Lavandou (Cleveland Park, 03/09/09) - J'habite aux Etats-Unis

J'habite aux Etats-Unis. That's about all the French I know. And I do live in the U.S., so it's both impressive and accurate when I bust that out at parties. How worldly I am.

My knowledge of French food is not much better. I've certainly consumed my fair share of crepes, confit and coc a vin (see alliteration usage in previous post) to know that the cuisine trends towards the rich, heavy and flavorful. But I've only just in recent years been starting to pay attention to the difference between a good and bad hollandaise. From what I'm beginning to understand, French food, possibly more than any other food, is about perfection. I mean, how did that rat in "Ratatouille" know how to balance those flavors so perfectly?! Wait....

Anyway, J and I are on a French kick. We're going to France soon, so we've been trying to at least get some context for what we're about to be tasting. We've even decided to have some old friends over for a dinner next weekend, the theme being....exactly.

So in the spirit of "research," J and I went to Lavandou in Cleveland Park. I'd been once before, many years ago, but didn't remember much about it at all. We had never really had an excuse to try it, considering Petit Plate, L'Enfant and Cafe Bonaparte are all so close, but decided that Monday night was the perfect night for an adventure - or at least what qualifies as one on a Monday night.

I will say this. If Lavandou is what France has to offer (and I realize it's not, but humor me), I think our trip will be a good excuse to lose some weight. I was really excited when we walked in. We were greated by a staff of obviously Franco origin (else just really big fans of Pepe Le Pu) and were shown to a lovely little table by the window. The place screams French country style and is, I will admit, pretty romantic. But the food just didn't hold up at all.

I ordered a fennel and apple salad to start. I was actually excited because it came garnished with Roquefort cheese, and, given the impending embargo, I wanted to taste it one last time. Placed on the table, it actually looked beautiful and refreshing. But the execution on this painfully simple dish was just pathetic. Neither the apple nor the fennel was crisp. Both tasted as though they had been sitting under a warming lamp for about 1/2 hour. The roquefort was almost tasteless, as was the oil drizzeled around the plate. An utter failure.

For the main course, I ordered a hanger steak. The steak itself was actually pretty good. Really, really simple, but full of flavor. The problem was that each piece was cooked completely differently. Some pieces were WELL done. Others, almost rare. It was good for splitting with J (as she refuses to eat meat that hasn't been turned grey on the fire), but showed a lack of attention.

The puree of celery root which came with it was...hmmmm....how do I put this....awful. It wasn't watery and inconsistent in texture. The flavor might have been good if the chef hadn't run out of salt. Well, I just assume he ran out of salt, because why else wouldn't he put any salt in it?!

One final note. J ordered a vegetarian sampler for her entre - basically just a combination of most of their side dishes. They were out of the carrot souffle (to which J was really looking forward), so she opted for the tomatoes with garlic. After messing up the order (bringing the sun dried tomatoes instead), the waitress finally deliever the proper order in a little dish. One taste and J handed me the fork saying, "taste this. It tastes like a barn." Indeed, it did. Just like a barn. Wet hay, sheep, you name it. I don't know what the hell they put in there to make it taste so bad, but we actually laughed when the waitress asked us how we enjoyed it. I know that sounds mean, but it was REALLY bad.

So, we won't be going back to Lavandou. Too bad. I've always liked the look of that place. But you would figure that a place that had survived this long would have something to show for it. Lavandou does not.

The Source (Downtown, 03-06-09) - Great Food, Cold Atmosphere

We've been to The Source, Wolfgang Puck's over-priced DC establishment, a number of times. And it seems that each time we go, the price from the last visit has somehow faded from my mind while the flavors of the delicious food have remained. Last night was no different. J and I went with my folks for an evening on the town, giving my mom and dad a little taste of life they don't get to see very often in the suburbs. The Source is ultra-hip. It's cold and dark with minimal furniture, a lot of brushed steel and classic rock playing overhead.

Puck's vision for this place is hard to argue with. Every detail is perfect. Even the silverware and the water vessels seem to match and just look, for lack of better words, sleek.

And the food is pretty much flawless. I split the tuna tartare with my pops. It comes in these crunchy sesame cones and is filled with spicy, sweet ahi, roe and watercress. It has the perfect combination of flavor and texture and beautiful presentation. One criticism I'll make is that the little wooden thing it comes served in looks a little 8th-grade-shop-class - out of place in the detail-oriented environment of the place. But whatever. You don't eat that.

