Strikes no gutters

The wedding favors included a homemade cookbook with a recipe for the couple's favorite spinach, chiptole and lime dip. So for a pre-wedding, Mexican-style lunch on the lively, downtown pedestrian mall in Charlottesville, Va., I followed their recommendations. Sadly, Mono Loco was closed, and so was Cinema Taco. But the huevos rancheros at Bizou offered a soft landing, runny eggs on crunchy tacos crowned by punchy feta.

Closer to home, I've got a few more Darts & Laurels/Strikes & Gutters/"Fillet of Sole, De La Soul, Seoul (that place in Korea)" for you, only in honor of summer, only strikes today.

Strikes:

The portions at Carmine's (425 7th St. NW), in Chinatown, no match in quality to Pasta Mia (1790 Columbia Rd. NW), or Cafe Milano (3000 Whitehaven St. NW), at the Italian Embassy, but enough pasta to feed you for an entire weekend.
 
The girlie but refreshing "Sojutinis" at Mandu (18th/K NW), just $4 during happy hour.

The whole menu at Bar Pilar (1833 14th St. NW), where patrolling for an empty seat gives the meal a real hunter-gatherer vibe.

The fried chicken at Founding Farmers (1924 Pennsylvania Ave. NW), a "Man v. Food" kinda adventure, paired with the obligatory waffles, but also with viscous white gravy and syrup, mac ‘n cheese and Brussels sprouts.

The New Orleans sausages at Creme (1322 U St. NW), an inspired pick-me-up for poached eggs.

The fish taco appetizer at Perry's (1811 Columbia Rd. NW), with guacamole and cabbage, good enough to justify ordering Tex-Mex at that schizophrenic sushi joint.

The name of Ping Pong (900 7th St. NW) (I'm trying to be positive), the oddly popular dim sum restaurant in Chinatown.

Everything at Bodega (3116 M St. NW), in Georgetown, the best small plates I've had in DC, including the "Ensaladilla de Palmitos con Gambas" (hearts of palm, chilled shrimp, avocado and salsa rosa) and the "Dátiles con Tocino" (crispy fried dates wrapped in bacon). Bodega is tastier than the well-meaning Mezè (2437 18th Street NW) in Adams Morgan, with its strange fascination with mojitos, and even the exceptional Bar Pilar. It's so good, in fact, that you don't feel pick-pocketed afterward, the emotional hangover of a meal  at most small plates spots around town, like Agora (1527 17th St. NW) in Dupont.


The kielbasa and cabbage and meat pierogis at the Polish Embassy open house.

The arepas at the Sabor'a food truck.

The goat curry with jollof rice at the Ghana Cafe (1336 14th St. NW), where the fufu is as gloppy, and the groundnut soup as greasy, as tradition demands.

Any appetizer, entree or dessert on offer at Tastebuds (49 W. Ferry St.) in New Hope, Penn., in Bucks County, worth the journey to the Delaware, where all bridges, and Bridge Roads, lead to New Hope.

Tusker

Last night, at a pan-African happy hour, I felt subtly bullied into ordering the Tusker, a Kenyan beer I had never heard of but that apparently sells 700,000 hectoliters per year (whatever the heck a hectoliter is).

Then this morning, at brunch at Dupont's Stoney's Lounge (1433 P St. NW), the waiter (dressed in shorts, no less!) laughed hysterically when I asked for English Breakfast tea to wash down the undercooked, soggy, $9 chili cheeseburger that I had only ordered to recapture an once of masculinity.

Fruiting body

I blame smart phones. I had convinced myself to order "The Wellington" (deep roasted mushrooms, caramelized onions, garlic, black truffles, with mustard seed, blue cheese and "mojo sauce" on a fresh toasted buttery brioche bun) at bgr (1514 Connecticut Ave. NW) in Dupont, grumpy that Rogue States (1300 Connecticut Ave.) still had not reopened and so eager to pamper myself a bit with some fancy forest treats. (Originally, I was going to settle for the standard burger, and double it for $2.) Then the iPhone at the other side of the table had to announce that the uber-haute truffle is actually just "the fruiting body of an underground mushroom," and after that, the whole burger kinda tasted like mud.

