the kitchenette

Still Dazed? Confused? Crickets..

2006-08-14T22:12:00.000-07:00

A dinner with the DCist bunch tonight had me inspired to revisit this animal.

Dear Kitchenette,

My deepest apologies for ditching you so many moons ago. So many moons ago that we went from quarter to half to full to nothing but a dark sky, to a quarter moon again. Please forgive me. I miss the nights we used to stay up late snacking on almonds and oatmeal, laughing about the good days. I pinky swear to pay attention to you again. You, me and The Hoya are back in action again this Fall. Honestly. It's all love from here. Get ready to stay up well after deadlines, play with alternate identities, disguise the voice and eat when it's just painful.

Fondly,
Erin

Note to Dazed and Confused Readers

2006-03-13T12:50:00.000-08:00

You know it's been too long when you almost forget your Blogspot username and password. Wow, unacceptable. Apologies for the late notice but I've been 4,286 miles away the last two months. Let's just say not a Foggy Bottom metro stop or Chipotle in sight. I'll give you a few hints --the new city rhymes with "blog" and if I go a day without cabbage, I get scared. Make that cabbage, goulash or knedliky. Very scared. The language has no sympathy for vowels and instead of a Starbucks on every corner, there's just a cup of fresh-roasted graffiti. Consult your map and find that fuzzy middle part of Europe. See that heart beating in the dead center?

Her nickname is "the Golden City." But she also goes by Prague.

The city has become my arctic playground--a labyrinth of spires and hidden teahouses, where tap water in restaurants is about as unheard of as skim milk. Bars are just as much smoky pubs as they are salon-style coffeehouses for Czech intellectuals to discuss how much they resent Kundera. The Kitchenette has not passed away though, and still up to her usual explorations, just taking a Prague-ternity leave. She will return to O Street and 35th with a belly full of bread dumplings and tales of the Communism museum the end of May, but until then, stay tuned for her current project: The Praha Toilette. A glimpse at the bathroom doors in "the Left Bank of the Nineties."

Geishas Are All the Rage

2006-01-10T00:27:00.000-08:00

**Note: I'm home in Southern California.

Many complained that the film adaptation of "Memoirs of a Geisha" was boring and slow. Some resented the English speech with Japanese accents. Others said it was trying too hard for authenticity. Luckily there is a geisha of another kind wandering the Hollywood scene, and she tastes so good. She's sporting bigger names than the Memoirs' stars and earning rave reviews across the board from the entertainment industry.

The Geisha House restaurant stars Ashton and the people from That 70's show. No wonder this restaurant knows how to attract the Hollywood hotties, it was founded by a cast of them. Travel 3,000 miles west of Washington to a land where flip-flops in mid-January are no biggie. Enter the Geisha House, part of the hip restaurant series by the gang that brought the feathered Farrah-hair back into style. They also started two other Los Angeles posh spots: Dolce (Italian) and The Lodge (Steakhouse) in their free time after Fox shoots.

The stark white face and crimson red lips on the facade outside of the Geisha House was typically Hollywood chic, yes, but inside was something of a dimly-lit Japanese funhouse on crack. In a good way.

Photographers snapping shots of diners handing their keys to the valet boys reminded me of the Disneyland photographers that charm you into a photo after the ride. Too bad they weren't Disney employees, but actual paparazzi. Hollywood chic, remember? High people in high places get a bite to eat here.

But bite is really an understatement. So is raw fish. Each hunk of yellow tail, spicy tuna and oyster was flashy, perhaps, but loaded with flavor. Sometimes flashy can be a good thing, maybe? Besides, when in Hollywood, live lusciously. After handing over our Volvo keys and entering the restaurant, my friends and I were welcomed by the noises of an upstairs club. Jams were bumping and the bouncers were a-waiting at the bottom of a staircase. Apparently this club was not the Geisha House itself, but a nice chaser to the restaurant experience.

As we turned the corner, the lights got progressively darker, and soon we walked through a metallic red hallway. Funhouse, right? Finally, we were in the swanky lounge with a row of brown ottomans to our right. The walls were covered with photographs of authentic geishas, brown oversized walking sticks and behind the bar sat frosted Grey Goose bottles at staggered levels.

Ashton was nowhere in sight, but Kevin Bacon sure was. Immediately after being seated, I got a nudge from my boyfriend and full view of Mr. Bacon sharing a booth with his very producer-esque friend (Think square glasses, baseball cap and clad in an all-black). A few sashimi appetizers later, in walks Tommy Shaw from Styx. Officially, this was the first time I'd thrown back an oyster shooter (their Oyster Shooter Kamikaze..a double shot) while staring at Kevin Bacon's chiseled face. Or maybe just the first time doing an oyster shooter in general...

It took me two swallows before I got the rubbery guy down the hatchet, but luckily there was a pleasant swig of Dewazakura Sake waiting for me. At only $38 for a nice-sized helping, the cherry wood rice wine was "the best in taste and value, bar none," according to a Geisha House-regular and thankfully, our dinner guest. It was enough for our Party of Five (ooh, how Hollywood of me) to down a couple shots and then some.

We missed out on the flashy Euro man with an accent a la Pepe le Peu who supposedly visits tables flaunting a $300 bottle of sake for sale. Our Geisha House insider warned that the bottle is not worth it, "even on his boss's expense account." But just about everything else, surprisingly, was.

Contemporary sushi in a hip, and oftentimes red, environment has been the "in" thing for a while, but Geisha House seems to do it best. The service was spectacular, not snobby, and our waitress even brought the manager out to nab us one of their Asian-inspired aprons, which she said, premiered at Fashion Week this year. (One of our dinner guests was spellbound by the ornate silk design and had to go home with one. Can't blame her, though they did price the "last apron downstairs" at $40.)

Our all-star waitress also refilled my green tea so often that I got a good look at the basement bathroom at the bottom of a spiral staircase. Covered with jagged mirrors pieced together, the bathroom was good until I caught sight of the somewhat disillusioning generic-brand Dial soap. For some reason, it seemed odd that such an ultra-coooool Asian lounge would show its generic labels, but then again, this one was above the rest.

The Heaven Roll was like eating spicy tuna wrapped in clouds. The white rice was fluffy and light, enveloped with delicate seaweed. The Robata World was also a winner-- skewered chicken, filet mignon, salmon, asparagus and tofu-tomato with three fun dipping sauces. They call these their "special sauces," but I promse they're nothing like the ones at In-N-Out right down the block. The trio had a soy-based sesame one and spicier sauce which came with a disclaimer from our waitress. Also, the mixed tempura actually had an eggplant thrown in there! (Kitchenette proposal: from here on out, "mixed veggies" should always include eggplant. Mmm..)

For all I know, everyone around me could have been famous. They all had that look. A little burned out, a little aloof and ultra chic from head to toe. It was the happening place for the Hollywood scene, and any place with Kevin Bacon inside certainly gets my vote. Kinda makes me want to go wear some red lipstick and watch Footloose.

Cakes, Life, Plastic Baby Jesuses

2006-01-06T16:16:00.000-08:00

Cake seems to be on my mind as of late. After writing posts on the Red Devil Cake for DCist.com and Fruitcake for DCFud.com, I took a hefty slice of the Rosca de Reyes (or the King's Cake) last night with my family, in honor of the Three Magi King's Day (better known as King's Day). The holiday is actually today, and celebrates the three wisemen's search for the baby Jesus. (We also got a Jewish apple cake to appease my other half) Apparently the Mexican/Jewish bakery where we bought both cakes makes a killing out here in Southern California.

"Rosca" means ring, so the cake is shaped like a crown. The object is to get the slice that has the plastic baby doll inside, symbolizing a newborn Jesus hiding from King Herod's troops. Then you're responsible for throwing a party on the second of February, or Dia de la Candelaria (Candlemas Day), where one usually serves tamales and Mexican hot chocolate. Hopefully you got a heads-up from DCist, and knew where to buy your cakes in Washington.

