Extra Virgin (VA - Arlington)

Chef Daniele Catalani, alumnus of Galileo restaurant in DC, has opened Extra Virgin amongst the bustling oasis of restaurants that have cropped up on South 28th Street in Arlington/Shirlington.

The sleek, modern, night club feel of the restaurant is a fitting setting for Catalani's progressive and imaginative brand of Italian cooking. Unfortunately for him, not since Redskins owner Dan Snyder dismissed coach Marty Schottenheimer has the DC area witnessed such a dysfunctional marriage of front office and back office.

While Catalani's cooking is excellent - and at times brilliant - the wait staff possesses a dangerous combination of carelessness and indifference. Specials were read off a list (with Italian pronunciations botched at every opportunity), routine questions about the preparation of several dishes elicited blank stares, we were informed that certain dishes had been "86ed" only AFTER ordering them, water glasses went unfilled and dishes arrived several minutes apart - often cold.

Catalani has managed to hire a front office that is even worse than that at his alma mater, Galileo - no small feat considering their notoriously rude and inattentive dining room staff.

We began our meal at the bar with the restaurant's signature beverage: the Extra Virgin Dirty Martini. This martini is not dirty, it is filthy. The bartenders keep squeeze bottle of olive juice behind the bar and gush the contents liberally into each and every shaker. The default is vodka but they were more than happy to customize mine by substituting gin.

[Note: I consider it another sure sign of the Apocalypse that vodka has become the default ingredient in traditionally gin-based drinks. Forget the cold war - when I have to opt out of vodka to specify that I want my martini or gimlet made with GIN, the Russians have already won.]

The murky liquid is dispensed into an oversized martini glass and accompanied by six enormous green olives - each stuffed with gorgonzola. Whoever thought of this should be beatified.

People at the bar struggle with how exactly to eat the olives - Emily Post never really laid down rules for dropping cheese stuffed olives into a vat of vodka [sic] or gin - but the consensus seems to be to gently roll them into the martini glass and after a few sips, fish it out with a cocktail straw, then repeat.

Sure, the whole thing costs $14, but the combination of flavors is incredible. The meaty, herbal tartness of the olives yields to the rich, creamy, spicy gorgonzola and the generous soaking of alcohol clears the palate.

Once our party of four made it to our table, we dove into the bread basket as we perused the menus. I don't know where Catalani is getting his bread, but it is excellent. Generally speaking, DC is in dire need of quality baked goods, but at Extra Virgin, you will find classic Italian bread - thick crusty stuff that is soft and pillowy in the middle and not, as Dante's compatriots in the Inferno complain, "salted" at all.

They also served a fantastic caramelized tomato focaccia and a less well received sun dried tomato flat bread.

For starters, we had tuna carpaccio on white beans salad, a classic Caesar salad, fried calamari and a salad of fresh mozzarella, tomato and balsamic. All were very solid, with the calamari and the tuna as the most obvious standouts.

The tuna arrived as lightly seared strips - still rare and jewel-like in the center - astride a mound of white beans. The beans were tossed in olive oil, maybe a little bit of lemon juice and very fine ground black pepper and the whole dish received a dash of sea salt. This was simple, elegant cuisine that let the quality of the ingredients speak for themselves.

The calamari were very lightly breaded and fried to perfection - the tender, delightful morsels that all calamari strives to become - not the usual, chewy, leathery stuff. The accompanying red pepper remoulade was a nice pairing and was light and airy.

The Caesar salad was pretty standard - better than average dressing (clearly made on the premises, with anchovy) over chunks of romaine, a handful of pecorino and served in something reminiscent of a tortilla shell. Weird.

For main courses, we had porcini risotto with truffle oil, fresh crab meat ravioli with yellow pepper coulis, strozzapretti with tomato and pork sausage, and a NY Strip steak.

The risotto and the ravioli arrived first, followed approximately three minutes later by the steak and the strozzapretti. This allowed the risotto to cool and develop a nice thick skin and provided the ravioli the opportunity to cool down to room temperature. Disgraceful.

Despite the service gaff, the food was quite good. Everyone at the table liked the risotto the best, and while I agree that it was good, the truffle oil was unidentifiable.

The ravioli got my vote as best dish simply because I am a slave to seasonal ingredients. Blue crab stuffed ravioli served in a roasted yellow pepper coulis - it doesn't get any simpler than that - and on the banks of the Potomac in August, it doesn't get any fresher either. The only critique of the dish is that it was almost too sweet. The sweetness in the crab meat played off the sugar in the yellow pepper coulis and was almost too much.