J started with a spicy coconut soup with shrimp and ginger-scented tapioca. Creamy, light and silky, it was really delightful.

For my main course, I settled on the pork chop as they were out of the duck. And I must say that I was a little wary given that the dish was basically labeled as pork on pork - chop and belly. But the two cuts were SO different and SO perfectly matched that they were far from redundant. The smokiness of the belly played off the sweet chop, and even their textures seemed to provide depth. This dish was a slam dunk.

For dessert, we all split their version of the chocolate molten cake. Every restaurant in the city has one of these on the menu, and I'll put Source's up there. But, in the end, it's the same thing. The execution was great, as the center was really smooth and warm, and the ice cream was rich and creamy. But I guess dessert just doesn't excite me as much.

The final note that I'll make is that, for all it's perfect execution and sleek appearance, the Source leaves something to be desired in terms of soul. The place just feels a little contrived and has no warmth at all. I like modern as much as anyone. I think places like Oya and Zengo are really fun and are able to combine a cool atmosphere with something comfortable. There is nothing comfortable about the Source - at least not the dining floor. But the food is magnificant and must be tasted. Just get a drink to reflect some of the sting when the bill comes.

Sonoma Restaurant and Wine Bar (Capital Hill, 03/02/09) – A Sharp Decline

It was two years ago when some of my colleagues suggested that we hit Sonoma, a wine bar/restaurant, for some after-work relaxation. The suggestion itself was a little dangerous as we private-firm lawyer types rarely rub elbows with the Capital Hill crowd. While they’re busy hanging out at the Hawk n’ Dove or Bistro Bis, we’re at Tenh Pen or Lima Bar. But heading into “their” territory proved a fruitful journey, as Sonoma proved the perfect place for a gathering, complete with great food, interesting wines and a really cool atmosphere.

A few months after my first visit, J and I took her sister to this little gem. It was the first time I had met her, and Sonoma was a great place to break a lot of ice. We feasted on a wide variety of cheeses, charcuterie and local meats, fishes and vegetables. My absolute favorite item on the menu was their truffle-poached peaches, which were even more interesting than they sound. I don’t know if they used really young peaches or what, but they looked and had the texture of olives, while still tasting like peaches. Very strange but very, very good.

And so it should have been a sign when, after returning to the restaurant following a 2-year hiatus, J and I ordered the truffle-poached peaches just to be informed that they were no longer available. The waitress informed us that people are constantly asking for them, so why the hell don’t they bring them back?!

Anyway, despite the lack of peaches, the place felt very much as we remembered. It’s ultra-hip with some two-tops as well as some big tables perfect for groups of friends. It has a modern feel but somehow maintains its warmth. The crowd is diverse and of all ages. J and I actually had a really, really nice time.

The only problem was, unfortunately, the food. We started with a cheese plate, ordering just two cheeses – a “semi-soft” mona sheep’s cheese and a truffle tremor goat cheese. Well, they were out of the tremor. So the waitress suggested the chevre, and we bit. When they came to the table, I was surprised to see that the mona was FAR from semi-soft. Whereas I was expecting something along the lines of a sheep’s camembert, it had more the texture (and taste) of parmesan. They’re menu had given the worst description ever. It was fine, just not what I was hoping for.

For a starter, I opted for the calamari salad. As presented, it was beautiful – full of color and texture. The taste, however, was really, really flat. The sauce which looked to have so much promise didn’t bring any acidity to the dish and barely any heat. The garbanzos were hard as little pebbles and had about as much taste. The squid itself was decent, but just not very interesting. There was so much potential with this dish, but it just fell short at every level.

For my main course, I accept full responsibility for a poor choice. You know, I read chicken and parmesan, but it just didn’t register as chicken parmesan. I don’t know why. Maybe I just didn’t expect to be served boring Italian food at place known for its unique approach. But when it came to the table, I was immediately put off. The chicken was severely overcooked – dry even in the middle of that excessive mountain of tomato sauce. The only real highlights from the dish were the toasted bread served on the side and the fresh mozzarella melted on top. Otherwise, it was boring and, to be honest, pretty poor tasting.