To my dismay, my little brother found the plastic baby in his piece, and I was left with just the calories and somewhat dry taste. According to Mexican tradition, now he is supposed to throw the bash, but something tells me the high school junior has other things on his mind. Hint: girls, USC football (maybe not so much anymore), his Volvo and corn dogs.

Florida Avenue Grill..

2006-01-01T15:31:00.000-08:00

is the Mac Daddy.

I'll fill you in on a little secret. Chefs like mac and cheese. I'm talking heavy on the cheddar, bring on the noodles and about as far away from the foie gras as you can get. Or at least that's what the gang at 1789 taught me.

Before a Sunday shift, I was smashed into a booth at F.Scott's -- the space next to 1789, now exclusively used for private events-- enjoying a family dinner with the rest of the chefs before the evening rush. There were no hidden cameras or news reporters (or so they thought). Forget the frills on the other side of the kitchen doors.

It was time to pull up our sleeves and talk dirty. Mac and cheese dirty.

The majority of us (about six) revealed we had "a thing" for the less than gourmet boxed meal. Some made nauseous frowns. One even admitted she likes to lather hers with ketchup. A few more made nauseous frowns.

And then Scott, who was in charge of the hot entrees that night, shook his head with confidence. "If you really want good mac and cheese," he warned, "I'll have to fill you in...on a little secret."

The secret was Florida Avenue Grill. Scott claims it's the best in the District, let alone the best he's ever tasted. But if you're kicking off Oh-Six with a regimented resolution diet, stop reading right now. Seriously, this post is shamelessly bad for your health.

Epitomizing a Dirt Cheap Eat, Florida Ave. Grill is known for their red-topped bar stools, view into the kitchen and most importantly, no pretenses. Oil is sizzling and grease is a-flying. There's no hiding anything here. Like everything else on the menu, the mac and cheese is bad for your waistline but so good for the soul.

The Grill gives you a generous hunk of mac and cheese, and has been doing so for the last 61 years. Before gentrification was ever in U Street's vocabulary. It sits pretty next to fellow Dirt Cheap neighbors Ben's Chili Bowl.

And this is not the first time the modest Florida Ave. Grill has won over the likes of top DC chefs. Zola man Frank Morales also has "a thing" for the Grill. But along with the rest of Washington, he goes early for the breakfast. Lines have been known to trail out the door for the U Street neighborhood's friendliest breakfast fare. Morales is into the beef breakfast sausage with grits ($6.95), according to Washingtonian last year.

And it appears we're all into mac and cheese, at least a little. As reported in this week's Post, a "Macaroni & Cheese" cookbook was recently published by author Marlena Speiler. She shares fifty different recipes, along with some history on the dish's origins, which date back to 1769. Even Thomas Jefferson had a taste for it.

But if the cheese part does not coordinate with your vegan lifestyle, the Soul Vegetarian Restaurant serves their dairyless version. It seems for the first time in history, vegan and soul food have found themselves on the same plate. Order yours with a side of sweet potato pie. The small chain also whips together a Liberia Burger (made with black-eyed peas) and a BBQ Tofu Sub.

I'll take mine with real cheddar and extra carbs, thank you very much. Mmm, cows.

Please come forward and admit your dirtiest kitchen secrets. Scott of 1789 and Frank of Zola already have. Now add Kitchenette to the list. Viva le macaroni.

Dreamin of a White Xmas...

2005-12-25T21:36:00.000-08:00

THE WHITE HOUSE
CHRISTMAS DAY LUNCH

HERB ROASTED FREE RANGE TURKEY
CORN BREAD DRESSING
MASHED POTATOES
GIBLET GRAVY
PANCETTA GREEN BEANS
SWEET POTATO SOUFFLE
CRANBERRY SAUCE
CLOVER ROLLS W/ HONEY BUTTER
PUMPKIN AND PECAN PIES
RED VELVET CAKE

pie and cake?! now that's my kind of all-American family.

Diner for City Council?

2005-12-22T00:14:00.000-08:00

This is about as close to roadstop grubby greasy goodness as Connecticut Ave. is gonna get: American City Diner. Every night at 8pm they show classic movies on their heated, covered back patio deck attached to the diner. For free! When's the last time you really had dinner and a movie with the one you love?

The wall facing a small parking lot outside is painted with a mural highlighting American legends like Elvis and Marilyn. And to add to the whimsical appeal, the retro-looking owner Jeffrey Gildenhorn is running for Ward 3 yet again. By the looks of the indoor decor, you would guess he's won before. "Gildenhorn for Mayor" signs are more prevalent than old-fashioned Coke ads or Blue Plate Specials. No joke, they exist. (the Blue Plate Specials that is, not his Mayor election)

Thursday calls for a Corned Beef and Cabbage at just $8.95. Monday's Brisket of Beef ($8.95) caught my eye. Actually, they're all just $8.95 except Friday's big hitter-- the Crab Cake Platter with Fries and Coleslaw ($15.95).

If the Blue Plate Special is just a little too 1950s throw-back for you, their wide selection of deli sandwiches and burgers are pretty decent for diner standards. The pulled Bar-B-Que Chicken sandwich is my favorite ($5.50) and the Black-and-White shake can be hard to come by in the District. Insert: No Jewish Delis in DC! here.

But back to the daily movies. I tried calling for a schedule since their website is never actually insync with the current week, but the groggy eighty-something on the other line had one too many chicken tender requests to spare me a few seconds. Clearly throwing up her menus in a frustrated senior rage, she rushed through the list insensitively, before hanging up on me. Here's what I got:

Dec 22: It's a Wonderful Life
Sometime between Dec 23 and Dec 28: A Bronx Tale
Dec 29: The Graduate
Dec 30: Rebel Without A Cause
Dec 31: The Godfather

Note: the accuracy of each is not up to journalistic standards. Call at your own risk.

Actually, I did call back for the hours of operation (strangely, they were not mentioned on the website) attempting to disguise my young, boppy voice. But immediately Granny knew. "Ma'am, I don't have time for you and your questions anymore. Call back some other time!" Click.

This is what I gathered: Normal weekday hours are 7am-11pm and weekends are 24 hours. This Sunday--the first night of Christmas, Hannukah and sure, why not Kwanzaa-- the diner is open until 4pm.

With festive good tidings I'm sure. (Not!) Granny wouldn't have any of that.

The theme here is definitely old-school nostalgic. Gildenhorn first opened the diner after graduating from Georgetown with Clinton in the 60s-- their class pictures are framed wistfully near the door. Along with his "Gildenhorn for Mayor" bumper stickers, circa 1998. My advice is that Gildenhorn stick to flipping burgers and hiring post-menopausal waitresses because Ward 3 is making way for someone a little less creepy-looking. Sam Brooks.

Brooks is bounding with enthusiasm and among education policy and a brand-new Idea Blog, he enjoys the shakes at Elevation Burger. One afternoon he even traveled out to Falls Church just to down two in one sitting. Young burger joint making waves, young voice of the future changing DC? Coincidence?

But the time-warped ambiance of American City Diner is still sitting pretty on Connecticut Ave-- thePacMan video games, Blue Plate Specials and cranky grannies aren't going anywhere. The ambiance is fitting for watching backyard patio movies in pigtails and sipping Black and White shakes, but maybe not for DC Ward 3 City Council ballots.

The American City Diner is located at 5532 Connecticut Avenue, NW, next to french neighbors Bread and Chocolate.