The strozzapretti were also very good. While I admire Catalani's attempt to serve lesser known pastas, this delightful variety lost something in both the waiter's inability to pronounce it and his difficulty in explaining what the hell it is.

[The name strozzapretti translates as "Priest Strangler" presumably after a particularly gluttonous priest who ate too many of these. The pasta itself is a long, skinny dumpling, with a slight twist to it - like a cross between a thick cavatelli and rotini.]

Anyway, the dumpling-like consistency of the pasta paired beautifully with the hearty meatiness of the pork sausage and red sauce. This dish also benefited greatly by being one of the only two that were served warm.

The steak was awful. Over-cooked and served with a sad looking roasted tomato and some potatoes. I have already spent more time describing it than it is worth.

Somewhat shell-shocked by the uneven performance, we cut our losses and skipped dessert.

I wish Chef Catalani luck in turning this project around. His cooking is certainly worthy of a better supporting cast.

Perhaps he should skip the strozzapretti and strangle his wait staff instead.

Max's Best Homemade Ice Cream (DC - Georgetown)

The name pretty much says it all at this Cleveland Park institution: Max's Best Homemade Ice Cream.

For decades, the always upbeat and tireless Max and his wife have been serving DC residents over 150 flavors of homemade ice cream.

Max's flavors all start with real eggs and cream and from there are transformed into everything from run of the mill chocolate, vanilla and strawberry to more exotic ice creams like cinnamon, gingerbread, pumpkin spice and even one called "Mozambique" - a wild blend of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves.

On a typical summer night, the place is packed with people streaming in from the neighborhood as well as those who have skipped dessert at the dozen or so restaurants that line this strip of Wisconsin Avenue, in favor of a visit to Max's.

Get it while it lasts - the first hints of crisp fall air are moving in and Max typically closes up shop for the winter.

2 Amys (DC - Cleveland Park)

Another night, another great meal at 2 Amy's. The lines out front don't lie.

This time, we dined at a table near the bar in the back. We ordered, a margherita pizza, the roasted eggplant (special) and a pizza with caramelized tomato, chives, roe and a fresh cracked egg (special).

The margherita, was good, as always, but the two specials blew us away.

The roasted eggplant was actually a whole eggplant, tossed in the wood-fired oven and roasted until it was gooey. It was then plated, split with a knife and covered in pesto. The bitterness of the eggplant played off the sweet basil and spicy garlic in a dish that was pure summer. I don't think I can reproduce this in an oven, but I am very tempted to grab a few eggplants at the farmer's market and toss them in my smoker for the afternoon.

The special pizza was by far one of the oddest things I have ever put in my mouth. The caramelized tomatoes and roe gave the pizza an overall burnt yellow color, with flashes of green from the handful of diced chives that were thrown on top. Then, all by itself, sitting in the middle of the pie, sat a large, fried egg (sunnyside up). They literally prepared the pizza, cracked an egg on it and then tossed it in the wood fired oven. The super-sweet tomatoes played off the salty roe and the earthy egg flavor in a really amazing, fresh pizza.

The waiter told us that they do a similar trick in the winter with a grana, truffle oil and fresh egg pizza. I can't wait for that to come around!

Annapolis Ice Cream Company (MD - Annapolis)

You have to admire the cajones on someone who decides to open an ice cream parlor on Main Street in Annapolis, considering the town already boasts a Ben & Jerry's, and several local confectioners within 50 yards of their storefront. Not to mention the fact that around the corner sits that venerable Annapolis ice cream institution, Storm Brothers.

Needless to say, it was with much cynicism and trepidation that I walked into the Annapolis Ice Cream Company.

The layout is copied exactly from Storm Brothers, with a few tables up front, a counter down the left side, and a line that snakes around and out the door. It is brighter, more updated and even boasts a flat screen display of "today's flavors" but it is more or less your generic ice cream parlor layout.

The difference is in their ice cream. They have more creative and better prepared flavors than anyone around. I have been twice in the last month and my favorites so far are Apple Pie, Blackberry Cobbler and Chocolate Mint Chip.

Apple pie is their hallmark flavor. Nowhere else is it more apparent that the ice cream you are eating was hand crafted on the premises that day. They literally take a fresh baked apple pie and blend it into vanilla ice cream. The result is that each bite contains bits of apple pie filling and chunks of pie crust that is so fresh, it is still crunchy. Go early - this one tends to sell out towards the end of the night.

Blackberry cobbler is in the same spirit as the apple pie - fresh blackberry cobbler blended into ice cream.