Let me qualify and perhaps give an explanation. The creators of Sonoma have jumped whole-heartedly onto the locally-grown food bandwagon. It’s a great idea both for its economic impact on local food providers and for its environmental sustainability. It is a noble venture and one I absolutely support. The problem is, it’s March, and there isn’t a lot of food growing in March. Places like Sonoma, deeply committed to the locally-grown concept, are at a distinct disadvantage in the winter months. This doesn’t excuse overcooked chicken or the NINETEEN DOLLARS they tried to charge us for a glass of wine (apparently, ½ glasses are more reasonably priced, but who orders ½ of a glass?), but it at least accounts for the flat tastes. I am absolutely not giving up on this restaurant, and I’m excited to try it again in the summer. But I’m a little more skeptical now that some of the halo has disappeared. We shall see.

Shrimp "Ceviche" (03/01/09) - A Solid First Swing

As I mentioned in my Las Canteras post, a trip to this Peruvian restaurant had made me curious about creating my own ceviche. I'd actually been wanting to try this ever since I saw Alton Brown's AWESOME show on this subject, but I'd yet to have the acute motivation.

Pronounced "seh-beach-ay" because, for some reason, Spanish speakers have always had something against the letter "v," the basic idea is a citrus-marinated fish or shellfish dish. In the most traditional (and best, by far) ceviches, the fish is "cooked" via the acid of a lime. So we're not talking raw fish, here. It just isn't cooked over heat.

I decided to go pretty simple in my first attempt and do a shrimp ceviche. Overall, I think it went pretty well. The flavors were fantastic, though, how can you really mess us with avocado, tomato, lime, lemon, peppers, onion and shrimp? I admit it, however. I wussed out. I gently poached the shrimp before putting it in the lime and lemon juice to marinate. Still, in the end, it really tasted lovely. It was really simple and something that I think I'll definitely be doing again. Next time, though, SOMETHING is going to be raw. (I mean, cooked in acid!)

Ingredients:
1 lb shrimp, shelled and deveined
2 avocados, diced
2 vine tomatoes, diced
1/2 red bell pepper, diced
1/2 orange bell pepper, diced
1/2 cup diced white onion (though red would probably be better)
2 tbs cilantro
1 lemon, juiced
1 lime, juiced
salt and pepper

Directions:
- Boil a pot of water. When the water boils, turn off the heat and dump in the shrimp. Allow shrimp to sit for 2 minutes and then remove. Cut into 1/2 inch pieces.
- Mix the shrimp, onion and juices together in a nonreactive bowl and set in the refridgerator to cool for 1 hour
- Remove, add the rest of the vegetables, toss, allow to come to room temp and serve

Cauliflower Soup (02/28/09) - Eh.

It has been referred to as the “Ugly Betty” of the vegetable garden. It is the crucifer often scorned by chefs and widely despised by children instructed to clean their plates before leaving the table. I speak, of course, of the lowly cauliflower - hated on, alternately, for its color (or lack thereof), its texture and its ability to bore the crap out of anyone eating it.

Personally, I love cauliflower. I’ve spent many a fall afternoon eating it raw off the plant at Lariland Farms in HoCo, Maryland. My pops used to steam it and then top it with a plain roux, imitating a cheesy sauce. I often consider it more a starch than a vegetable, but those nutritional contents don’t lie. It’s got allicin (good for preventing heart attacks and strokes), selenium (a nice immune strengthener), folate (needed for cell growth) and, of course, fiber. Oooo yeah.

My favorite application for this member of the “white” family (which interestingly includes bananas, mushrooms, onions and garlic) is cauliflower soup. I love it cold, hot, or luke warm served in a bowl, sippy cup or beer bong – whatever. It’s subtle, silky and, with the right amount of salt, can be sublimely sinful. (Note: I also like alliteration. Sometimes at the expense of substance.)

On Saturday, as I pondered the end of another winter, I realized that I’d not had any of this delicious concoction all season. I’ve got a good standby recipe which is literally just cauliflower, chicken broth, a little cream and some salt, but I wanted to try something new while still paying due homage to the main ingredient. After looking at a bunch of recipes online, cherrypicking those tips I thought valuable, I came up with the following ingredients:

1 medium-sized cauliflower head, chopped
3 youkon gold potatoes, peeled and diced
3 stalks of celery, chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium-sized yellow onion, chopped
2 tbs minced shallots
½ cup chopped scallions
1 tbs fresh dill
32 oz chicken stock (by volume)
½ tsp dried thyme
½ tsp curry powder
1 tsp celery salt
Salt and pepper to taste
Olive Oil