Other diners in the DC-area include:

The Diner
2453 18th St NW, Washington, DC
(202) 232-8800

Silver Diner
many, many locations

Tastee Diner
8601 Cameron Street
Silver Spring, MD 20910
301-589-8171

7731 Woodmont Avenue
Bethesda, MD 20814
301-652-3970

118 Washington Boulevard South
Laurel, MD 20707
301-953-7567

Salty Peppermint Bark

2005-12-16T09:28:00.000-08:00

Ever had Saltine Crackers in your dessert?
Two words define the "Cookie Craze" spread in the Food section of Wednesday's Washington Post: pretty amazing. However, I don't think any of their recipes mentioned "saltine crackers." And only one word would define that concept: amazing. They did feature a Chocol ate Peppermint Crunch Cookie Bark which is getting closer...

...................................................................

the Kitchenette's Salty Peppermint Bark
(Think Salty Oat cookie from Teaism or the sweet-meets-salty Kettle Korn philosophy)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees
1 stick of butter
1 cup of sugar
About 20 Saltine Crackers (told you so)
1 bag of White Chocolate Chips (on sale 2 for $4 at Safeway right now)
Peppermint/Candy Canes

Layer the bottom of a non-stick cookie sheet or glassware baking pan with saltine crackers, until the crackers cover the surface. Let rest.

Cook the butter and sugar on stovetop until boiling. Be sure to avoid burning (easier than you think!) Once the mixture is bubbling and becomes a tawny color, STOP. Remove from heat and layer this liquid on top of saltine crackers. Bake this double layered (almost bark) in oven for about 5-6 minutes.

Once done, spread out white chocolate chips on top to create third layer, and let melt for 4 minutes until chips are smooth. (Use fork to evenly distribute white chocolate after melting time). Break pieces of peppermint with various objects (hammers, cookie sheets, heavy encyclopedias) and sprinkle on top.

How's that for Chip Chip Hooray? (the Post's Wednesday story on chocolate chips with a make-over)

Cha-chiiiiing

2005-12-16T08:48:00.000-08:00

"To overtip is to appear an ass: To undertip is to appear an even greater ass."

The wise words of Ben Franklin were echoed in the Post last Sunday in a piece on tipping etiquette, which reappeared in yesterday's Philadelphia Inquirer.

What really got me going was the quote by Murky Coffee barista Stacey Garrett, who said, "most customers do tip every time" but it is a "little disheartening" when they don't drop their change in the jar.

Stacey attests that the Capitol Hill establishment works really hard "to give great service and be friendly." I can veryify that truism (it is one of my last stops before I leave Washington DC for Prague and never return until June!) But Stacey even says, "When people don't tip, it feels like a reflection of the service." Sadly, Stacey, it's usually because I need that extra change for the soy milk shot.

Here's some tipping guidelines, according to Joe Heim's article:

Bartender: $1 to $2 per drink is customary, or 15 to 20 percent if you run a tab.

Coffee shops:This one is highly contentious. Some customers won't tip at chains, but will at independent establishments. Others tip only for drinks made by a barista, not for just an ordinary cup of joe. Tips range from change to $1 per beverage.

Delivery people: Varies according to what is being delivered. A few dollars should be enough for a small food order, while movers delivering furniture might earn a $20 to $30 tip.

Dining: A 15 to 20 percent tip is the going rate for meals, and the tip should be on the pretax total.

For me tipping relies heavily on mood, recent overspending, how much change I magically find in my pocket and oh yeah, the server's performance. Once again, Murky Coffee proves to hit national media wavelengths and I am proud. Check out Murky's site for buzz on their brand-new dairy-free Pacific soy blenders... and the Wi-Fi drama.

Sticky Fingers has Soul

2005-12-14T14:33:00.000-08:00

Turns out Washington's favorite vegan bakery Sticky Fingers has a franchise in Seoul, Korea. Rewind to almost two years ago when Korea TV broadcasted a documentary starring Miyun Park, the president of the DC-based nonprofit animal advocacy group, Compassion over Killing. A Korean native and Sticky Fingers fan, Miyun filmed some of her interviews at the underground (literally, you have to walk down steps) Sticky Fingers location.

That's all it took for a few Korean guys to watch the piece, fall in love with the story and call up owners Doron and Kirsten. With that, downtown Seoul made room for Sticky Fingers.

Depending on the ingredients available, the Seoul location features many of the same egg-less/dairy-less cookies and brownies; but the cheesecake is only in America. According to the DC bakery, the location "over there is beautiful."

Makes sense that the Koreans would jump on a vegan franchise. Think about the last time you had an Asian dish with cheese or any dairy product for that matter. About 90% of Asians are lactose-intolerant, so other than fried rice, many dishes are naturally vegan.

Perhaps the Koreans also have a half-price basket near their cash register. Only a day old, the left-over Cowvin Cookies (a bit hard), Little Devils (perfectly moist) and saran-wrapped Old-Fashioned Cookies (Pecan and Chocolate Chip) were worth the trip alone.

Sadly, the festive Peppermint Brownies weren't in the basket. The new menu item ($3) features a brownie (fudgier than the Little Devil) topped with a whipped frosting and peppermint chunks.

For me, the Cowvin Cookies still take the cake (pardon the pun). Similar to the Little Devils, two grainy oatmeal bars (instead of brownies) act as "sandwich" ends to a vegan frosting center. Despite the half-price appeal of yesterday's left-overs, those Cowvins felt hard, so I splurged for the fresh batch.

The couch, occupying a majority of the tiny indoor space, spoke to me. The red heart pillow was too much to ignore, so I washed down my treats with a large cup of organic coffee ($1.75) and soy creamer, from the couch-- spying on the cashier, who got a few phonecalls regarding holiday cake orders.

Need an alternative holiday gift? Their homemade cards on display are crafted by two local girls (much like the bakery itself). The fair-trade travel cups are also friendly at $5, and include unlimited $1 coffee refills.

The Seoul-ful bakery is saving the world, one Little Devil at a time.

Vie de Viridian

2005-12-13T20:18:00.000-08:00

Vi'ridian
n. Veronese green. b. adj. Of or pertaining to this colour.

The four-week old Viridian finally received a long overdue visit from the Kitchenette. Make that four weeks and fifty minutes overdue. Before we go anywhere, let's talk about getting there. Vegan-friendly maybe, but parking-friendly is not in 14th Street's vocabulary. Even on a Tuesday evening, the Logan Circle neighborhood was packed. Not a parking space in sight within a four-block radius.

What happened next is almost too wrong to post-- a walk of shame from the P Street Whole Foods. Yes, we were not customers, but we parked there. The "2 Hour Customer Only" warning signs were intimidating. So was the secruity guard wearing a Whole Foods hat, glaring at cars as they parked in the lot at prime dinner time. To be honest, I was scared. Already feeling like a criminal, I avoided eye contact with him at all costs-- there's no way I could let him recognize what I consider an unforgettable face. Once I crossed the street to Studio Theatre, I knew I was safe.

We flashed one of those "don't ask" looks to the Viridian hostess. But first we stood out front, questioning if this warehouse-looking space was the right place. The sea-foam green paint and metallic sign whispering "Viridian," was so minimalist, we literally missed it four times while driving. Here we were in front of the place, and still squinting to find a clue.

"Parking problems?" the hostess asked. After making sure we didn't settle for the shady, abandoned lot next door (she insinuated a scandalous history), she asked where we finally parked. Ha, like we were going to reveal our secret. My dinner date (and cherished old soul) giggled devilishly and with that, we were at our table making up for lost time.

The urban photography covering the stark, white walls were snapshots a photojournalist would take-- each long print depicted raw emotions in black, white and sepia tones. The cardboard menus (straight from a storage box) somehow matched the theme-- everything was sleek and posh, but real. Each menu (in this case, single sheet of cardstock) was affixed to the cardboard by a fancy black rubberband. Yet again, stylish but functional.