Chocolate mint chip sounds pedestrian, and is anything but. It is actually chunks of peppermint patty, blended into rich, dark chocolate ice cream. This is a unique and surprising "inside out" take on the traditional mint chocolate chip.

I'm sold. After years of believing the only proper way to end a meal in Annapolis was with a walk to Storm Brothers, I plan to change tack and head up Main street instead.

Boatyard Bar & Grill (MD - Eastport)

In a part of the World that caters primarily to tourists and lobbyists, the Boatyard has a refreshing, "locals only," feel to it. Unlike many other restaurants on that side of the Spa Creek bridge that seem to have zip code envy at their neighbors across the creek, the Boatyard proudly stands as a place by Eastporters, for Eastporters.

Their motto says it all: "Where local sailors, fisherman and those who love the Chesapeake Bay come to relax and enjoy pint drinks and great food."

Forget the image of people in topsiders and Hawaiian shirts - this crowd is sun bleached red Mount Gay Regatta hats, shirts with the name of your boat on the chest, a table for eight occupied by people wearing shirts emblazoned with the label "crew" and on a recent Saturday evening, a slightly intoxicated girl with a red "port" sticker on her left breast and a green "starboard" sticker on her right breast.

People flock here for the casual "come as you are" atmosphere, great food, and cold drinks.

[With respect to the drinks, I can honestly say that the Boatyard serves the coldest beer in Annapolis. In fact, I haven't had beer this cold since I moved out of my fraternity house - and our taps were in the basement, in New Hampshire, with a boiler that was almost always on the fritz in the dead of winter.]

On recent visits, I have sampled the crab dip, burgers, crab cakes, calamari, the turkey club and the blue crab sandwich. All are very good, but the crab dip deserves special mention.

This is the best crab dip around. Period. This is jump blue crab, parmesan cheese, spinach and onions combined and tossed in the broiler. Lots of places serve a similar sounding dish, but too often they are just cream cheese with a few odd chunks of crab meat. The Boatyard version is mostly crab meat, spinach and onions, with just enough cheese to hold it all together. The inclusion of onions - which caramelize in the broiler - adds body that is lacking in other, lesser, versions of the dish.

The dish is so good that they also offer it as the "Blue Crab Sandwich" - an open faced creation consisting of bread piled high with the aforementioned crab dip and topped with tomato slices and cheddar cheese before heading into the broiler. Decadent.

The turkey club is another stand out. It consists of smoked turkey piled high on challah and topped with bacon, lettuce, tomato, avocado slices and a spicy red pepper mayonnaise. The result is a delicious sandwich that is so thick it almost requires fork and knife eating.

The burgers and crab cakes are also terrific. The burgers are thick, fresh and cooked to order - a rarity in today’s e-coli panic stricken restaurant world. Last Saturday my wife ordered hers rare and it was actually served red in the center. The crab cakes are exactly what you would expect - all jumbo lump crab, no filler, perfumed with Old Bay and cooked to a beautiful golden brown - crispy on the outside and juicy in the center.

Most people have trouble deciding between the burger and the crab cake, so you will frequently see couples get one of each and split them. I wonder if there is a way for the Boatyard to order tiny rolls and offer a Chesapeake surf and turf - 1/2 burger and 1/2 crab cake sandwich?

I have long said that the best food in Annapolis is outside of Annapolis and the Boatyard Bar & Grill in Eastport is case in point.

Bardeo (DC - Cleveland Park)

We grabbed a cramped little four-top next to the bar last Wednesday for a casual dinner.

Bardeo (the less formal of the Ardeo/Bardeo duplex) is a dark, sleek, minimalist bar with tables scattered in front and down one side and an open kitchen in the back.

The menu is a bit of a departure from normal as well - four pages in all, with one each devoted to wine flights, wines by the glass, small plates and cheeses. There is a more extensive list of wine bottles and a separate dessert menu as well.

The food part of the menu is built around the wine and has a decidedly "Mediterranean meets California" tone to it. Dishes like grilled prawns over white beans echo the Mediterranean, while a salad of mixed greens with goat cheese and walnuts is as California as they come. Each dish is paired with a suggested wine and the wines themselves, hailing from all over the globe, range from $7.00 to $10.00 a glass. So far, so good.

We ordered eight small plates between the four of us and were then presented with a basket of bread and paté to enjoy with our wine.

The bread was your generic trucked in from the restaurant supply company type of stuff, but the paté was really what had our attention. It was a small ramekin of what I believe was chicken liver paté (not rich enough to be goose, not at all nutty or gamey - mostly seasoned with black pepper). Bardeo serves this alongside butter on every table.

