack of wine. Demi-round banquette tables with high backs lined the walls and tables in various configurations filled the center of the room. The dining room was tastefully appointed with no real theme or decor concept; black and white photographs in black frames were hung all over the walls. The most striking design element in the dining room, though, was the table settings: at each place was a tall, slender water glass and an enormous wine glass nearly twice the height of the water glass! The menus were presented in large vinyl folders, with one menu for the host with prices and the other menus with no prices. The Restaurant Week menu was a separate card.

We both started with the open-faced wild mushroom ravioli for our first courses. The design was unexpected; they had taken a large sheet of pasta dough and fashioned a single, large, bowl-sized raviolo with large tender chunks of assorted chopped mushroom in a beefy broth, topped with long, thin pea pods and shavings of peccorino cheese. It had a wonderful flavor and I think it was probably my favorite dish of the meal.



Both of our main courses were simply prepared and basic, but very tasty. My friend had the medallions of beef, which had two pieces of tenderloin cooked medium rare and presented on a mound of mashed Yukon gold potatoes all on a mirror of red wine reduction sauce and with several stalks of steamed fresh asparagus on the side, which he reported was "excellent."



I had the seared sea bass presented on a bed of roasted fingerling potatoes and lightly sauteed broccoli rabe and with a tamarind-flavored thin brown sauce, which I also enjoyed alot, especially the slightly bitter, hot zestiness of the rabe.



With the first two courses we had a big wire basket of bread featuring slices of French loaf and of a nice multigrain sunflower loaf.

I was pretty full after the first two courses (you'll recall how skinny and dainty I am), but dessert was part of the prix fixe menu, so I forced myself to eat more. My friend had the coconut pannacotta with roasted pineapple sauce. He'd not had a pannacotta before, so he said the texture surprised him a bit (pannacotta is a sort of eggless custard, solidified with gelatin), and he liked the pineapple sauce because it wasn't too cloying.



I ate the individual pecan pie with vanilla ice cream and a rum caramel sauce dusted with little granules of caramelized sugar and garnished with a chocolate "twig." Now, being somewhat of a pecan pie afficianando myself and having made ennumerable pecan pies in the past, I was not overwhelmingly impressed with this offering. It was good, but not great. My biggest concern was that I only had a fork and the caramelized top of the pie made it very difficult to cut into the pie without a knife. I also noticed a honey taste to the filling; the ice cream was very, very soft, almost melted.



Service was attentive throughout the meal, and I was impressed that the waiter crumbed the table after the main course plates were removed. The waiter was rather chatty, though, and they also lost points for charging us for a coffee and a hot tea that we hadn't ordered (incidentally, the iced tea here costs $3). I also thought it interesting when the assistant removed the extra two place settings from our table, he did not remove our two imposingly tall wine glasses, even though we'd already said we weren't ordering alcohol.

All in all, I kind of liked this place. It was a comfortable place to dine. While the food was not exotic or overly fancy, they did a good job of preparation and presentation of simple, basic foods, and I imagine it does well with the target audience, being "down home" politicians and lobbyists. I forgot to look at their wine list, but judging from all the different labels I was seeing in the bins along the walls, it must be very nice. The Caucus Room is a good place to meet and eat.

Galileo, Washington, D.C.

After trying unsuccessfully for the past two Restaurant Weeks, at long last we were finally able to procure reservations for dinner at Galileo da Roberto Donna Ristorante Italiano, an establishment which seems to be on most everybody's list of the top five restaurants in the District. Chef Roberto Donna is one of the stars of the D.C. culinary scene. His Galileo provides diners with three venues: the main dining room, the laboratorio, and the kitchen. The laboratorio is for tasting menus and the kitchen is for small groups of connoisseurs for whom Donna personally selects menus and cooks. I noticed through the windows that there were lots of fresh ingredients (they use brown eggs) and cooking equipment in the laboratorio, so I guess they do some cooking demonstrations in there.