Talk about making up for lost time, our starters were there before my date could even return from the bathroom. The amuse bouche-- a sign of a first-class eatery-- was a triangular bite of portabello mushroom topped with roasted onions and stabbed with a silver toothpick. Only to be coupled with yet another artisan freebie-- bread and wait, that's not butter.

Rosemary focaccia and whole-grain bread (nice texture and slightly sweet) were accessorized with a white bean puree and walnut pesto. Let's just say, I was still munching on both well after dessert was an issue. The white bean paste was warm and smooth, and a nice comfort food to revisit in between tastes.

Viridian cares about details. Kinda like my three-accessory rule before I leave the house-- each plate had a multi-dimensional appeal. My Beet and Horseradish Salad ($6) included hunks of both golden and red beets to serve as the salad's ruffage, topped with horseradish shoestrings. (Not enough to clear the sinuses, but enough to get my attention)

As a beets enthusiast, I'm always excited to see the underdog root veggie hit the mainstream. They remind me of the last kid to get picked for dodgeball, but they always turn around and surprise the jocks (the tomatoes and lettuce heads of the world) with a game-saving catch. Served with a tangy dressing, this salad was that catch.

On to main entrees. The "salmon trout" was confusing in print. No details about the hermaphroditic fish. Just "salmon trout."

Was this like a hyphenated last name? The product of an old college fling under the sea? Or had the fusion restaurant craze penetrated marine life? Can't a girl just order some fish these days! I may sound upset, but the intrigue had me aroused.

According to our server Emmako, the "pinky flesh" gives the nickname "salmon trout," but the fish itself is trout and not salmon, not the other way around. A brand-new menu item, she explained how challenging it is to serve fish these days. After New Orleans, it has become really hard to buy fresh, sustainable fish. The trout just came in a few nights ago from Oregon. Another organic product to add to the list.

(Side Note: The wine list is written en francais.)

As a sharing duo, we ordered the Squash Tart for the second entree.
A layer of winter squashes (including acorn and spaghetti squash) topped with nuts and feta cheese filled the tasty vegan crust, and finished with chantrelle mushrooms. (The same garnish 1789 uses in their trademark pumpkin ravioli)

Vidrian had me yet again intrigued, this time with the spunky tart. Once again, they were sleek and posh, but real. Squash is a real food. The pilgrims ate it for crying out loud. But Viridian made squash sexy. (They also served a Squash Soup ($6) under the Starters)

Garnished with salty green olives, my freakish Salmon Trout still wore its scaly, skin back. If they dropped the "trout" part, I never would have questioned. Long and slim, and as salmon-reminiscent as non-salmon fishes come, the "trout" still remains a mystery.

The restaurant's space was equally strange. Perhaps Viridian was a bank in another lifetime? Turns out it was an automobile showroom at one point and upstairs sits the owner's art galleries, where much of the photography on the walls originates.

All of this came as a surprise to me, as none of the reviews have captured Viridian's mystique. Listing just the address and phone number, the website defines minimalism at its best. And the reviews left out every eccentricity that had me enamored. No one ever mentioned the cardboard menus.

Dessert was entirely vegan-friendly, except for the cheese platter. Each $7 dish had appeal:

Warm Gingerbread with Cranberry compote
Apple Tart with Fruit salad and Dairyless Creme Fraiche
Chocolate Cake with a poached pear
And the house favorite (the restaurant's first dessert), Carrot Cake.

Emmako gave us the cold-hard facts-- the chocolate cake is dry. Blame it on the lack of butter or eggs, but regardless, dry is dry. Her face lit up when describing the apple tart; but "the creme fraiche tastes like sour cream." She promised to replace it with a scoop of chocolate or coconut sorbet instead.

The Warm Gingerbread was served at an in-house private party a few nights ago, and numerous compliments later, was promoted to menu status. Emmako made a face, "but that cranberry compote is way too tart." Apparently the original white chocolate garnish was better, and this cranberry "just ruins it."

Wow. Talk about brutal honesty. Emmako and her convincing disclaimers took control. She liked the Carrot Cake best, and we didn't waste any time ordering it.

Coconut sorbet and finely chopped carrots topped the triangular-shaped cake, alongside a carrot puree and vegan whipped cream. The cake had me considering veganhood if I could eat this all day. And somehow the Apple Tart's crust was flakey (a product of butter). Once again, Viridian worked its dairy-less magic.

Usually the fruit salad takes a backseat to just about anything-- apples brown tragically, textures become soggy, people opt for the non fat-free desserts. But picture crisp, diced apples, kumquats and pomengranate seeds swimming in a light calvados (apple liqueur) and try to tell me that is a disappointment.

Lost in an epicurean translation (I just read the Harper's Bazaar with Kate Winslet that morning), we looked at the time--only a few minutes before 10pm! Would the car survive rude glares from real Whole Foods customers?

Just as we signed on the dotted line, ready to flee, another artisan freebie came our way. Chocolate ginger biscotti topped with a fresh espresso cream. The car could wait. How did a vegan espresso cream taste that good? And how did Viridian have so many free perks? It was like a backwards amuse bouche right before our eyes.

Leaving surprisingly full from a vegan place, we sprinted the two blocks to the car, only to find another well-dressed twenty-something shamefully approaching Whole Foods. Immediately, the three of us were allies, banging on glass windows, begging cashiers to grant us pity.

We already had our story mapped out--the organic shopping spree called for a Starbucks visit across the street. Believable, right? But they shook their heads as if to say, "it's time for you to pay." One angelic security guard poked his head out and pointed to a side garage door.

There the hatchback sat, bravely in an empty parking lot. Something tells me we weren't the first Viridian customers to get away with this crime.

This is a public apology to my dearest Whole Foods, please don't give me bad samples karma. I really am sorry.

Elevation Updates

2005-12-10T11:12:00.000-08:00

Finally have those photos up for Elevation Burger! The status of Hans's newborn daughter Ellie: alive and kickin'. The Kitchenette's newest hobby is officially baby-naming.

holiday treats in District

2005-12-03T09:53:00.000-08:00

Soho Tea&Coffee baristas may not have the Starbucks red cups (not to mention, wouldn’t dare offending Edward Gorey) but their Sausalito Spice Tea—kinda tastes like Chai—is festive enough for their standards at $2.45 a mug. In a couple weeks, they’ll have cold Egg Nog shots (65¢ each) to mix into any drink. Not bad for a coffeehouse run by two Jewish ladies who “don’t get too into the holiday spirit.”

CakeLove founder and owner Warren Brown has been getting enough press lately for his new Food Network series “Sugar Rush” and “Serve@Room Temp” campaign, but he still had time to whip together a Sweet Potato Cake for his U Street neighbors Polly’s Café. The basement bar will serve the root vegetable cake topped with a cream cheese frosting at $4.50 a slice.

For those addicted to the shopping bag look, come on over to my neck of the woods. Georgetown has everything you could ever want to wrap up in a big, red bow. Try the fresh-baked Gingerbread at Tombs (a Georgetown establishment, right next to 1789 on 36th Street), topped with whipped cream at $5.25 a slice. Or make the trek to Clyde’s (on M St.) and sink your two front teeth (remember when Santa gave you those?) into their Peppermint Chocolate Cake ($6.95 a slice). Starting mid-December, they’ll also have eggnog in the fridge, ready to serve.

Maybe you’re in the mood for something in a cup or waffle cone, perhaps made from a cow? Thomas Sweet will scoop you some Peppermint Stick Ice Cream—perfect for dates involving mistletoe for the after-dessert dessert. (No need for awkward searching through purse for gum.) Rumors have it that T.Sweet also has an Eggnog ice cream in the works.

