Chinatown, overachieving

In another installment in an occasional series of Pipón posts about the national Chinatown exceeding its high sodium, low quality expectations, I recommend the Mee Goreng noodles ($14), a "famous Malay–Indo style noodle dish" of stir–fried egg noodles, chicken, scallions and bean sprouts in a curry and peanut sauce, at Asian Spice (717 H. St. NW). Be prepared to fend off (or surrender to) a hard sell for the "Filipino Caramelized Fried Banana" ($6), fried fresh bananas coated in cinnamon and brown sugar and topped with honey and sesame seeds, but keep in mind that the marauding manager will generally be satisfied if you agree to a bowl of the creamy, crunchy, "tropical coconut" ice cream.

Couple of bookies

The multitalentosa Julia Oliver is a virtuoso no doubt, but when it comes to swine, I figured she might be able to predict the direction of pork belly futures (Efficient Market Theory skeptic that she is), but not cook a pork loin to save her life. Fortunately, not only was I not punished for my underestimating, I finagled not one but two slices of Julia's lemon and ginger pork loin, basted in white wine and seasoned with chopped rosemary, ginger and lemon marmalade, as attractive carved on a serving platter as glistening in its roasting pan, harpooned by a footlong meat thermometer.

Public noodling

You're supposed to accept as an article of faith that the 7th Street Chipotle has got the only decent grub in Chinatown. I thought so for a while, after sampling some forgettable tofu at the mediocre (but descriptively named) Kanlaya Thai Cuisine (740 6th St. NW), and spending a few late-nights slurping the hot and sour soup at New Big Wong (610 H St. NW). But thanks to that voyeuristic, siren song, display window exhibition kitchen at Chinatown Express (746 6th St. NW), I can now recommend skipping Fuddruckers the next time you're hungry after a Gallery Place double feature. The fresh, "made on the spot" noodles, fried or in irresistibly gulpable broth, sell for just $6.50.

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.

Walter's style

I thought I was all high brow/low browing around when I had lunch at the soup's-up-when-the-microwave-beeps Dos Gringos (3116 Mount Pleasant St. NW) in Mount Pleasant, followed by dinner at Poste (555 8th St. NW) downtown by Chinatown.


I topped that tonight, however, when I got hungry while blending a pistachio pesto (recipe from The Splendid Table), and ended up eating for dinner a Hebrew National hot dog, boiled and then sauteed, all hometown Walter's style.

Comfort food, fryalated

From the start, I had a bad attitude about Teak Wood (1323 14th St NW), in Logan Circle. I mean, given the delightful wordplaying at Thai Tanic, just across the street (and in Columbia Heights), and Thaiphoon, in Dupont Circle, I just couldn't imagine that Teak Wood would be all that creative in its menu either. It isn't. But neither is turkey and Brussels sprouts at Thanksgiving dinner.

I learned that lesson the other day when I helped two Canadian friends whip up and serve up poutine (French fries swaddled by brown gravy and topped by cheese curds) and I was chided for calling the dish, a classic Canadian comfort food, a "Montreal delicacy." A year ago, Calvin Trillin, in The New Yorker, wrote about the poutine phenomenon, noting that the dish, invented five decades ago in rural Quebec, may be "gross," disconcertingly squeaky and the go-to snack for late-night bar-hoppers, but it's also irresistible and rightly becoming a "national dish," arguably a bigger cultural force than even canoeing or moose spotting, and potentially an even more iconic Canadian foodstuff than maple syrup and Tim Hortons. (It's already so popular in Quebec that shopkeepers sell bags of cheese curds beside the cash register, and there's a restaurant in Toronto, Smoke's Poutinerie, that concocts 20 varieties of the dish.)

All this is to say that Teak Wood seems to offer a lot of familiar Thai curries, and that's good enough for me.

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.)

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.

Throw it back

$35 is a bargain for a three-course meal at a restaurant where the lobster risotto alone normally sells for $29. Still, even if Hook (3241 M St. NW, in Georgetown) had paid me to eat there, I might still have been disappointed by its Restaurant Week performance. Yes, the Yellow Fin Tuna was served nice and rare, but Hook forgot to season the black beans, lazily relying on the bacon lardons and mismatched mango butter. Yes, a spring pea risotto is a cozy bed for Pacific Cod, but only if it's even a little creamy and the promised chili oil is detectable without a mass spectrometer.