The thing which struck me most about this restaurant was the high standard of service; not only were the employees well-trained, efficient, and attentive, they were actually friendly, something we seldom see at high-end, expensive restaurants.

Galileo is located in the ground level of a West End downtown office building. They have their own canopy and valet parking. As we entered, a large bar on our right occupied most of the street window space, and coat check and the attendant were on the left. A hostess was in place at the maitre d' stand to confirm our reservation, and immediately we were greeted by name by the dining room manager and a waiter led us to our table. The dining room was teeming with male waiters, all dressed in dark navy blue suits with an assortment of shirts and ties. During the course of the evening, I found it interesting how cooperatively the waiters worked, with everyone helping everyone else, regardless of whose table it was. The restaurant's dress code is business casual, but I'm glad I had on a sports jacket and tie, because almost all of the men in the dining room were in jackets and ties.

For some reason, the three of us were all on an economy binge tonight, so we opted to have cocktails here at the condo before walking over to the restaurant for our 9:15 reservation. A couple of years ago, I was given a bottle of 2000 R. H. Phillips Toasted Head Chardonnay which I'd been saving for a special occasion, and it seemed appropriate to cork it for tonight. It was an excellent chardonnay. It was very full bodied, rich, and toasty-tasting with substantial oompf to it, yet it was wonderfully creamy, smooth and buttery going down. Leo claims an allergy to white wine (but not red), so he drank a glass of it, and then switched to Wild Turkey and water on the rocks, leaving that much more of the delicious wine for Dale and me. Of course, once we got to the restaurant, what was the first thing Leo ordered? A glass of house chardonnay—a white wine!

The menus at Galileo are lengthy. I got the impression that they were one of the handful of restaurants that put their entire menu on the Restaurant Week list, especially since there were a couple of meat entrees which indicated a supplemental charge. Now, a typical Italian meal would be four courses, but they arranged things in such a way as to accommodate the Restaurant Week concept of three courses. If you go to Galileo at a time outside of Restaurant Week, be brave of heart: this is a pricey place, warranting its designation as "very expensive" in several guide books. In fact, my first course alone cost more than the $30.06 special price, and had I paid full price for everything, my three mid-priced dishes plus bottled Italian spring water would retail at $83.50, exclusive of taxes and gratuities.

I started with the risotto alla pilota con costine di maiale al forno, a creamy rice risotto with tiny pieces of fresh salami and cabbage in it, scented with black truffle oil, and with a little crispy, roasted pork rib on top. The risotto was exquisite. The flavors were so nicely melded and the rice was perfectly done. Everyone at the table sampled it and liked it. Dale had I gamberoni saltati con sedano rapa e carote brasate con salsa all'aglio, which was one, great big, head-on shrimp sauteed and served with a nest of shredded, braised root vegetables; a garlic beurre blanc sauce was drizzled all over the plate around the shrimp and vegetables, which he said he liked. Were I paying individually for this first course, I'm not sure I would have felt that $27 was a good value for just one shrimp, but I guess that wasn't an issue tonight. Leo had il cotechino con lenticchie e salsa verde, an interesting homemade Cotechino sausage served on a a bed of lentils and drizzled with salsa verde. He didn't like the sausage at all, so Dale and I each got to taste it. I actually liked it, even though I'm usually not a fan of the anise seed taste that is so common in Italian sausages; it was juicy and exploding with flavor; because it was a freshly made sausage, it wasn't really firmly solid and it had a texture reminiscent of a not-yet-set terrine, so I think that was the aspect that Leo didn't like. It was surprising that he ordered this item in the first place, since he tends not to like the more exotic western European spicings and he usually orders seafood instead of pork.

Edit: Leo says: "The sausage wasn't bad at all, but.....the whole dish was a bit too 'home food' for me."