Go a little farther up Wisconsin Ave. and Max (of Max’s Ice Cream) might just have his homemade Ginger Snap recipe on the menu. (He rotates the flavor with other cookie-inspired ice creams in his "cookie genre," so keep your fingers crossed.)

If your sweet tooth is lost somewhere in the tooth fairy’s junk drawer, you’re basically out of luck this season. The closest thing to a yuletide non-dessert is the butternut squash—the official squash of the winter season. With deep-orange flesh, perhaps the butternut will be a comfort for pumpkin addicts dealing with bereavement issues.

Afterwords Café at Kramerbooks in Dupont Circle serves a bowl of Butternut Squash Soup to bookies who need an intellectual snack—a bowl is $4.75. Something tells me Santa will be delivering plenty of elliptical machines this year— in other words, bring on the calories.

For the record, I have yet to find a place that serves Christmas plum pudding.

the Devilish Red Cup.

2005-12-03T09:20:00.000-08:00

It's official. I am dangerously OBSESSED with TheRedCup.com, Starbucks's daily source of festive procrastination. We're talking incredibly cute, like Butterstick status-cute (Six more days until his public unveiling!) It all started when I was googling the red cups, investigating the deal with those Edward Gorey-esque drawings. Somehow they capture Gorey’s haunting illustrating style, minus the haunting part. Turns out they're not Gorey..but more imporantly, this genius site exists and has saved my life.

The red cup people have been updating since November 1st. Who knew?! Everyday, you'll find a different Holiday 101 tip or short feature film (only on Fridays! my fav!) complete with even MORE Gorey-esque images.

My favorites include (honestly, they're all so good):

Nov 3: Holiday Cookie Quiz (Guilty of ginger snap qualities)
Nov 4: Follow that Red Cup (I get so scared when the woman is crossing the street)
Nov 11: The Airport Pick-Up (How is Aunt Doris that cute? I've watched it on repeat four times straight)
Nov 16: The Red Cup Game (Tell me how far you get)
Nov 21: Holiday Travel 101 (Downloadable gift tags! With..I think Aunt Doris if I'm not mistaken!)
Nov 30: Ice Skating Game (I like making my skaters dizzy)
Dec 1: Famous Gingerbread Houses (Finally the Washington Monument multiplied by gingerbread)

Jacinda and Jerry of sirensong.com should know about this. Remember the ones who made it their goal back in October to visit every single Starbucks in the District? So far they have visited six. Apparently Jacinda lives near the cathedral and the Dupont South location had their few minutes of fame when an assistant to Donald Rumsfeld accidently left notes lying around inside. Oops.. As of today, J&J have gone through $65.53 dollars worth of red cups.

Even if Starbucks is knocking off Edward Gorey, you have to give them snaps for coming up with the Red Cup. If those darn cups don't make you want to wear reindeer sweaters (or convert so you could), nothing will. Here are the seasonal flavors, perfect inside any devilish red cup:

Gingerbread Latte
Peppermint Mocha or Hot Chocolate
Eggnog Latte
Christmas Blend Roast

And sure, why not throw in the sinful slice of Gingerbread or Cranberry Bliss Bar eyeing you from behind the glass. You'll work it off at the malls.

Haunting, black and white illustrator?

Caffeine-soaked marketing material?

1789 All-Access Behind-the-Scenes Pass.

2005-12-01T15:14:00.000-08:00

1789 found their replacement to fill (or at least attempt to fill) Ris Lacoste's shoes, as reported by metrocurean today.

The last few weeks I've tried to capitalize on the little time 36th street has left with Ris. Every Sunday I walk a few blocks from my apartmant to eat family-style dinner with the 1789 chef staff, improve my dessert garnishing skills and burn myself at least twice from the intimidating power ovens.

It all started about a month ago when I sat in the empty dining room of '89 after class one afternoon with the Ris herself. We chatted about the expected topics— her demand for natural sunlight in her new restaurant (she hopes to open about a year from now), last week’s cauliflower selection at the outdoor Dupont market, the sixty pounds of stuffing 1789 will valiantly serve on Thanksgiving (and did!)—but then came the unexpected.

She offered me a job.

Who could say no to the golden opportunity to shadow one of the most prominent female foodsmiths in Washington? Certainly not someone who calls herself a food writer, and shamefully hasn’t actually taken a “real” cooking class. This was about as real as I could get.

In a place where every movement looks effortless and every plate appears hand-crafted by epicurean technicians positioning each rosemary sprig at just-the-right angle, you just assume the whole process is magical. But at other points, you just can’t help but ask, “how in the hell did they do that?”

It was time for one of us to find out.

Four Fridays ago, I wandered into the restaurant and in minutes became a novice in a white apron in charge of the dessert garnishes. If the edible glass was a bit off-centered on the Mexican Chocolate Cake or the pomegranate seeds were a tad over-sprinkled on the Tangerine Sorbet Sundae, please excuse the inconsistency.

Hardly anyone noticed my first few steps into the kitchen. Each pocket of the rectangular space was clearly focused on racing the clock. The salad chef was slicing forty red russet potatoes by a ten-minute deadline for Amanda the entrée chef and before I knew it, I was slicing crostini bread for the duck curry salad served as tonight’s amuse bouche.

Amuse bouche—(uh-MYUZ-boosh). Literally meaning, “mouth amuser,” it was my first 1789 vocab word. A tiny tidbit often served as a freebie appetizer, not to be confused with an hors d’oevure, the taste is just enough to keep diners happy while they wait for the first course. The amuse bouche allows the chef a range of flavors and textures with which to experiment—all in just a gulp, few licks or bite.

But back up a few steps. As soon as I got to the restaurant, Ris paused from her key duty – the authoritative check on all plates exiting the kitchen – and offered me a warm bear hug. “Everyone, this is Erin and she’s going to help us out tonight.”

The chef staff is divided into parts—hot appetizers, entrees, salads, cold appetizers and desserts. Each cook turned around, stopped flailing their heavy, sizzling pans and sai hello. Within seconds, it was back to business.

Ris tossed me a starched white apron still-creased from the iron and introduced me to Sue. For the next six hours I would learn from this five-foot-two L’Academie de Cuisine grad who immediately handed me a knife and loaf of bread. “Chop these into crostini,” my next vocab word for the night. Small, thin slices of toasted French or Italian bread.

Patient (thankfully), yet impressively quick-witted and giggly, Sue was a cross between mother hen and cool older aunt—just what I needed to feel welcome and inspired.

“Easy there on the duck curry, guys,” she warned the servers as they scooped the amuse bouche liberally. She would make sure last night’s remaining duck, the curry sauce, craisins and apples would last the evening. And when the servers complained of dryness while scooping, Sue was ready with a dollop of mayonnaise to make everyone’s life easier.

While starting to gab about my five month-old food blog and “deal” as English major, the shape and texture of the crostini began to suffer. For a moment, I forgot that my bread would be toasted and crunched by the finest of Washingtonians. Sue gently grabbed the knife and demonstrated a clean, crisp swipe, cautioning me from the “sawing” tactic. She had definitely refined the skill of chatting and slicing—clearly, I still had a long way to go.

After graduating from crostini cutting to “roughly” chopping the pistachio nuts, a garnish for both the Ice Cream Sundae and duck curry, the knife was temporarily retired. Now almost 6:30pm, dessert orders were being placed and Sue could feel the energy hitting her like clockwork. It was on to the real stuff.

The tangerine sorbet machine needed cleaning, the birthday and anniversary plate rims needed personalized calligraphy in chocolate frosting and we already had an order of Mexican Chocolate Cake printing.

Each of the desserts are made earlier that day by a pastry chef and heated each evening in daunting power ovens when ordered. Within seconds they are garnished with rare nuts, edible glasses, and one of the many eccentric flavors of ice cream or sorbet. Tonight was white chocolate, tangerine, an apple-liquor flavored ice cream, and the traditional vanilla and chocolate for the special (traditional) requests.