Hook did a bit better with its appetizers and desserts, the Taylor Bay Scallop Pan Roast with roast corn succatash, chorizo and quicos was generously portioned, though the chorizo was hard to locate; ditto for the Grilled Calamari mushroom cappuccino, scallion and crispy poached egg, though the calamari tasted more burnt than grilled. No complaints whatsoever about the campily named but mesmerizingly sweet "Just Peachy" (cardamom panna cotta, peach preserves and pistachio cookie) and the "That's S'more Like It" (chocolate cinnamon cake, toasted marshmellow ice cream and bittersweet chocolate sauce). But none of that made up for Hook's impolite and inattentive host and waitress; the unfortunately positioned streetlight brightening the second floor like it was a crime scene; and the absence of information on the menu about Hook's admirable commitment to sustainable fish, leaving customers to wonder if the chef's fish selections are simply an attempt to sell cheaper, more abundant species to raise Hook's profit margin.

Lefty's leftovers

I was inspired by a friend in Tenleytown, who whooped me in my 1st colonial attempt at Settlers of Catan but made up for it by serving up 3 exceptional pizzas, including one topped by potatoes so thinly sliced you could have piled them on top of my resource cards and still seen that all I had were a pile of bricks. So I adapted a couple of Epicurious recipes, including a sliced and roasted cauliflower appetizer that I doused with the recommended olive oil-lemon-garlic dressing but substituted Parmesan for the Kalamata topping; and a corn and tomato scramble that involved sauteed fresh corn kernels and scallions cooled and tossed with tomatoes marinated in olive oil and cider vinegar (and accompanied by chopped endive, in my version).  


Today's breakfast, a leftover Lefty's Barbecue burger from last night's building BBQ sacrilegiously mingling with MorningStar veggie sausage patties and the Mexican tortilla scramble known as migas.

Caliente, not picante?

No disrespect to the mega restaurant Lauriol Plaza (1835 18th Street NW), where the chefs manage not only to feed hundreds of people nightly, on three floors and a packed patio, but also to come up with appealing specials, like the hulking leg of lamb I ordered last night. But seriously, doesn't it seem upside down to serve the homemade salsa hot in temperature and mild in spiciness, and not the other way around?

Under my skin

It was no cod sperm or squirming, "freshly dismembered octopus," nothing that would impress New York City's "Gastronauts." But I'd say dinner last night at "El Pollo Rico" (932 N. Kenmore St., Arlington) was equal parts developing world deliriousness and first world deliciousness. This is not the haute Peruvian eats you've been hearing about lately on Pipón. "El Pollo Rico" (I love its inexplicable, but very Latin American, use of quotes) is about as simple an operation as the sidewalk fried chicken stand I fell in love with in Ghana a few years ago: there's just rows of chickens rotating on several charcoal rotisserie ovens and an assembly line at the long counter, including a man armed with a meat clever ready to quarter or halve your chicken, another ladling out the two sides (fries and coleslaw) and a third handing over the two sauces (a yellowy mayo and a pureed green chili sauce that go great together). You can order white or dark meat, and both come superbly spiced (beneath the skin). There is a stream of grease in the parking lot, a drab facade and a line out the door. As someone put it on Yelp, "El Pool Rico" has "all of the elements of a great hole in the wall. It's dirt cheap, it's got kind of awful atmosphere, and it's cash only!"


Unrelated, but perhaps of interest: I was eying the osso buco (braised veal shanks) at Cesco Trattoria (4871 Cordell Ave., Bethesda) the other day and I wondered (aloud, unfortunately) why the dish included gremolata. I was curious only because I was convinced gremolata was some kind of Italian ice cream. Woops. It's actually a "garnish made of minced parsley, lemon peel and garlic," an Italian chimichurri, and it is a traditional ingredient in osso buco.

Alpaca on a plate

Intrepid Pipón correspondent Julia Oliver, self-portrait virtuoso, summited Machu Picchu the other day, hunting alpaca with a bow and arrow for lunch. I exaggerate. But after "eating my way through Lima," Oliver did survive a train derailment aboard Perurail to get to Cuzco, where she climbed to some Inca ruins and worked up an appetite for bacon-wrapped alpaca loin, topped with chimichurri and accompanied by mashed sweet potatoes.




Photos, including the passion fruit close-up below, by Julie Julia Oliver. More images of Peru's delicias culinarias here.