Our second courses were equally interesting. I had il branzino con cipolle brasate, pignoli e uvetta allo zafferano con spinaci saltati, the sautéed filet of Mediterranean sea bass, which came with braised onions, raisins, and pine nuts flavored with saffron and sautéed spinach. I thought the sea bass was nice, though perhaps the serving size was a bit on the tiny side. I don't know whether or not that was the usual size, or if there was a reduced size for Restaurant Week. Of course, we Americans do tend to eat way more food that we should; still, at these prices, I expected more than a square only two or two and a half inches wide. Leo had the spezzatino di cappone di mare con verdure al curry di madras, which seemed to be an interesting stew of monkfish, eggplant, potatoes, pears, zuccini, and sun-dried tomatoes flavored with Madras-style curry and lemon, garnished with a handful of flash-fried carrot shavings. Dale's second course was the star of the evening: costoletta di vitello alla griglia servita con patate, bietole brasate e salsa all'arancia. This was a large grilled veal chop with a dramatically frenched bone resting against a mound of mashed potatoes with an orange tomato sauce and some braised Swiss chard. A long sprig of fresh rosemary was stuck flag-like in the potatoes. We all got to taste a little bit of the veal, and it was quite tasty. My only criticism is that I thought I heard Dale order the chop medium rare, yet the taste I got was decidedly on the medium side; the menu indicated a $12 upcharge for the veal chop, and perhaps the slight overcooking is why they didn't assess the upcharge on our check.

Before our food began to arrive, we received a large, long board with three breads: slices of a large country loaf (my favorite), slices of a baguete, and pieces of plain foccacia. The waiter poured a good quality olive oil all over our bread and butter plates for us to use for dipping. Foot and a half long, pencil-thin breadsticks were also in a vase on the table for us to nibble on.

Desserts were fun. Dale had the tiramisú, rather interestingly presented in a large cocktail glass.



Leo opted for the stunningly presented torta di nocciole, a warm hazelnut cake served with hazelnut croccante ice cream and zabaglione sauce, with a tangle of spun sugar on top.



I had Le Mele, a warm apple tart in puff pastry with mascarpone ice cream and a little date and almond "barrel", with a light almond sauce all over the plate. My apple tart was very pretty (sorry the photo is overexposed) with the center of the puff pastry cut away and used as a cap over the finished tart. There were just a few apple slices in the tart, all "artfully" arranged; the mascarpone ice cream was particularly delicious.



All of the desserts normally retail for $11. I think next time I'll try their cheese sampler.

I wanted some after-dinner espresso, but neither of my companions were interested, and I hate to drink alone, so we skipped the demitasse course and paid our check. I thought it was sweet that so many of the staff thanked us for coming.

Galileo was quite a fun restaurant. The crowd was lively and diverse. I would love to come back, particularly to try the tasting menus, or, when I win the lottery to reserve the kitchen for a private dinner with the chef. Perhaps later in the year, eh? If you like high-end Italian food in a formal setting, this is the perfect place. Be sure to bring your banker.

Kinkead's Seafood and Oyster Bar, Washington, D.C.

There is a certain artistry required to do seafood well. One would think that mankind would be highly adept at preparing fish and other "fruits de mer," given our history of civilization along rivers and ocean coasts, but the simple fact of the matter is that many people are paralyzed at the thought of cooking seafood and most other people who think they can are, um, misguided.

So, it was quite a pleasant surprise to lunch today at Kinkead's Seafood and Oyster Bar and have not one but two excellently prepared seafood dishes.

My meal was a business luncheon, so Kinkead's was nearby, and it just so happened that Kinkead's is participating (for lunches only) in Restaurant Week this week. For those unfamiliar with Restaurant Week, twice a year, a goodly number of D.C. area restaurants offer special prix fixe menus at the established price of $20.06 for lunch and $30.06 for dinner. Now, Kinkead's is one of those D.C. restaurants in the "very expensive" category, meaning a person should expect to pay more than $50 per person for dinner, excluding wines and cocktails. From the looks of the regular menu, I think one would probably spend at least $40 on lunch, so the $20.06 three-course meal is a wonderful bargain.