“Want some?” Sue scraped the freshly whipped tangerine sorbet into a white ceramic bowl. With one swallow, I tasted the apotheosis of fresh-squeezed orange juice. How could muster that much citrus out of one tiny honey tangerine? How could the sorbet be so deliciously feathery? So wonderfully icy?

At points I could hear Ris yelling in the background. She was sprinkling some dried sweet potatoes and nutmeg over the pumpkin ravioli – the one that wowed Iron Chef America judges early October – when I stopped to visit her in between Sue tasks.

Ris stood in front of the hot entrée chefs, surrounded by an easel of garnishes— plump raisins, bacon, chopped bell peppers, and sesame seeds. Then she asked something I never anticipated, “Have you decided what you want off the menu for dinner yet?”

Sampling the drunken Goat cheese from the appetizer platter or learning how to garnish tangerine sorbet with pistachios was one thing, but to have my pick at any of the entrees from the menu? That was a separate (heavenly) issue altogether.

Normally indecisive— especially when Washington’s premiere chef hands me the keys to her kitchen—the decision was surprisingly clear. Considering all the positive press of the seasonal pumpkin ravioli and my far-fetched wish to resurrect Halloween just once more before next year, I made my choice.

Peering over at Sue, I noticed her forming polka dots from cinnamon chocolate syrup in a semi-circle as she ripped off a freshly-printed receipt for another dessert order in her right hand.
Apologizing twice, I felt bad for leaving her stranded, but she didn’t think much of it. She placed a clean white ceramic plate in front of me, as if I was ready to graduate to the big leagues.

“Five dots on this side like so, then three on the other.” The chocolate cinnamon syrup alternated with the caramel syrup to envelop a flourless, warm-centered Mexican chocolate cake. With the help of a toothpick, the dots became layered hearts bleeding into one another. After polka dotting the dessert plates with syrups until it actually became “easy,” Ris brought over the bowl of my ordered pumpkin ravioli.

That’s right. My meal was just personally served to me by Ris Lacoste, and there I was, still with the residual tastes of aged cheeses in my mouth. I nibbled each part of the pasta separately at first, wanting to understand the complexities of each bite – the pumpkin puree, chanterelle mushrooms and dried sweet potatoes sprinkled on top.

There’s not much else that can top that. So I have decided to quit while I’m ahead.
Ris, Sue and the entire 1789 gang made this and all the other culinary-gymnastic mysteries that she would reveal throughout the night look like cake.

I’d say the pun was unintended, but there is not one thing that happens behind the swinging 1789 kitchen doors that falls into that category.

An ode to the Butter.

2005-11-30T19:24:00.000-08:00

I'm not talking about The Stick we're all watching on pandacam religiously. Word has it, the Animal Planet site is out of commish...(.$^$#*#%$*@@!!!) So put that tub of butter aside for a minute, and let's talk about the second best kind-- peanut butta.

Tonight marks the very last night of National Peanut Butter Month. Time to celebrate jelly's husband and almond butter's second-removed cousin. I, for one, am eating a couple spoons-ful in my oatmeal with pumpkin butter and sourdough pretzels.

Even if they discovered it was made of pure french fry grease or chicken's liver, but it still tasted like this, I think I'd eat it anyways. Maybe I have an addictive personality, but peanut butter is part of my livelihood. And apparently, it's really not that bad for you. Low in saturated fat, and it has over 80% of the "good" fat inside . "Good" means cholesterol-lowering and unsaturated.

Here's some helpful links for those equally obsessed:
National Peanut Board
Official Peanut Butter Site?
The Peanut Institute
Peanut Butter Lovers

And...

a look back at the nuts in DC who have made peanut butter sandwich-making an art. Colin and Mary of Peanut Envy.

And...

Some Peanuty Facts compliments of food411.com.

**The peanut is not a nut, but a legume related to beans and lentils

**People living on the East Coast prefer creamy peanut butter, while those on the West Coast prefer the crunchy style.

**Two peanut farmers have been elected president of the United States: Thomas Jefferson and Jimmy Carter.

**Arachibutyrophobia is the fear of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth

epiphanies are good.

2005-11-25T17:34:00.000-08:00

It's funny how after Thanksgiving, feeling "hungry" is synonymous with not being uncomfortably stuffed. Like right now I'm thinking, yeah, I could eat dinner. Really, it's just the first time in 36 hours I haven't been in ruthless pain, on the verge of dying from blissful gluttony.

To put everything into perspective, it's about how I feel after a forty-dollar meal of hummus platters, lettuce wraps and a French Kiss martini at Mie N Yu. I like to call it fake full.

Where Are They Now: Julie Powell

2005-11-25T13:31:00.000-08:00

What's Julie doing now that the 365 days of reincarnating 524 Julia Child recipes is no more? Writing an LA Times op-ed piece on Thanksgiving leftovers.

Post-Thanksgiving Burger Craving

2005-11-24T20:09:00.000-08:00

It's a cross between 1950s jukebox-playing burger-and-shake joint and crunchy non-profit group campaigning for animal rights on U Street.

They're not trying to rip you off with their fancy 100% Kobe beef patties or Horizon organic milk in the fridge. They just want to cook you a quality burger and give you colorful options to refine the experience. Options like carmelized onions, non-meat burgers and three ice creams with choice of mix-in flavors like black cherry or orange-mango for the shake.

Owner Hans is willing to splurge to serve the best product. He uses olive oil instead of peanut or flaxseed, unlike most other burger joints who try to penny-pinch and figure customers won't notice. In-N-Out promises the best quality--but the retro burger flippers use vegetable oil. (Cough, not the best quality, cough) One point for Elevation.

Buns are an important deciding factor for many (I'm more of a personality kinda girl) but this bread deserves some mentioning. After tasting twelve different buns from various bakeries, Hans kept going back to this one in particular.

It was moist, fresh and something about the way it stuck to the burger just turned me on. (Maybe I'll start noticing the back sides out there a little more.)

Elevation gives you options and each one has flair. You have your traditional hamburger and cheeseburger, but even the vegetarians, often lucky to get noticed, have room to be indecisive. "Tastes like meat" or "Tastes like veggies." Both the Boca and Gardenburgers are represented.

Raw onions or carmelized? The Elevation "special" sauce or Balsamic Mustard? For once, someone finally thought to combine the two superlative condiments! I splatter balsamic on everything from fresh strawberries to scrambled eggs. I'd probably even drink it by the gallon if offered the appropriate dare. Same (for the most part) goes for spicy brown mustard.

The brilliant Hans finally capped this idea, and cites the spices in each as especially complimentary. Another unique yet simple twist is the hand-sliced pickle spears. Finally, no more generic, annoyingly sweet chip-shaped ones! Once again, Han proves it's all about the little things.

Originally from Carmel, California, Hans grew up in the notoriously beautiful "city in a forest," where the mountains meet the sea. Among other things, like U2 songs, the word "elevation" reminds him of the high altitudes of the Santa Lucia Mountains.

Speaking of naming things, his brand-new daughter/son should have been born this week. Talk about a year of creation (from burgers to babies). If it's a girl, Hans and his wife, who also works the register on a regular basis, want to name her Elizabeth.

"Why not call her Ellie?" I thought, "To play off the whole elevation thing." His eyes lit up and although glib and chatty before, he paused momentarily. "Hey, we never even thought of that!"After giving it some more thought, here are some other possibilities in case Elizabeth becomes a boy on us. Elliot, Elijah or Elroy. Perhaps the Kitchenette just named the burger prince or princess?