Ice fishing for pickled herring

"You don't think there are guys in Nepal who are, like, 'What should I do? Should I carry packs of heavy shit for Westerners to the top of the base camp of Everest? Or should I stay down here in Kathmandu and chant all day and check out chicks and pretend to be holy?' Why is everything cooler when it happens in a foreign country?" - Tao Of Steve

I've realized lately how vulnerable I am to this commonplace traveler's affliction. Particularly when it comes to food. When I was traveling in Southern France and Spain last May, I started wolfing down baguettes filled with  jamón ibérico as if the ingredients were not available at any decent market in DC.

Even less exotic travel can bring on a case of cooler-abroad-itis. I spent New Year's in northern Minnesota, and I would not say an unflattering word about the pickled herring my hosts generously dished out upon my arrival, let alone critique the delightful "stoup" ("soup" + "stew") of patiently simmered pheasant shotgunned by our host the previous fall; the tall stacks of Swedish pancakes at the Maplelag cross country skiing resort; or the "Lowden Zpecial" pizza at Zorbaz in downtown Detroit Lakes, slathered in peanut butter and crowned with pepperoni, jalapeños and cheese. ("Often Imitated, Never Duplicated.") Still, was Maplelag's creamy beef Strogonoff as heavenly as I remember it, or might I have been just a bit hungry from skiing the Sukkerbusk trail? Was the salsa at Juano's, in downtown Fargo, as sublime as it seemed at the time, or was I just overjoyed that the temperature was above freezing when we landed? Were the Knights of Columbus's French toast and breakfast sausages truly a religious experience, or was I just won over by the $3.50 price tag? (For the record, I stand by my awe over the deployment of cabbage in the minestrone at Capisce in Zephyr Cove, Nevada, a casual Italian joint I visited recently near Lake Tahoe that is run by a former Orioles prospect.)

This exercise in reconsideration has me second-guessing my excitement about a variety of recent out-of-town dining, in Boston and Austin (no relation). Specifically, my deep regret over every meal I've had at Baja Fresh in Dupont made me irrationally exuberant about a quick stop at the Anna's Taqueria in Coolidge Corner last October. Meanwhile, DC's underachieving Chinatown made me highly vulnerable to the charming waitress, brightly painted walls and bountiful amuse-bouche at Color, a Korean restaurant in Allston.

Similarly, I might have graded Austin on a curve (though I'm not the only one to be won over by its food scene). The chicken-fried sirloin, topped by creamy gravy, and fried okra at Threadgill's tasted a little less chewy and greasy thanks to the Sunday gospel brunch musical accompaniment and all the quirky memorabilia rescued from the historic Armadillo World Headquarters concert venue that once stood next door in the South Congress neighborhood. The migas and chorizo at Annies Cafe & Bar was a welcome break from an eggs Benedict brunch, but I'll admit I was predisposed to compliment the carne guisada at Guero's Taco Bar after a Texan friend, Grace, promised me that in Austin, "There are TONS of Mexican restaurants. In general they should all be like a 1000x better than anything on the east coast." The Peached Tortilla food truck serves its tacos with crunchy catfish (in a creamy, jalapeño slaw with bacon braised mustard greens) and vietnamese braised pork belly (pickled daikon and carrot salad, Sriracha mayo and cilantro) that puts to shame the local equivalent. But the best sidewalk bratwurst does not hold a candle to any decent choripán in the Southern Cone.

The lesson of all this rambling reconsideration? To show more love for local grub. Like the Heidenberger at the Mad Hatter (1321 Connecticut Ave. NW); the views of Woodley Park from the second floor window seats at Ipoh (2625 Connecticut Ave. NW); the small plates at Zaytinya (701 9th St. NW), good enough to ignore the tragic diversion of extra virgin olive oil into tall vases, and the Jamón Ibérico at Zatinya's sister restaurant, Jaleo (480 7th Street NW), cured ham from acorn-fed, black-footed, Spanish Ibérico pig; the patio at Hank's Oyster Bar (1624 Q St. NW), though I sat indoors on my only visit and somehow was hoodwinked into paying $23 for a lobster roll, more than even the Red Hook Lobster Pound gets away with charging; pretty much anything with raw fish at Raku (1900 Q St. NW); the entire menu at Indique (3518 Connecticut Ave. NW) and Sorriso (3512 Connecticut Ave. NW), which are good enough to convince me to move to Cleveland Park; brunch at Napoleon Bistro (1847 Columbia Rd. NW); dinner at Meskerem (2434 18th St. NW); and even though I was deprived of a partner for the whole fried fish at Bangkok 54 (2919 Columbia pike, Arlington, Va.), I can't hold that against the chef, who eased my pain with some crispy catfish curry and spicy roasted duck.

