Bistro D'Oc, Washington, D.C.

Tonight my friend Scott drove down from Columbia (the Baltimore suburb, not the Missouri college town) to have an early dinner with me at Bistro d'Oc in the Penn Quarter area of town. I Metroed in from Virginia and got off at the Archives station, then nearly got engrossed in the farmers' market they were having on Eighth Street that I didn't even know was happening on Thursday evenings this summer, as I walked to our destination. But, I made it in plenty of time to meet Scott, since the restaurant does not unlock its doors until 5:30 on the dot.

We'd thought about doing a Restaurant Week dinner at one of the few remaining participants, as some of them are very good places, but that's at least a $45 per person investment just drinking tap water (wine at those kinds of places usually runs about $10 a glass, too, and would be extra). I knew, though, that Bistro d'Oc, a dependable place offering bistro-style country French cuisine from the Languedoc region of France, happened to offer a pre-theater prix fixe dinner menu with three courses and a glass of wine for just $22.95, so we went there, as that's a particularly outstanding dinner "deal" here in Washington.

So, promptly at 5:30 (to the accompaniment of neighborhood church chimes), they opened the doors and we entered as the first customers of the evening. Naturally, there was no waiting for a table! We got a lovely space in the front window with a view of Ford's Theater across the street (Scott is a professional stage and screen actor), though it got a little more interesting, since it turned out the restaurant menu was posted outside on the window right by our table, and we often looked over to find people standing there staring at the menu.

Several of the daily specials sounded wonderful, but we stuck to our discipline and got the pre-theater dinner. Scott started with the watercress soup. It was a bright kelly green hot soup and looked nice. He said it was very good, but I'm not so sure; he only ate about half of it before letting the waitress take it away. I began with the house pâté Languedoc, a nice big slice of chicken liver pâté served with cornichons, black olives, dried cherries, and a nice little fig compote. It had a hot, black peppery flavor that was unexpected, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Scott's main course was a beautiful, large slab of Norwegian salmon interestingly arranged on a bed of puréed sweet potatoes with short juliennes of carrot on the side, creating a monochromatic display of orange hues on the plate. A vivid yellow sauce—hollandaise, I would guess—garnished the top of the salmon. This dish met with greater approval, since he ate all of it. Meanwhile, I occupied myself with their free-range chicken fricasée Languedoc. I think my chicken fricasée is better, but this wasn't bad, just different. Presented in a crockery bowl, the fricasée came with broth, boiled potatoes, and green olive, while having no discernable mushrooms or cream in the sauce. The chicken, though, was classically French for a fricasée or a coq au vin, as they used the stringy "old cock" that requires long, slow, stewing to tenderize and release its flavor. Since I always use just plain old chicken from the grocery store, my chicken stews lack that complexity and element of flavor.

A couple of profiteroles floating on a pool of hot fudge sauce made up Scott's dessert, and disappeared before I was even half done with mine. I wanted to savor my choice, though, and enjoy their very custardy version of raspberry clafoutis. We broke discipline during dessert and ordered a second glass of the house white wine. I never did ask what the house wine was, but it tasted of chenin blanc and chardonnay grapes, and it seemed domestic to me, not French. Knowing how so many of the house vins ordinaires go in France, though, I'm probably completely wrong on all counts.

We had a very enjoyable dinner, and our waitress was very attentive, always, it seemed, popping up at the table whilst we conversed to check on our progress and needs.

After our repast, we walked up to Chinatown to people watch a bit before taking our respective subway trains away to be home in time to watch the Obama acceptance speech.