The Carmel-by-the-sea upbringing is also represented in the silver Iced Tea dispenser near the fountain drinks. A thin, white label says, "Cinnamon Orange Tea." Although subtle and easy to miss, the brew is a famous one from the award-winning Norcal restaurant chain, "Hobees." Hans always loved their spiced blend and thought the naturally sweet part (no Splenda here) would perfectly match his health-conscious theme.

Speaking of tea, this brings me to the Honest Tea in the refrigerated section near the cash register. Inside, four or five rows of the "classic" glass bottles sit next to other wholesome neighbors-- Silk Soy Milk, the Nantucket Nectars organic juice line, our favorite flying cows of Horizon, IBC Root beer and slabs of Kobe steak at the very bottom.

After a short pause, Hans decides Moroccan Mint is his favorite, as do the rest of Americans (it's their best-seller), but the Black Forest Berry is just the right amount of sweet to stop him from grabbing "one of those sugary Stewart's drinks." Or the oatmeal chocolate chip pecan cookies near the register. Which, by the way, use organic milk and eggs. Check out Tarting It Up's review for a more in-depth cookie analysis.

Back to the Kobe steaks in the fridge-- pretty cheap at eighteen bucks a slab, and Kobe meat has been the sexy topic with Chowhound and Tom Sietsema as of late. To set the record straight, Elevation's beef is 100% organic Kobe, but the cows are from Virgina, like any other Kobe meat you'll find in the states, not Japan.

My only complaint was the size-- too small. But maybe the sopping-with-grease, half pounders at Five Guys or Fudd's don't follow the quality-not-quantity rule. This burger was quality-- so on second thought, maybe I wouldn't compromise the Kobe beef, carmelized onions and tasty buns for my size-matters eating habits.

Another minor grumbling-- unless you've got wheels, the trek can be slightly inconvenient for the city slickers. Hans reminded me of the 2B Metro bus that leaves from the East Falls Church station and passes Elevation every 27-ish minutes. A plus, but still not a lazy man's trip to Chipotle in Dupont or Foggy Bottom.

Some "govtlawyer" on Chowhound expressed his beef on Elevation, lamely asserting he just ate it "because it was there." Whatever.

I'm still waiting to hear on the status of Ellie (that's her mommy in the pink hoodie and hat).

To read the Dcist's thoughts on Elevation, click here. They're right about many things, especially in regards to the shake-- don't you dare forget it on the way out! Some have called it the best they've ever tasted. My recommendation is the Vanilla with Black Cherry.

Elevation Burger is located at 442 S. Washington Street, in Falls Church, Virgin-i-a.

1789 All-Access Backstage Pass.

2005-11-23T12:30:00.000-08:00

1789 found their replacement to fill (or at least attempt to fill) Ris Lacoste's shoes, as reported by metrocurean today.

The last few weeks I've tried to capitalize on the little time 36th street has left with Ris. Every Sunday I walk a few blocks from my apartment to eat family-style dinner with the 1789 chef staff, improve my dessert garnishing skills and burn myself at least four times from the power ovens.

It all started about a month ago when I sat in the empty dining room of '89 after class one afternoon with the Ris herself. We chatted about the expected topics-- her demand for natural sunlight in her new restaurant (she hopes to open about a year from now), last week's cauliflower selection at the outdoor Dupont market, the sixty pounds of stuffing 1789 will valiantly serve on Thanksgiving (and did!)--but then came the unexpected. She offered me a job.

Who could say no to the golden opportunity to shadow one of the most prominent female foodsmiths in Washington? Certainly not someone who calls herself a food writer, and shamefully hasn't actually taken a "real" cooking class. This was about as real as I could get.

In a place where every movement looks effortless and every plate appears hand-crafted by epicurean technicians positioning each rosemary sprig at just-the-right angle, you just assume the whole process is magical. But at other points, you just can't help but ask, "how in the hell did they do that?"

It was time for one of us to find out.

Two Fridays ago, I wandered into the restaurant and in minutes was dressed in a white apron and comissioned to help with dessert garnishes. If the edible glass was a bit off-centered on the Mexican Chocolate Cake or the pomegranate seeds were a tad over-sprinkled on the Tangerine Sorbet Sundae, please excuse the inconsistency.

Hardly anyone noticed my first few steps into the kitchen. Each pocket of the rectangular space was clearly focused on racing the clock. The salad chef was slicing forty red russet potatoes by a ten-minute deadline for Amanda the entree chef and before I knew it, I was slicing crostini bread for the duck curry salad served as tonigh's amuse bouche.

Amuse bouche (uh-MYUZ-boosh). Literally meaning, "mouth amuser," it was my first 1789 vocab word. A tiny tidbit often served as a freebie appetizer, not to be confused with an hors d'oevure (not a freebie), the taste is just enough to keep diners happy while they wait for the first course. The amuse bouche allows the chef a range of flavors and textures with which to experiment-- all in just a gulp, few licks or bite.

But back up a few steps. As soon as I got to the restaurant, Ris paused from her key duty -- the authoritative check on all plates exiting the kitchen -- and offered me a warm bear hug. "Everyone, this is Erin and she's going to help us out tonight."

The chef staff is divided into parts-- hot appetizers, entrees, salads, cold appetizers and desserts. Each cook turned around, stopped flailing their heavy, sizzling pans and said hello. Within seconds, it was back to business.

Ris tossed me that starched white apron still-creased from the iron and introduced me to Sue. For the next six hours I would learn from this five-foot-three L'Academie de Cuisine grad. She immediately handed me a knife and loaf of bread.

"Chop these into crostini." My next vocab word for the night. Crostini are small, thin slices of toasted French or Italian bread.

Patient (thankfully), yet impressively quick-witted and giggly, Sue was a cross between mother hen and cool older aunt-- just what I needed to feel welcome and inspired.

"Easy there on the duck curry, guys," she warned the servers as they scooped the amuse bouche liberally. She would make sure last night's remaining duck, the curry sauce, dried cranbberies and apples would last the evening. And when the servers complained of dryness while scooping, Sue was ready with a dollop of mayonnaise to make everyone's life easier.

While starting to gab about my five month-old food blog and "deal" as an English major, the shape and texture of the crostini began to suffer. For a moment, I forgot that my bread would be crunched by the finest of Washingtonians. Sue gently grabbed the knife and demonstrated a clean, crisp swipe, cautioning me from the "sawing" tactic. She had definitely refined the skill of chatting and slicing-- clearly, I still had a long way to go.

After graduating from crostini cutting to "roughly" chopping the pistachio nuts, a garnish for both the ice cream sundae and duck curry, the knife was temporarily retired. Now almost 6:30pm, dessert orders were being placed and Sue could feel the energy hitting her like clockwork. It was on to the real stuff.

The tangerine sorbet machine needed cleaning, the birthday and anniversary plates needed personalized calligraphy in chocolate frosting, and we already had an order of Mexican Chocolate Cake printing.

Each of the desserts is made earlier that day by a pastry chef and heated each evening in daunting power ovens when ordered. Within seconds they are garnished with rare nuts, edible glasses, and one of the many eccentric flavors of ice cream or sorbet. Tonight was white chocolate, tangerine, an apple-liquor flavored ice cream, "calvados" (the third vocab word of the night), and the traditional vanilla and chocolate for the special requests.

At points I could hear Ris yelling in the background. She was sprinkling dried sweet potatoes and nutmeg over the pumpkin ravioli --the one that wowed Iron Chef America judges early October-- when I stopped to visit her in between Sue tasks.

Ris stood in front of the hot entree chefs, surrounded by an easel of garnishes. Plump raisins, bacon, chopped bell peppers, and sesame seeds. Then she asked something I never anticipated, "Have you decided what you want off the menu for dinner yet?"