Where's the beef?

I don't know about you, but good sliders always put me in the mood for an adult-sized hamburger. This was especially true at Farmers & Fishers (3000 K St. NW), in the Georgetown waterfront, the other day, after munching on a pair of baby cheeseburgers assembled with ground-to-order, grass-fed beef, a thin blanket of Tillamook cheddar and a homemade butter bun, and served alongside homemade French fries. So you can imagine my dismay when my "Farmer’s Daughter" burger ($12) arrived (as provocatively named as Tryst) piled high with greens but with no burger in sight. The fact that this surreptitiously vegetarian entree was also missing its promised avocado, and that sliced Havarti was playing the role of the advertised brie, was just insult to injury. The lesson? Order carefully at Farmers & Fishers, or better yet, just stick to its sister restaurant, Founding Fathers (1924 Pennsylvania Ave. NW), because after sampling Farmers & Fishers and its neighbor, Tony and Joe's (3000 K St. NW), I've decided the best strategy for grabbing a meal while gazing at the Potomac River and Kennedy Center is to cook your own dinner and picnic on the promenade.


If you simply must go out to eat, try the double-cooked pork (see photo above) at the Great Wall Szechuan House (1527 14th St. NW), a casual and super cheap Chinese joint that has made it impossible for me to ever return to my trusted Oriental Cafe (1636 R Street NW), also in greater Dupont, where the plastic patio furniture had come to feel like home. If you simply must go out and Great Wall will simply not satisfy your Brewster's Millions spendthriftiness, then I recommend The Afghan Grill (2309 Calvert Street NW), in Adams Morgan, where the Badenjan Chalao ($16), eggplant sautéed with onion, garlic and tomato and served with rice and lamb, may leave you hungry, but also hungering for seconds.

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.

Soft opening for a soft taco

I'd call it a "dry run," but it was drenched in Sriracha. TaKorean, DC's newest food truck, started selling its Korean fusion tacos ("Korean BBQ with a twist of Mexican style") in Adam's Morgan last night, around 18th St. NW and Columbia, and when I spotted them again tonight, I happily handed over $2.50 for a sample. (I don't know if I should be flattered that they chose my neighborhood for their "soft opening"; it makes me feel both special and small-time.) The Bulgogi steak taco (marbled cuts of beef marinated in a sweet and spicy soy-based sauce) was fresh and delicious, garnished with lively cilantro and sliced radishes.

It might be a good idea that these decidedly not Latino or Korean chefs are still hiding from food bloggers. The "kimchi" that comes standard on their beef, chicken and tofu tacos (all 1 for $2.50, 3 for $7) is distressingly unfermented, and any marinade that may have met the beef is completely subsumed by Sriracha. The entire concept, meanwhile, is unapologetically ripped off from-that-coast-that-brought-you-alfalfa-and-avocado-and-sushi-and-Snoop Dog, and has been long ago hyped on the Food Network and in The New York Times.

Still, the tacos are pretty great, and since the owner seems like a good, charitable guy, it will be bittersweet when this truck is ready for prime time, finding glory downtown and leaving us country, uptown folk behind.

Bossa no thanks

Maybe my expectations were too high, since I thought picanha was so good it'd be tasty even run over by a bullet train. But it turns out, the best thing The Grill From Ipanema (1858 Columbia Rd. NW, in Adams Morgan) has on the menu is its clever name. The caipirinhas ($7.50) are poured too short, the picanha ($21) is cooked too long, the onions in the linguiça a palito ($10), mixed in with the spicy sliced sausage, are basically raw, the black beans are practically unseasoned and the farofa, ground yuca roasted with garlic and butter, looks like a flavor-packed S. Asian spice, but tastes like pencil shavings.