I can honestly say that I have never seen this before. Olive oil, tapenade, designer butters - those are all old hat - but never have I seen paté. If it had been better, I would have been more impressed, but to foist a dollop of mediocre paté on all of your diners, seems a bit over-the-top. Anyway, let this serve as a formal warning to vegetarians.

Our waitress was very helpful and accommodating of several special requests we had. She was also very patient in her coordination of four different diners drinking several different wines by the glass, all at different paces. Unfortunately for her, the kitchen wasn't giving her any help.

We had just about taken our second bite of our first courses, when the second courses arrived. So much for savoring and sharing - let alone wine pairing. Not to mention the fact that the table was already very cramped with bread, paté, wine glasses, water glasses, etc.

Their solution was to spin the rectangular plates 90 degrees and line them up side-by-side in front of each of us like some crazy haute TV dinner (veggies in the rectangle on the left, meat in the rectangle on the right). What is the hurry? Did they honestly think that at 9:00 on a Wednesday night, they were going to get an extra turn of our table? Not likely.

The food itself was mixed. Some dishes were very good, others were fair. Winners included the warm asparagus salad, grilled prawns and braised beef panini. Losers included the crispy goat cheese salad and grilled tuna.

The warm asparagus salad was a pile of steamed asparagus, topped with a summer hash of leeks, mushrooms and hazelnuts. This was both visually appealing and a creative mix of textures and flavors, with the hazelnuts and the leeks punctuating a dish that would otherwise have been bland.

The grilled prawns were the best dish, by far. They were served astride a pile of cannellini beans, tossed in basil and chili oil. The smoky prawns played off the creamy beans and sweet basil well, with the chili oil providing a kick at the end of each bite.

The braised beef panini was quite good as well. It was a pile of red wine braised brisket, served on sourdough with caramelized onions and blue cheese. The flavors all worked well together, even if this dish seemed a little heavy for the summer. If it is still on the menu when the temperature drops below 60 degrees, I will try it again with a glass of Rhone.

The crispy goat cheese salad was a bust. Friseé, beets, walnuts and goat cheese can be a delightful starter - especially at this time of year, when beets abound. Unfortunately, the Bardeo version pits wilted friseé with canned beets and a golf ball sized mound of fried goat cheese in a bizarre, hybrid California cuisine / fast food nation dish. Do you want fries with that?

Likewise, the grilled tuna steak was full of promise, but failed to deliver. It was advertised with beluga lentils, celery, radish and truffle vinaigrette - what could be better? Well, for starters, the tuna "steak" is actually a half inch thick piece of tuna that had been cooked within an inch of its life. It wasn't burned, but it had both the consistency and the flavor of canned tuna. Try as they might, the rest of the preparation couldn't get over the hurdle set by the murdered piece of fish.

For desserts, we decided to cut our losses, get away from the smoke in the bar and walk down the street for some ice cream, though a few of the selections were tempting.

I might try Ardeo next time, to see if that side of the house is doing a better job of metering the pace of the meal, but to be honest, I have gone from wondering why it took me two years of living in DC to try Bardeo to wondering if I will be back again in the next two.

Lauriol Plaza (DC - DuPont)

Hi. My name is Kevin and I am addicted to Lauriol Plaza.

This Mexican restaurant has been pleasing crowds since long before it moved to its "new" location on the corner of 18th and T Streets. The new digs are three cavernous, post-modern levels that include outdoor dining (patio and rooftop), two bars (downstairs and rooftop) and everything from private two-tops to booths that easily seat parties of ten.

Lauriol Plaza (also known to junkies by its street name, "L.P.") doesn't take reservations and manages its seating on a first come, first served basis. Once you arrive, check in with the hostess and if you are lucky, the wait will only be thirty minutes. If you are unlucky, the wait will be 45 minutes or more before you can even get a pager (you know, those little flashing, vibrating plastic coasters that people tend to stare at with talismanic awe in fear that if they look away, they will somehow miss it going off) and then another 30 or so minutes to get a table.

In the meantime, head to the bar for a pitcher of their tasty (but lethal) frozen margaritas. They also have a fine selection of tequilas, Mexican beers, wine, etc. but it is the pitchers of frozen margaritas that find me waking up at three o'clock in the morning, fully dressed, face down on my dog's bed, still clutching my house keys.