My first course was the grilled squid with creamy polenta and tomato fondue. I received a very generous serving of large, wide rings of squid which had been grilled to just the perfect degree of doneness, with none of the chewiness of undercooked squid or rubberiness of overcooked squid. The squid pieces were carefully arranged on their sides in a straight row atop a mixture of the polenta and the tomato fondue; a generous layer of pesto topped the squid, and the food was garnished with the top leaves of a fresh basil plant. The tomato fondue was essentially a hot, chunky tomato sauce, but without the sweetness and extra spicing of a pasta sauce. The polenta surprised me a bit; I'm used to polenta being a rather solid and substantial Italian version of cornmeal mush, so I expected a slice or a scoop instead of the nearly sauce-like polenta mixture they'd squirted on the plate. So, while the polenta disappointed me, it was just a minor accompaniment to the delicious squid, so I'm not too worried. My colleague ordered the shrimp and crab pupusa with green tomatillo sauce and jalapeño cabbage slaw. We didn't discuss food, so I can only make external observations. The pupusa appeared to be two thin cornmeal masa "pancakes" maybe two inches in diameter put together like a sandwich with the shrimp and crab mixture in a thick creamy looking sauce in the middle and a little bit of flaked crabmeat on top as a garnish. The jalapeño cabbage slaw was underneath the pupusa, and I think the jalapeño hotness was too much for him, since after one bite, he drank some water and didn't finish the slaw.

We both had fish for our main courses. I ordered the brioche-crusted cod with artichoke puree and garlic mashed potatoes. My large plate was covered with a cream sauce (perhaps with a hint of artichoke flavor?) upon which was placed the fish, a ripe, peeled and seeded, cooked tomato, and a small dollop of garlic mashed potatoes with a grilled half of a miniature artichoke on top of the potatoes. The cod was divine. The piece of fish was probably a good inch and a half thick, yet every bit of it was perfectly cooked to the exact translucent doneness, whether in the middle of the fish or on the edges, and having struggled with cooking fish myself, that is a great accomplishment! The brioche crust was a dredging of the fish in tiny brioche crumbs that had an excellent, almost crunchy, texture and flavor. My colleague had the grilled mahi-mahi with a sweet potato tamale served on a bed of black beans. A darkly herbed butter was melting atop the fish. He ate it all, so it must have been good, and I was really wanting to ask him for a tiny bite of the very interesting looking sweet potato tamale, but obviously, that wasn't the appropriate venue.

With the first and second courses, we had a plate with a large square of butter and an aluminum bowl filled with hard rolls, foccacia, and a fruited (but not sweet) nut bread.

For dessert, my colleague had the sour cherry crème brulée served in a ramekin with a couple of wedges of thin cookie. It looked like there were a few dried cherries in the custard mixture, but there was no red color or any accompanying sour cherry sauce. I had the artisanal cheese plate with fruit, nuts, and walnut-raisin bread. There were three cheeses (identified in the menu but I wasn't able to write them down) that included a scoop of a very soft, mild goat cheese, a slice of a moderately soft, yellow-white cheese, and a slice of a blue cheese, which may have been from sheep's milk, but I wasn't sure. With the cheeses were two slices from a big, green apple, a whole dried apricot, a couple of cubes of an orange, densely gelatinous quince paste (it was actually very good), and several toasted pecans. It was a good sized serving for one (most cheese plates I get are two big for just one person), and my only complaint is that they provided only two small pieces of the walnut-raisin bread, and a third piece would have been very useful.

Service was adequate and I had no complaints, though I wasn't impressed, either. Lunches are always a rush, and we'd been put out on the indoor "patio" that is inside the shops where the restaurant is located, so by not being inside the main dining room, we might have been a bit too out of sight, out of mind.

It was nice not buying, though I did notice one shocking thing on the bill: my glass of iced tea was $2.75. Good thing I had a refill!

Anyway, Kinkead's has a reputation for being one of the best seafood restaurants in D.C., and they acquitted themselves well today. If you're on an expense account, I'd highly recommend it.

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The only downside of my luncheon is that while we were in the restaurant, it started to rain and I got to walk the three blocks home in the rain. My hair was wilted. :(