Grind, Flatten

The AP says DC, "fertile ground for ground chuck," is capital of the country's "better burger" trend, where burger joints are grinding up "higher-grade beef" and topping them off with "fresher or more creative toppings." The evidence includes the success of Va.-based Five Guys, which the AP says is the country's fastest-growing restaurant chain. Pipón has not totally missed this development, commenting on the bison burgers at The Reef in Adams Morgan, the "Uncle D's Chili 'N Cheddar" burger at the Good Stuff Eatery in Capitol Hill, the "Campfire Buffalo Burger" at the The National Museum of the American Indian and the 8 oz. burger at Luna Grill & Diner in Dupont. Plus, I've been thinking long and hard about posting something short and soft about the grass-fed beef at brgr in New York City (287 Seventh Avenue, NYC) and its Thousand Island/Horseradish Sauce/Herb Mayo topping options.

Still, are hamburgers (however sustainably raised) topped with funky ketchup stand-ins (however tart the roquefort) really the most creative U.S. chefs can get?

The Reef madness (Tell Your Children)

I was starving and freezing up there on the third floor and still dazed from the handful of Sam Adams that had helped me get through the male beauty pageant known as "Mr. SAIS," where surprisingly toned, Speedoed and Spandexed classmates gyrated on stage and made clever economics jokes ("If you got a problem set, yo I'll solve it/check out the graph while my TA revolves it"). Still, even sober, toasty and un-PTSDed, I would have appreciated the food at The Reef (2446 18th St. NW).

Adams Morgan on a weekend night is more fraternity party than foodie paradise. And The Reef, with its fish tanks, bouncers and low lighting, looks deceptively like a bar/nightclub. Still, it lives up to its boast that its chef, who favors locally purveyed, seasonal vegetables, free-range poultry and meats and fair-catch seafood, "keeps it real." I tried the bison burger ($12), six ounces of New Frontier buffalo from Virginia topped by caramelized onions ($0.25) and blue cheese ($1), and the special fries, seasoned with lavender and sea salt. Delicious.

Braai rules

I am beginning to take this personally. First, my Greek South African-born friend Tanya (in photo below, at left) invited me over for a "peasant stew," telling me that the lamb and orzo medley, however delicious it may taste, is a strictly plebeian platter. Then last night, just as I arrived back at Tanya's, I was instructed not to remove my coat but rather to proceed directly to the balcony to help Tanya's brother, George, keep an eye on the Boerewors, South African sausage served on rolls and favored by drunk clubgoers after last call.


As if that was not enough of an indignity, Tanya also served chakalaka, a vegetarian chili that, she explained, is a staple for impoverished Johannesburg gold miners.

Tanya is just lucky that all this low-class cuisine is so highly tasty, otherwise I'd have to start boycotting these dinners, lest I end up complimenting an entree only to have Tanya explain, "This is what we feed our cattle."






Sides included Iwisa-brand, mielie-meal pap (the word actually means "gruel," and I'm not making this up); a South African beef jerky known as biltong; potato salad; dried mango; and for dessert, milk tart.

I could tell you more about cooking up Boerewors (hint: for Tanya, the process starts by getting The South African Food Shop to FedEx enormous coils of raw meat), but according to this hilarious instructional video that George passed along, it seems like you have to earn entrance into the Boerewors fraternity in a process that resembles a cross between Freemasonry initiation and an episode of Top Chef.

Dupont's edible esoterica

I'm proud to say ("proud" might be overstating it) that I've now lunched at Dupont Circle's two worst-kept secrets: The Well Dressed Burrito (1220 19th St. NW) and the Brookings Institution cafeteria (1775 Massachusetts Ave. NW). Both are vaguely hidden, a la the nightclubs featured in Swingers. The Well Dressed Burrito serves up its large, marinated beef burritos ($6.50), using actual pulled meat instead of cheap ground beef, in an alleyway; the Brookings Institution cafeteria is, you guessed it, inside the Brookings Institution.


Neither, however, is truly obscure. The Brookings lunch experience, for example, has been deconstructed on Yelp, where one reviewer judged its food to be "just like its politics," that is, "middle of the road." As for The Well Dressed Burrito, here's a Pipón tip: the staff must be used to regulars since they neglected to remind me that the burrito "platter" is just $1 extra and includes homemade enchilada sauce, beans, Southwestern rice and some greens; when I visited, I was so busy dissuading my friend Lauren Miller from ordering a salad that I missed the listing on the menu.