UPDATE: Megalomanical Me somehow missed the "copy" Ms. Oliver submitted with her great Peruvian photography. Here it is: "Alpaca are ubiquitous in the highlands of central Peru. They are employed not only as producers of soft, warm sweater material, but also as tourist gimmicks -- bait for a propina -- and gardeners to the Incan gods. This alpaca loin wrapped in bacon and drizzled with a salty chimichurri sauce is set off nicely by the sweet potato puree. Prepared by the Tree House, a charming and rustic restaurant high on a hill below Machu Picchu, this rendition was sampled with a glass of Peruvian red wine -- not the sweet stuff, but a dry Tabernero malbec. It was the perfect end to a mist-shrouded hike overlooking Peru's maravilla del mundo."

Waterworld

My fried, Naureen, ordered us the garlic naan ($3.50), raita ($3), the baingan bharta ($10) (grilled fresh eggplant sautéed with ginger, garlic, onion and tomatoes), and the kurkuri bhindi ($11) (fresh, crisp okra sautéed with onions, tomato, green pepper, dry mango powder and fresh herbs), all served with basmatic saffron rice. "I'll have the same," I joked. 30 minutes later, our waiter arrived and began serving two platters of everything we'd ordered.

So that was my bad. But you can't blame me that the eggplant tasted like apple sauce, the result of some kind of wild cardamon explosion in the kitchen. So I guess, Indian Ocean (4221 Connecticut Ave. NW, in Van Ness), we're even.

Lists

So far, Pipón has not posted nearly enough "Best Of" lists, that inescapable (but oddly still appealing) gimmick of American publishing. But I'm ready to say this (paraphrasing a friend who recently recommended a Barcelona restaurant by remarking that their txipirones, Basque squid with chick peas and a pomegranate glaze, was "the best thing I ate in 2005"), I had my favorite dish of 2010 the other day, the ragu of wild mushrooms with rosemary, Tuscan liver sauce and polenta ($9.50) at Cashion's Eat Place (1819 Columbia Road NW) in Adams Morgan. The rich, meaty mushrooms were so fresh and earthy I felt like I was grazing in New England woodlands, while the three types of liver (yes, three types of liver, rabbit, duck and quail, if I recall correctly) offered a juicy and unique protein medley and the bed of polenta made sure I did not miss an ounce of the sauce.

In general, I should note, the restaurant is a bit uneven given the prices, offering on the one hand inexplicably inattentive waitering (at least on my single visit), an inedibly bitter chilled watercress and potato soup and an ungrammatical name that sounds like it was poorly translated from Japanese, while also serving up, in addition to the aforementioned lively livers, remarkable Greek spreads including a smooth hummus, a roe paste and an eccentrically spiced yogurt dip.

That new sound you're looking for?

My in-laws were in town tonight, those great patrons of Pipón.* (Since I moved to D.C. last July, they have sponsored trips to Ulah, Founding Fathers, Busboys and Poets, Grapeseed and countless Frederick joints.) Today's treat? Marvin (2007 14th St. NW).

Like nearby Eatonville, named for Zora Neale Hurston, Marvin is an homage to a great American artist, Marvin Gaye, who I'm told lived in the neighborhood. The menu, however, is not simply southern. Instead, it's also a reflection of Gaye's "two years in self-imposed exile in the small Belgian town of Ostend." Try the "Chicken Liver and Foie Gras Royale," served with sweet onion marmalade and toasted baguettes, and the lamb with fingerlings and salty broccoli rabe.

*They do not actually read my blog, but without them, Pipón would only feature my home cooking and reviews of the SAIS cafeteria.

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.

Hamburg, Dupont

It is opening in Detroit next year, so I guess that's pretty interesting. Otherwise, Vapiano (1800 M Street NW) is just a mediocre, gimmicky German chain. It clearly believes it's an interesting idea, "defining the future of fast casual," an "innovative European" and "revolutionary concept" born in Hamburg in 2002 and since exported to 16 countries, where diners get to experience an "urban-European atmosphere." Sounds exciting, right? All I saw tonight at the Dupont Circle location were a couple of basil plants on the tables and made-to-order fresh pasta and pizza that you have to order cafeteria-style from a line of short-order cooks. Sure, the pesto pasta was tasty. But for $10, I would not have complained if Vapiano had hired a waiter or two to bring over a glass of water.

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.

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."