Normally indecisive-- especially when Washington's premiere chef hands me the keys to her kitchen-- the decision was surprisingly clear. Considering all the positive press of the seasonal pumpkin ravioli and my far-fetched wish to resurrect Halloween just once more this year, I made my choice.

Peering over at Sue, I noticed her forming a semi-cicle of cinnamon chocolate syrup polka dots as she ripped off a freshly-printed receipt for a dessert order in her other hand.

Apologizing twice, I felt bad for leaving her stranded, but she didn't think much of it. She placed a clean white ceramic plate in front of me, as if I was ready to graduate to the big leagues.

"Five dots on this side like so, then three on the other." The chocolate cinnamon syrup alternated with the caramel syrup to envelop a flourless, warm-centered Mexican chocolate cake. With the help of a toothpick, the dots became layered hearts bleeding into one another. After polka dotting the dessert plates with syrups until the daunting task actually became "easy," Ris brought over the bowl of my pumpkin ravioli.

That's right. My meal was just personally served to me by Ris Lacoste. I nibbled each part of the pasta separately at first, wanting to understand the complexities of each bite -- the pumpkin puree, chanterelle mushrooms and dried sweet potatoes.

Ris, Sue and the entire 1789 gang made this and all the other culinary-gymnastic mysteries that they would reveal throughout the night look like cake.

I'd say the pun was unintended, but there is not one thing that happens behind the swinging 1789 kitchen doors that falls into that category.

Honest Tea on my Mind

2005-11-20T20:32:00.000-08:00

The DCFUD story on Sette Bello, sibling of Georgetown's posh Cafe Milano, reminded me of another creative mind plus university professor relationship. The intellectual bosom buddies of Honest Tea-- founder and CEO Seth Goldman and his Yale professor, and co-founder, Barry Nalebuff.

I worked for the company last summer (or should I say, frequently used their bathroom after drinking so much free tea), handing out bottles to Whole Foods baggers at natural food trade shows, I-Love-NY t-shirt-wearing tourists in Times Square, a Food and Wine senior editor at the Fancy Food Show in Manhattan and convenience store owners in Richmond who had no interest in selling "that organic shit."

Taken straight from their website...
Seth found most drinks either too sweet or too tasteless. Barry Nalebuff, one of Seth's business school professors, found that he and Seth shared a passion for the idea of a less sweet, but flavorful beverage during a class discussion that involved a Coke vs. Pepsi case study. Fast forward to '97, Seth goes for a run in New York City with an old classmate who used to concoct juice drinks with him after class. They found themselves doing the same after the run, combining several different beverages to cut the sweet and intensify the flavor. Seth knew then that if he was going to quench his thirst for good, he would have to create the drink himself. He e-mailed Barry to see if he was still as excited about the idea as he had been in class.

Timing was everything. Barry had just returned from India where he had been analyzing the tea industry for a case study. Seth took a deep breath, quit his job at the Calvert Group, and started brewing batches of tea in his kitchen. Five weeks after taking the plunge, he brought thermoses of tea and a bottle with a mock-up label to Fresh Fields (Whole Foods Markets). During that meeting, the order came for 15,000 bottles, and so did the heavy pause as Seth's mind raced, trying to figure out how they would produce that much tea. They were, at that moment, in the tea business. Honest.

My marketing skills must have done some damage this summer because this weekend, I ate at two places that carried the organic heartthrob:

Elevation Burger :442 S. Washington St., Falls Church VA. Read this by Tarting it Up.

Sticky Fingers Bakery:1904 18th St., Washington DC. Read this review by the Post from last December.

More to come on both later. Elevation was absolute bliss in a bun. Despite the inconvenient location for an urban student, I might just have to trek to East Falls Church and take the mile-long Metro bus ride from the station on a regular basis. And by regular basis, I mean all the time. That burger hit the spot like no other has in a long time. And incredibly cheap! Less than three bucks.

Sticky was closing at 6pm on Saturday. At about 6:07pm, my friends and I were running across the street, almost getting hit by a car, and at 6:08pm, begging to be let inside. After gaining access, Sticky became my favorite vegan bakery of the moment. The Honest Tea sitting quietly in the fridge was just an added perk.

I invited Seth to speak at Georgetown last week, where he revealed some juicy (or should I say tea-y) gossip.

Honest Tea will release a "Just Green Tea" line which will have little or no sugar, and use the term "just" to play off the "honest" pun.

Despite public chatter surrounding the plastic line released earlier this year, they are not discontinuing the glass, nor have they ever considered the bogus plan. Insert phew here.

Final thought, even Whoopi rocks the Honest Tea.

On Martha Stewart's new morning show, Martha, Whoopi talked about regularly serving it at her poker and board game parties.

Sold? Now drinking Community Green like it's your job? Send Honest Tea a picture of yourself drinking it in a famous, unique, creative, spunky environment. The most compelling submission will be featured in the next Honest News and win an Honest Tea gift basket. Email entries to newsletter@honesttea.com by Dec. 10th.

Whole Foods Giveaway!

2005-11-18T08:39:00.000-08:00

If you send Whole Foods a recipe that needs a natural makeover (time to organic it up?) and they use it in their monthly newsletter, they'll mail you a $25 Whole Foods Market gift card. Time to strip the preservatives, dyes and aspartame-- let them render the recipe au natural. Click here to submit your recipe.

Murky Gets Refined

2005-11-16T09:26:00.000-08:00

Murky Coffee is not afraid of strong words or strong-but-not-too-strong coffee. No surprise their founder and CEO Nicholas Cho was featured in today's NYT. In a nutshell (or maybe.. beanshell?) Michaele Weissman says coffee has become so refined and complex, it might as well be the next wine. These days beans are pricey (sometimes at 40 bucks a pound) and more nuanced than "the finest pinot noirs."

Too bad a mug of ink with supper will never offer the same protection against heart disease as a glass of red.

Only 31, Cho thinks, "Starbucks is beatable." He says, "If you are in the hamburger business and you can't make a better burger than McDonalds, you don't deserve to be in business."

His sales have expanded six-fold (cha-ching!) since he and his wife-meets-business-partner Suzy founded the first location in Georgetown in 2002. Keep ordering those extra shots of soy milk, guys. Six-fold, geez.

You're probably thinking, Georgetown? But but..I thought it was just Eastern Market. Well they're also at 3211 Wilson Boulevard in Arlington, VA, but yes, their first shop was in Georgetown.

Taken straight from Murky Coffee's FAQ page..

Our first shop was a little hole-in-the-wall on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown. It was a weird little place, and we got quite a few stares, notably from former President Clinton. As weird as it was, the coffee was weirder. We served only espresso, no drip coffee, and the weirdest thing about it was that it kicked ass. People freaked out when we shut down the Georgetown store in early '03. We got a flood of emails that said, "I'll never drink coffee again!!!" What shameless hyperbole. If you look closely at the black awning over what's now a fake-designer-purse store, you'll see the faint remnant of murky georgetown.

Cho organized the first mid-Atlantic barista competition, hitting Washington February 2006. He compares the intense latte-making process to that of "a Japanese tea cermony."

If you're wondering whether Cho is so caffeine-hyped that he can't sleep at night, you're wrong. During the little time he does snooze, Cho dreams of "opening an ultrastylish space where coffees hacked out of the jungle with a machete will be as revered as fine wine" and cost more than just the average (already high-priced) four bucks.

Move over Merlot, Macchiato is the latest BMOC on the beverage scene. Hmm..did someone say boxed coffee?

Murky Coffee is located on The Hill, at 660 Pennsylvania Ave, SE. Go on a weekend and grab a Honeycrisp apple at your friendly Eastern Market just down the block.

Let them eat Cake.

2005-11-09T20:57:00.000-08:00

metrocurean picked up on the CakeLove debate! i gave that baby a lot of blog love, i'm glad the word is spreading.