Penance

I didn't think S. Africa could make up for all that vuvuzela buzzing; after all, it's been months since the tournament, and I still get nightmares that I'm being chased through Dupont Circle by a cloud of locusts.


But after Sunday night's BBQ, I'm willing to call it even. Once again, my Greek South African-born friend Tanya set up a grill on her balcony and challenged the neighboring steakhouse for the best aromas in the NW. As if the Boerewors were not enough, Tanya also served up some pesto, fresh corn, fruity salad, and a vegetarian chili called chakalaka. (There was also a medley of desserts, but in my excitement to chew the fat with Tanya's Ivorian, Brazilian and Nigerian dinner guests, I may have accidentally refilled my plate one too many times before dessert was served.)

Through the cracks

I'd love to say that there are millions of incredible films floating around that Hollywood never promoted enough to justify a nationwide release, or that audiences simply misunderstood. Sadly, most films you have never heard of, you have never heard of for a reason. Recently, however, I saw 2 that the mysterious filter erroneously discarded, Timer and The Fall.

Steak snobbery

No disrespect to the steaks at the beloved bargain steakhouse Ray's: The Steaks, in Arlington (2300 Wilson Blvd.). But if they are going to get all preachy about their carving skills and the deliciousness of their corn-fed animals, and sanctimoniously swat away any "medium-well" or (gasp!) "well" orders, then why later drown all the meat in horseradish and sliced raw garlic and spicy diablo sauce and crumbled blue cheese and Cajun spice rubs? Anyone who has ever ordered a steak in Uruguay, Argentina or Brazil will have to wonder what condimint-happy Ray is trying to hide.

I hardly knew ya'

I thought I'd stumbled into an historic scene when I strolled past the Chilean Embassy tonight and spotted a crowd staring at a giant TV screen broadcasting the rescue of the 33 trapped miners. But after all that drama had given me an appetite, a friend and I hit up Rogue States (1300 Connecticut Ave.) for dinner, only to discover that my Rogue States burger ($7 for 1/2-pounds of spiced beef with chipotle, cilantro and grilled red onions) may turn out to be the last to ever come off that beloved mesquite wood-fired grill. It seems Rogue States has lost its court battle Vs. a neighboring law firm that was unhappy litigating to the scent of roasted ground chuck. At least it went out in style, the grim-faced short-order cooks blasting Ludacris and serving up sweet potato fries until the end.

Pas de deux

The sous-chef is Austrian, so I'll give him all the credit* for my favorite entree in 2010, making this the 2nd in an occasional series, as Pipón guest blogger Julia Oliver likes to say. I'm speaking, of course, of the "Duet of Duck" ($27) at Foti's, in downtown Culpeper, Va., by Shenandoah National Park, an inspired pairing of vinegar and juniper marinated crispy skinned Long Island duck breast, served smoothly rare and uninterrupted, alongside a complexly spiced duck and cabbage sausage, atop a caramelized onion, potato and bacon sautee, down there soaking up all that duck jus but somehow staying crunchy, set off by a bright blueberry gastrique and local green bean medley.

I lead with Foti's because visitors to Washington, Va., do not all make it to nearby Culpeper, whilst I can't imagine anyone would miss breakfast at the Foster Harris House, a 4-course extravaganza that today included out-of-the-oven currant and chocolate scones; fresh fruit in yogurt and homemade granola; pastrami smoked salmon with tzatziki; custard scrambled eggs, garnished with an Hawaiian volcanic sea salt; a pleasantly daintily fried zucchini fritter; and a short stack of miniature pancakes with shaved chocolate above and maple butter syrup below.

*Foti's chef and owner, Foteos “Frank” Maragos, a Johnson and Wales grad and the former executive sous chef at the Inn at Little Washington, Laura Bush's old haunt, probably deserves some credit, too.

Sweet Tomatos®

Improvising from a recent Food Wanderings original (improvising = cutting out "expensive" ingredients like arugula and avocados), I roasted some late-season cherry tomatoes, eggplant and garlic, and served it in an open-faced sandwich with kalamatas, fresh mozzarella and Olde Cape Cod honey mustard. Delicious, though next time, I might just save up for the avocado, or at least a goat cheese log.

New Jack Hustler

To clean up a sizable Pipón backlog, I say a few more Darts & Laurels (h/t to CJR) are in order.

Laurels:

The salmon tartare at Poste (555 8th St. NW), served in an ice cream cone, over crème fraiche, is so inventive and refreshing (and the Summer Selection of Farmstead Cheese, with thinly cut raisin-walnut toast is so lovingly assembled) that I have forgotten all about the whole mustard-ice-cream-in-the-gazpacho incident.

The remarkable beer list, scrumptious fries (with a highly recommendable chipotle mayo dip) and general just-hip-enough vibe at Granville Moore’s (1238 H St. NW) more than make up for the eye-popping price tag on the humble bison burger.

The traditional triumvirate in New Orleans: beignets at Cafe Du Monde (see photo), the red beans and rice at Mother's (see photo of hot sauces), and the Bananas Foster at Brennan's, a highly unoriginal, yet hard to resist culinary itinerary.


Darts:

The supremely lame, albeit understandable, no Wi-Fi on weekends policy at Tryst (2459 18th St. NW), from the same penny-pinching philosophy that leads Chef Geoff's (1301 Pennsylvania Ave. NW) to corral its happy hour crowd in a cramped quadrant by the bar.

The general laziness at Dos Gringos (3116 Mount Pleasant St. NW), a self-consciously quirky lunch spot that never offers Wi-Fi (social engineering), regularly runs out of ingredients (a supposed sign of freshness), and uses the microwave like it's going out of style. 

Corn dog tourism

A friend invited us over on Friday to meet a couple of CouchSurfing Argentines, speak some Spanish, and sample a remarkable batch of gnocchi, served in a cream sauce with a stripe of marinara. So to return the favor, we persuaded them to put off their trip to the Washington Monument and instead come to the Great Frederick Fair ("una mezcla de la Rural, el Italpark y los carritos de la costanera, pero con comida frita," as the Argentines put it) for some of this country's somewhat less delicate delicacies, including sausage and peppers, blooming onions and the inescapable corn dog. (No one tried the deep-fried Oreos, but it was nice to see them make an appearance.)


I felt guilty at first, diverting Andres and Floriana from the National Mall to the Frederick fairgrounds. But I felt much better when I saw the corn dog post (above) on these CouchSurfers' travel blog, Vuelta al Mundo:  

"Los corndogs son espectaculares. Como puede ser que en Argentina no los tengamos? Es una salchicha en un palito mojada en una pasta de maiz y frito. Que puede haber mejor?"