If you want to eat somewhere truly "off the beaten path," try my sister-in-law Marni's garden-level apartment, where I tried the turkey meatballs and Israeli couscous and roasted broccoli the other day.

Burrito photography by Lauren Miller.

Iceland, Greenland

Be forewarned, the restaurant "Mix" in Frederick, Md. (207 West Patrick Street), is not some hipster bistro that specializes in a creative fusion cuisine (say, Spanish-Ghanaian), or a locavore salad bar that in wintertime sells only hydroponic tomatoes and root vegetables. It's actually spelled "Mick's," and as they'd say in Rhode Island, it's where Jennifer's used to be.

Turns out, however, that even though it may sound like an Irish pub, Mick's has a fairly ambitious chef. Last Saturday night, the specials included arancini (fried rice balls coated with breadcrumbs) that Mick's had stuffed with risotto and bison meat; and a Piedmontese strip steak served atop a white bean puree and alongside Hen of the Woods mushrooms in a Tunisian brik.

Mick, meanwhile, is not the only one cooking these days. I recently found a pile of graffiti eggplants at Harris Teeter and tossed them (peeled and diced, of course) into the wok on Sunday night with scallions and string beans. Last night, I attempted a pasta recipe involving freshly roasted beets and goat cheese. It was as delicious as the stir fry, but I'll say this: No point buying tri-colored pasta when everything ends up bright purple at the end.




Two bonuses (pardon the Wall Street lingo, but I saw Hank Paulson speak today): Listen here to an interesting Marketplace segment on the food scene in Cleveland that may make you less skeptical about the good eats in downtown Frederick; click here for a slide show on DCist of (non-food related but no less entertaining) photos from Washington's Valentine's Day "Cupid's Undie Run."

Slurping away Snowmageddon

Given the 25.5 inches of snow in Washington, President Obama's warnings of "Snowmageddon," Amtrak's "widespread cancellations," the shutdown of all runways at BWI, Dulles and Reagan National, the promise from The Washington Post that its "list of what's open" would include "mostly grocery and CVS stores," and the Post's Going Out Guide's warning that "cancellations are piling up like snow," I was pleasantly surprised to see how many restaurants on 18th St. in Adam's Morgan and along U Street were open today.


As you can tell, after failing to secure a table at L'Enfant (2000 18th St NW), we ended up at DC Noodles (1410 U St. NW), where the $12 noodles in soy soup (I ordered mine with beef and wide noodles) helped defrost all but my damp and frigid toes.

Steak Quotidien

It's rumored that Neil K. Shenai haunts Dupont's Le Pain Quotidien ("PQ" to its "friends"), at 2001 P St. NW, and Bistrot du Coin ("BDC" to Shenai), at 1738 Connecticut Ave. NW, simply to show off how well he pronounces their names. Guest-blogging at Pipón here, he makes the case that the food is the bigger factor.

Bistrot du Coin's signature dish, the "steak maison" ($16.50), is the perfect entree for a D.C. diner looking for a reasonably priced and succulent steak. BDC's butterfly-cut filets (above) are accompanied by a creamy béarnaise sauce. The béarnaise's interaction with the crusted peppercorn and rosemary make the steak maison juicy, flavorful and complex in taste and texture. The steak is served with French fries or a side of mesclun salad for the health conscious.

Photo by Neil K. Shenai.

Stumping the Irish

"There's a potato dish I haven't heard of?" So asked my Irish diplomat friend, Iseult, when she heard Keryn was whipping up twice-baked potatoes. For my part, I had at least heard of them, I had just never tasted them before last night. (Refried beans, on the other hand, are an old friend. As they say, "My compliments to the chef. Again.) Keryn baked, twice, two varieties, one with roasted broccoli, the other roasted red pepper.

Tonight's dinner: Keryn's salad nicoise, with green beans and kalamata olives.