[As a public service announcement to un-itiated girls who are just in town for the summer while interning for a Congressman from a Midwestern state: Those neat looking pitchers with red and green layers are called "Swirl" margaritas. Say it with me, S-W-I-R-L. Now you know and you don't have to keep stopping me to ask, while my pitcher melts on the way back to the rest of my party]

On a typical summer evening, the crowd erupts from the front doors and becomes a full rolling, tequila fueled, street party. Everyone from yuppies just getting off work, to couples out on a date (bad call - really bad call) to summer interns that have been there for hours and the occasional bachelor and bachelorette parties, crowds around 18th Street, alternating between drink in hand and basket of tortilla chips. Gay and straight, black, white and brown, business suits and torn chinos, three inch stiletto heels and flip flops, super models and average joes, all combine in a come-as-you-are patchwork quilt that would puzzle most red state residents.

Traffic on 18th Street grinds to a halt as one lane is used for parked cars, the next lane winds around the block to the free valet service (an added bonus for the Bridges & Parkways crowd) and a third lane of taxis deposits passengers. The din of the masses can be heard from blocks away, as can the occasional punctuated cheers of joy when someone's pager finally goes off.

I am convinced that this scene is the very essence of why people keep coming back to LP. The food is good - some of it is very good, some of it less so - but the wait staff is barely competent, the hostess-by-committee approach is dreadful, the hostesses themselves are at best indifferent and at worst, downright rude. Add to that an estimated average wait of 45 minutes to get a table, and the massive lines at the bar and by any conventional metric, this place should have closed its doors long ago.

No, it is definitely the scene that keeps packing them in. Location doesn't hurt either. Many people use this as a jumping off point for a night out in Adams Morgan. If your party is larger than four people, you can get in two hours of drinking before you finally get a table, knock back a few pitchers with dinner and then head straight up 18th street with the pump fully primed, so to speak.

Anyway, I am at LP nearly once a week, but am finally getting around to writing it up here.

We stopped in last Sunday with a friend from out of town. We put our name in, got the standard "30 minutes" warning, took our pager and headed for the bar. We had just about finished our first round when the pager went off. We got to our table and promptly ordered a bowl of chili con queso while we perused our menus.

[This is my second piece of advice for the un-ititiated. Whatever you do, order some chili con queso - and do so as soon as you sit down - don't wait to order it with everything else, or it will all arrive at your table at the same time.]

This is a little slice of heaven on Earth. It is a bowl (or cup for those of you not currently on statins and living, "a better life through pharmacology") of creamy, spicy, melted cheese. Think of it as a white tablecloth version of tossing a brick of velveta and a jar of spicy salsa in the microwave during halftime of the big football game.

For bonus points, request that your server bring you a pile of freshly made soft flour tortillas to use as a conduit for the cheese.

[NOTE - when ordering your tortillas, it is imperative that you make the universal sign for tortillas. Begin by placing both hands in front of you with palms facing each other and thumbs extended (like you are lifting a gallon of ice cream), then, leave your left hand as is and begin to draw counter-clockwise circles with the first two fingers on your right hand as though you are stirring the aforementioned gallon of ice cream with your two fingers. This sounds silly, but the one time I didn't perform this charade, I never got my tortillas.]

The menu is a strange pan-Latin mix of old and new world dishes. The fajitas and enchiladas appear on the same menu as El Salvadorian ropa vieja, authentic Spanish bistec al pobre, and some Caribbean inspired dishes with fried plantains and fruit chutney. The only glaring gap in the menu is a good mole. Then again, a good mole is a glaring gap in every menu in DC.

For entrees, we ordered a shrimp quesadilla and Monterey salads. Generally speaking, the appetizer portions of the quesadilla are large enough to make a meal of, especially when combined with several margaritas, chips and queso. Be sure to check the specials list for seasonal quesadillas - the crab quesadilla, in particular, is outstanding - with big chunks of blue crab smothered in cheese and sandwiched between layers of fresh tortilla.

On this evening, the shrimp quesadilla was very good. The cheese was evenly melted, the shrimp warm and the tortilla was slightly crispy on the outside, but not burned - just crisp enough that it never got soggy on the plate.

Now, before you think I've gone soft, the Monterey salad is really a salad only in presentation. It is a Fred Flintstone sized platter of romaine lettuce, black beans, corn, roasted peanuts, tomatoes, cucumbers, tortilla strips and grated cheese topped with a grilled chicken breast. As I said, this is, "the salad that eats like a meal." The dressing is a thick mix of peanut and red chili peppers that is both sweet and spicy. You may want to ask for it on the side, as they tend to be a little heavy-handed with the dressing. I'm sure this salad packs the same stratospheric calorie count as a Big Mac, but you feel better about yourself afterwards.