Putting this together was too simple. Heat some oil in a large soup pot at medium high. Throw the onions, garlic, scallions and shallots in and sweat for about 7 minutes. Toss in the celery, potatoes, cauliflower and dill and cook, stirring occasionally, until the veggies start to get tender. Salt it well and add the thyme, celery salt and curry powder as it’s all cooking together. Then pour in the chicken stock, pop on the lid, reduce the heat to medium/low and simmer for 20 minutes. You can take the resulting mixture and transfer it, one ladle at a time, to a food processor, but I’d rather hit it with my emersion blender and get it all done right there in the pot.

I gotta say, my whole family loved the soup, but I’m not sure I was 100% a fan of it. Don't get me wrong - I really liked the spicing. I was a little nervous about the interaction of the dill and the curry powder along with the cauliflower flavor, but it all came out surprisingly well balanced. The curry powder really just gave the soup depth and the dill make it fresh. But there were some flavor issues. First of all, when I first blended the whole mixture together, it was a little too watery for my taste. I like creamy. In retrospect, I should have just reduced it by keeping it over some heat. But I decided, instead, to put together a quick oil roux and just thicken it up. The result, at least when I first tasted it, was a distinct taste of raw flour. (The lesson: Never rush a roux) When I reheated the batch for general consumption, I let it simmer for a while, and I think that took care of the taste. But still. I also wasn’t a huge fan of the celery flavor. I love celeriac soup, but I think it got in the way of the cauliflower taste.

In the end, I’d probably add about 1 cup less chicken stock, 1 fewer celery stalk, and leave out the celery salt. But, as I said, it was met with rave reviews, so maybe I don’t know what the hell I am talking about. Or they were just saying they liked it so my feelings wouldn't get hurt.

Las Canteras (Adams Morgan, 2/26/09) – Definitely Better Than Last Time

It is one of the biggest culinary mysteries to me in the DMV area. I’ve heard for probably a decade now that we have in our backyard some of the greatest Peruvian food this side of Machu Piccho, but everything I’ve tasted has been awful. Not just mediocre. AWFUL. My first experience was at a place in some urban sprawl section of Alexandria where my “traditional” dish came to the table as a piece of dry chicken served over white rice and french fries. No sauce, no salt, no spices. Just chicken, rice and french fries.

Dating J has made my general dislike for Peruvian food a little difficult. She loves it and insists that there are great places all around. We went to a rotisserie place up in Silver Spring that she adores, but, again, I thought it was so-so. I mean, it’s chicken. On another occasion, she took me to Las Canteras in Adams Morgan, where I had food so poor that I have made a point to comment on it each time I pass the place. It was dry and boring and just bleh.

Well, J and I were going out with some friend for salsa dancing (1,2,3. 5,6,7. 1,2,3. 5,6,7.), and, to “get in the mood,” J insisted that we return to the scene of the crime at Las Canteras. I decided, however, to keep an open mind and order under the instruction of one of our friends who, as it happens, has been spending a lot of time in Peru for work. Tough life.

On his recommendation, I started with the Pisco Sour. I don’t know who first thought to put whipped egg whites in a drink, but I must say that I found it quite pleasant. It was a little strong for my taste, but I’m a big wuss. The addition of the cinnamon and the bitters made it actually reminiscent of an old fashion…sort of. So far, so good.

My first course was the classic ceviche - a traditional criollo of raw, lime juice-marinated white fish. It. Was. Awesome. Really, really good. Tangy and spicy. The texture was perfect, especially with the addition of the corn and whatever that orange stuff in the middle was. It was a very different taste than I’m used to with Peruvian food – in large part because it had taste! I was so inspired by this dish that I immediately began to plan my own ceviche experiments (more on that to come in later posts).

For my entre, I accidentally reordered the same dish that had so put me off on our last visit. This time, however, it hit the mark. I had the Trio De Anticuchos, which consisted of marinated chicken, beef and beef heart, tenderized “Peruvian style.” It was served on a bed of mashed potatoes with gigantic corn kernels and ensalada criolla. I will say that the meat was a little tough, as I don’t think they’re into medium rare at Las Canteras. But, overall, the dish was great. The heart was really delicious with the mashed potatoes. The salad was tart and refreshing. And the giant corn was (once I added some salt) a really great compliment to the entire dish.