In other Pipóneratable news, here's three juicy culinary tidbits from a wedding invitation that just came in the mail from my friend, Harvard Magazine writer Elizabeth Gudrais, who is getting married in Minnesota and the Azores in June:

1. The "campfire" steak gets a cognac demiglace (a rich brown sauce that begins with a basic espagnole sauce and is combined with beef stock and madeira or sherry and slowly cooked until reduced to a thick glaze)
   
2. The almond-encrusted walleye gets a cream veloute (one of the five "mother sauces," velouté is a stock-based white sauce)
   
3. The post-wedding "picnic lunch" in the Azores involves burying food in the soil of a volcanic geyser, canoeing and then, when you return a few hours later, "it's cooked!"
   

(Pretty) Good Stuff

For a small, practically fast-food (no waiters, bus-your-own-table) burger joint, there's a generous helping of self-importance at the Good Stuff Eatery (303 Pennsylvania Ave. SE). Spike Mendelsohn, the chef, Culinary Institute of America grad and former contestant on Top Chef Chicago who opened the two-floor operation in 2008 insists that Good Stuff is no mere restaurant; no, the popular Capitol Hill spot is more of "a rallying cry," "a whoop," "a holler," "a hail." I admire the enthusiasm. I truly do. And I have no trouble with the small menu, or the prices, about $7 for a specialty burger, $4 for the specialty fries seasoned generously with fresh thyme, rosemary and pepper. (At $5.25, the homemade, "bring on the brain-freeze" milkshakes are a bit steep.) Moreover, who wouldn't be intrigued by the mayo bar, offering mango, chipotle, Old Bay and Sriracha varieties?


Still, for all the ego on display, I was not floored on Saturday night by the creativity of the burger creations, which lean heavily on bacon and cheddar cheese. My "Uncle D's Chili 'N Cheddar" burger, for example, was tasty for sure, but it was a few ounces short of satisfying and the cheddar sauce, sour cream and forgettable bun dulled any of the advertised spiciness of the chili. Over all, it all felt a bit constrained, a transparent attempt to make the business easy to replicate.

It did, however, easily out-compete the dull, dry "Campfire Buffalo Burger" I sampled yesterday at The National Museum of the American Indian (Fourth Street and Independence Ave. SW), seriously worse for wear in the late afternoon at the Native Foods Cafe but still priced around $10. (Next time, I'll go for the grilled venison, South American fish stew or perhaps the Indian Taco, with buffalo chili on fry bread with pickled chilies.)

Belgium to the left of me, Belgium to the right

In Adams Morgan, there's L'Enfant Café & Bar (2000 18th St NW) and its expensive Belgian beers on one side of 18th and there's Locolat Café (1781 Florida Avenue NW) and its expensive Belgian chocolates on the other side. Here it's clear, I suppose, why a chicken would cross the road. It's also clear that now and again, you'll want a break from Belgium. If that day comes, there's no need to leave the intersection (or settle for a giant slice of pizza). Instead, try El Tamarindo (1785 Florida Ave. NW), a Salvadoran/Mexican joint with funky, original art (for sale), a long list of margaritas, refreshingly fresh salsa and tortilla chips and tasty, though generally uninspired, specialties such as "Carne a la Parrilla" ($12), grilled tenderloin topped with ranchera sauce and served with rice and refried beans. Compared to other Latin food joints I've sampled around Washington, I'd say it's far superior to La Frontera Cantina (1633 17th St. NW) in Dupont, but less authentic than Taqueria Distrito Federal (3463 14th St. NW) in Columbia Heights and El Paraiso (1916 14th St. NW) by U Street.

I was less impressed by a recent dinner at Medaterra (2614 Connecticut Ave. NW) in Woodley Park, where I met up with a few cousins the other day for a Happy Hour appetizer feast. We sampled sausage and eggplant, hummus and falafel. Not very memorable.

Cafe Salsa

Cafe Salsa (1712 14th St. NW), bites off a lot, promising a "nuevo Latino cuisine" that is "inspired by the diversity of Cuba, Puerto Rico, Caribbean and South American culture" (emphasis added). After an admittedly small sampling, I'd say it generally pulls it off. The complimentary, fried, Asian-style noodles and Provençal -style tapenade make for a strange starting note. But Cafe Salsa shines when it counts, as with the ropa vieja and the bistec with sauteed onions.