See you next week - same place, same time. Who's ready for another round?

Old Ebbitt Grill (DC - Downtown)

We grabbed a quick dinner with some friends Thursday night at that venerable DC institution, The Old Ebbitt Grill (also known more affectionately as, "The Ebbitt").

On any given night, you will see members of Congress packed into booths next to tourists from the Midwest, while young professionals pack the bars (yes, there are three bars) three and four deep. And why not? The Ebbitt has a little bit of something for everyone.

The menu is classic American fare: steaks, burgers, grilled fish, etc. combined with a top notch raw bar (be sure to check out their nightly oyster specials, the mammoth "Walrus platter" and do NOT miss their annual bacchanal, dubbed "Oyster Riot" - two nights in November where it is rumored that 2,000 people suck down 42,000 oysters).

Add to that a well thought out and lengthy list of reasonably-priced wines, some sinful desserts and an address just across the street from the White House and it is no wonder that this is the highest grossing restaurant in DC.

On this particular night, we started with a crab and artichoke dip. This is a steaming plate of cream cheese, artichoke hearts and blue crab, covered in parmesan and baked until golden brown. What's not to like? Smother it on the sliced baguette and you have a creamy/crunchy mouthful sure to warm even the most hardened politician's heart.

For dinner, we ordered the petit filet béarnaise and the grilled sockeye salmon. The filet is an odd concoction that has become a staple at the Ebbitt. It consists of two tiny filets resting on a bed of sprouts astride an English muffin and covered in béarnaise sauce. It is an eggs benedict-inspired dish that works very well (and is perhaps the only entree I have ever heard my wife order in more than six years of dining at the Ebbitt).

The sockeye was outstanding as well. It was grilled perfectly - cool in the center, per my request - and served on a bed of mixed vegetables (summer squash, cherry tomatoes, asparagus and fingerling potatoes). This was a no frills dish that let the freshness of the sockeye and the peaking local produce speak for themselves.

For dessert we had the bourbon walnut pie. This is a chocolate chip cookie dough crust filled with a mixture of chocolate, walnuts and bourbon, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. This was an amazingly sweet, rich and completely decadent concoction.

Just business as usual at the Ebbitt. Ninety-one days until Oyster Riot and counting. . .

Ireland's Four Courts (VA - Arlington)

We stopped in to Ireland's Four Courts last Wednesday, and were lucky enough to grab a table outside. We were there to meet a friend for a few pints, but when the friend called to say he was running late, we decided to order a bite.

I have always been a fan of this pub. When you strip away all the gold runes and Celtic ornamentation, you have a more or less neighborhood joint with friendly wait staff and live music that is always packed. In short, good craig.

Ireland's Four Courts also serves up some pretty decent food. On previous visits, I have enjoyed the potato leek soup, the St. James Gate mussels, the Irish stew and countless other dishes. Michelin isn't going to give these guys a star anytime soon, but it is "pub grub" of the highest order.

On this particular night, we had blackened chicken Caesar salads, which were mediocre (dry chicken, lettuce was rinsed, but not dried, etc.). It serves me right for ordering a Mexican salad in an Irish pub. Next time I will stick to their power alley of "traditional" fare.

Long after those salad plates were cleared, we lingered at our table, quaffing the black stuff and catching up with an old friend, which is precisely why you go to Ireland's Four Courts in the first place.

B. Smith's (DC - Union Station)

Last Wednesday I stopped into B. Smith's for a working lunch. I am embarrassed to say that I let two years of living in DC go by before I finally made it here. Shame on me.

The restaurant is nestled into the East gallery of Union Station, in a beautifully decorated American art nouveau dining room with soaring vaulted ceilings. The result is a very comfortable and surprisingly quiet dining room.

Before you even glance at your menu, it is clear that you are in for some serious Southern cooking. The bread basket that awaits you offers selections ranging from a delicate, sweet corn bread muffin to a rustic, buttery, stick-to-your-ribs green onion and cheddar short bread. Try to avoid the temptation to make a meal of bread alone and leave some room for the main event.

Our party selected the turkey pannini, the vegetarian BBQ ribs and the intimidatingly-named "swamp thang."

The pannini was the only real dud in the bunch. To be fair, a sliced turkey pannini doesn't really belong n this heavily Southern menu, but I think it is the kitchen's attempt to appeal to health-conscious diners. In any event, it was very dry and the buttered bread negated any healthy intentions.