So there you go. I no longer despise Peruvian food. It’s still on probation, but a few more good experiences like this one and I might even find myself a fan. If you’re in Adam’s Morgan and itching for some fish cooked via acid, stop by Las Canteras. Tell them I sent you. It won’t get you anything, but it will certainly confuse them.

West End Bistro (West End, 01/31/09) - In Defense of Sweetbreads

In comparison to the majority of the population (at least the part of it with which I interact), I am a relatively adventurous eater. If someone else has eaten it and lived to tell the tale, I'll probably try it. I make this claim in full knowledge of the fact that I've not been to Asia where, if I am to believe the media portrayals, those flavors most desired have at one time been growing or flopping around in the deepest depths of the unknown. But I'd like to think that, given the opportunity, I would try whatever a (modestly reputable) chef puts in front of me.

The last few years have seen a dramatic increase in the amount of "offals," or organ meats, that have turned up on the menus of fine restaurants. Trotters, tongue, liver, kidney, stomach - the parts of the animal usually reserved for the trash or for hotdogs - are now appearing as stars of gourmet - and often as the most expensive dishes. My friend Budda tells the tale that this phenom is the result of chefs who, after preparing all of the best cuts of meat for paying customers, have traditionally been left with only the "undesirables" to cook for themselves and the kitchen staff. Professional kitchens being the competitive, "we set the standard of cool" places that they are, chefs began focusing their creative energy to turn offals (pronounced "awfuls") into delicacies. Eventually, these creations made their way onto menus for us common folk, and restaurants like the Spotted Pig in New York, featuring menus dedicated to these preparations, vaulted to the "height of hip."

While I don't blindly love all offals (beef liver is not so good), I do enjoy a good amount of it, my favorite of this class being sweetbreads. Don't be fooled. The name has nothing to do with the item itself. The first time I ordered this dish (at Jose Andres' Jaleo), I was expecting something like bear claws. Wow. That sounds even more stupid when I write it than when I thought it. Suffice it to say that I was a little surprised when I learned that sweetbread is neither sweet (well...we'll get to that) nor is it bread but is, in fact, the thymus gland of the cow, pig or, sometimes, lamb.

Ok, don't do that. There's no need to gag. Just because the thymus gland is an important part of the lymphatic system of all mammals, secreting thymosin for the development of antibodies, doesn't mean it can't play an important role in fine dining as well. Jeez.

Anyway, over the past four years, I've had occasion to eat sweetbreads in a number of preparations - as an amouse bouche/finger food, a side dish and as a main event. I've had it poached, fried, and seared as well as in pate form, and I've generally really enjoyed it. But I don't think that I've ever had it prepared as perfectly as at Eric Ripert's West End Bistro. On Saturday, J and I made our first trip to the restaurant, set on the ground floor of the Ritz down on 22nd Street, with some friends from out of town. It was filled with snobby old people, but the staff was very friendly and the place had a nice feel.

On the whole, the food was very good - not great - but definitely very good. This was pretty much in line with the rumors we'd heard. The sweetbreads appetizer, however, was a knockout. The main ingredient came perfectly pan-fried in a crispy, light batter. It was smooth, savory and, dare I say, a little sweet! Underneath, the chef had assembled the most delectable assortment of complementary flavors, including artichokes, capers, olives, quail egg, fingerling potatoes (white and blue), endive and a tangy sauce gribiche. Eating it was like a choose your own adventure novel, as each combination of flavors resulted in a totally unique tasting experience.

There is wonderful food to be had all around this town. My credit card bill is a testament to that. But there is something really, really special about the sweetbreads at West End Bistro. It is clear that a lot of thought has gone into not only the star ingredient, but each of the accompanying flavors. The dish is complex, with each piece clearly requiring its own extended preparation. The inclusion of the gribiche, a sauce dating back 5000 years, characterized the outside-of-the-box thinking that went into developing this dish. It is a mature feature of the West End menu and, as far as I'm concerned, the star of the show.

To those of you who would otherwise be turned off by eating a gland, I offer the above defense of sweetbreads - in particular, Eric Ripert's. It is worth it to put aside your fear of the unknown and dive head first into this wonderful meat. With the right preparation and accompanying flavors, your first sweetbreads experience does not have to be "offal" (Oh!!! You knew it was coming. It had to. You thought I wouldn't go there, but I did. Right there at the end. Holla!).