I didn't get to sample the vegetarian BBQ ribs, but they looked delicious and got high marks. B. Smiths accomplishes "vegetarian ribs" by pressing tofu into long rectangles that resemble ribs and then coating them in BBQ sauce and grilling them (imagine if McDonald's "McRib" were comprised of high quality soy protein instead of meat turned away from the hot dog factory). This would have been a far better choice than the turkey - especially if you opted to substitute fresh fruit for the spicy fries that come with the dish.

By far the best dish at the table was the famed "swamp thang." This is a pile of wilted greens (collard and mustard greens, primarily) covered in a mixture of sautéed shrimp and scallops and dressed with a mustard cream sauce. This sounds decadent - especially for a mid-day meal - but it isn't. The seafood was cooked to perfection - the scallops were tender and the shrimp were yanked from the pan just before they began to become rubbery.

The sauce itself was surprisingly light for a cream-based sauce. I was expecting that heavy stuff that typically accompanies boudin in New Orleans, but this was thin and not at all overpowering. The greens added a bit of bite to the dish, with their bitterness cutting through the mouth coating qualities of the cream sauce.

The next time you are in the mood for some serious Southern grub, head on over to Union Station. Fo'shiggity.

Logan Tavern (DC - Logan)

Last Sunday, I stopped into Logan Tavern for brunch. I have been to Logan Tavern dozens of times - brunch, dinner, post-theater - but I have never gotten around to writing it up.

A testament to the burgeoning popularity of this 14th Street corridor eatery, there was a 30 minute wait for a table of four at 11:00. We put our names on the list and elbowed some space at the bar.

My favorite part about brunch at Logan Tavern is the "choose your own adventure" approach to ordering a Bloody Mary. Here they have devoted the entire back page of the menu to that beloved hair-of-the-dog staple and in so doing, made it the primary focus of the meal.

You begin by choosing an alcohol (gin, tequila, six or so types of vodka, etc.) and then move on to your choice of mixer (tomato juice, spicy, extra spicy, etc.). Upon this foundation, you are then free to build your beverage with selections from a myriad of condiment choices (Tabasco, clam juice, wasabi, etc.) and garnishes (lime, lemon, celery, etc.). For an additional charge, you can even add crab meat or shrimp cocktail. Whatever you concoct, it arrives in a pint glass rimmed with crab seasoning.

Some critics think this is too gimmicky and other purists make claims like, "if it is made of gin, it is a Red Snapper, not a Bloody Mary. . . with tequila it becomes a Bloody Maria." Save your semantics for Cambridge and New Haven.

Others, like my father, curmudgeonly complain, "I just want a plain Bloody Mary." Any of the bar tenders or wait staff will be happy to select one for you.

By the time we had grabbed our drinks and settled up, they were ready to seat us. We attacked the bowl of raisin multigrain and rustic sourdough bread while we perused the menu, which is a mix of breakfast and lunch - with more of the latter.

Our party ordered a chopped salad, a smoked salmon frittata, an omelet and eggs benedict. I only sampled the smoked salmon frittata and the chopped salad, but found both to be sub-par. I have never had the chopped salad at Logan Tavern before, but have had the smoked salmon frittata countless times and on every other occasion, been happy. Chalk it up to a "bad day" in the kitchen.

The salad was a blast of vinegar that drowned out every other ingredient - reducing them to textures, more than flavors.

The frittata looked promising - and they even entertained my request that it be made with egg whites - but it was a lumpy mess. All of the salmon was on one side, there was a mountain of capers in the middle and closest to me on the plate was an ice cream scoop sized mound of cream cheese. When incorporated in the eggs, these three ingredients are fantastic, but this presentation left a lot to be desired.

Next time I will specify that, like my Bloody Mary, I would like my frittata stirred, not shaken.

Merkado Kitchen (DC - Logan)

I stopped into Merkado last Tuesday. Being that it is August and most of DC is either at the beach or spending time with their constituents back home, we were seated immediately.

We decided to make a meal out of a mélange of starters, including:

- Raw "Ahi Tuna Crudo" on Boniato Frita, Wasabi Crema & Caviar
- Seared White Tuna Sashimi in Miso-Sake Reduction & Truffles
- Wonton Skins w/ Sesame Ground Beef, Manchego Cheese & Wasabi Crema
- Shrimp Tempura w/ Seaweed Salad & Tobiko Remoulade
- Tortilla Sopa w/ Adobo Chicken & Fresh Udon Noodles

The two tuna dishes and the wonton skin nachos are old favorites that I have chronicled elsewhere in these pages. All three were solid, with the nachos batter than on previous visits (more meat, fresher, etc.) but the tuna dishes perhaps a little bit shy of previous versions (a little too much tobiko in the Ahi Crudo and the White Tuna was a little beyond seared on this particular evening).

It is important to note here that chef Kim was not present in the kitchen this evening.

The Shrimp Tempura were good, but not my favorite. I was expecting classic, crunchy, flaky tempura, but instead got shrimp that more closely resembled a corn dog - very heavy, thick, chewy batter. The remoulade was a delightful pairing, but I had real trouble getting past the dutch funnel cake-esque shrimp "tempura."

Conversely, the tortilla sopa might be my new favorite dish in the neighborhood. This dark, spicy bowl of broth, adobo seasoned chicken and udon noodles, garnished with tortilla strips, is serious comfort food. The smoky richness of the broth washes away the stress of the work day and the delightfully moist chicken permeated by adobo punctuates the end notes with a combination of garlic and black pepper. The udon noodles are fun to slurp and offer some chewy body to this East meets West dish.

I am a little concerned about the kitchen faltering in Kim's absence (the two tuna dishes and the shrimp), but if you can't get away with some slack on a Tuesday night in August, when can you?

Once the cold weather sets in, I will be calling the kitchen and begging them to allow me to "carry out" quarts of that tortilla sopa.

The Oceanaire Seafood Room (DC - Downtown)

This is one restaurant that should not participate in Restaurant Week.

We have dined at Oceanaire dozens of times and never had a bad experience but Saturday night we were met with an obnoxious waiter and table scraps cuisine.

Oceanaire ran their normal menu, with a tiny block of 8-point font in the lower right hand corner denoting the Restaurant Week selections as follows:

Starters
- Caesar salad
- Mixed greens salad
- New England clam chowder

Entrees
- Grilled salmon in raspberry vinaigrette
- Dover sole in herb butter
- Grilled scallops

Desserts
- Chocolate bread pudding
- Seasonal berries in zabaglione
- Peach melba

The starters looked paltry, the entrees fair and the desserts seemed relatively promising. Between the five of us, we sampled all of it. We also added side orders of hash browns and sautéed spinach.

As we were perusing the menu, one of our party asked the waiter, "how are the scallops?" He exhaled sharply and replied, "its Restaurant Week," as if to say, "do you really think we would put anything halfway decent on THAT menu?"

Forget for a moment, the collective net worth of the people seated at our table, the tens of thousands of dollars of corporate entertaining our party does (or, should I say, used to do) at Oceanairre each year, or even the hundreds of dollars of wine we consumed that evening. You should never, ever make anyone in you dining room feel like anything less than the most honored guest.

Whether they are dropping a few grand on a blowout celebratory dinner or whether they saved up for months to be able to afford the $30.05 Restaurant Week menu, every guest should be treated equally well. As she said in Pretty Woman, "Big Mistake. Huge."

The meal went downhill from there.

The Caesar salad was limp (made ahead of time) and despite asking if I would like anchovies, they neglected to bring them out. The clam chowder was actually pretty good, but what the hell are they doing serving it in Washington, DC in August?

The salmon was clearly the ass-end of the filet, weighing in at nearly one centimeter in thickness; it was obvious that the choicest cuts went to the patrons who opted for the regular menu. The raspberry vinaigrette was too tart and really a distraction from the fish. The sole was also a let down, as one of our party suggested, "I sure would like some fish with this butter." The scallops seemed fine, even if they might have been punches. The hash browns and spinach were good, but I'm not going to give them much credit for that.

Dessert was a relative high point (or perhaps the wine and the good company had turned the mood around). The chocolate bread pudding was great - though about as in tune with the season as the clam chowder. The fresh berries in zabligione were refreshing - even if they looked silly served in an escargot dish. I didn't sample the peach melba, but the presentation was grand - in a tall glass dish - and there were no complaints.

It is unfair for diners to judge a restaurant by Restaurant Week alone, but it is equally unfair for a restaurant to judge its patrons by Restaurant Week alone.

Oceanaire ought to know better.

It is a shame we won't be dining or entertaining our corporate clients there ever again.

Raku - (DC - DuPont)

We stopped in for dinner at Raku Friday night with a few friends. It was a welcome blast of spontaneity amid the predictable order of Restaurant Week.

Raku is a mad house. Everything there is in a state of chaos.

From getting a table (no reservations, no call ahead, none of the 2-3 people keeping "the list" talk to each other, etc.) to getting your food (mains arrive before starters, hot and cold arrive together, one diner gets all of their order while another gets nothing, etc.) you are never quite sure what is going to happen. Then again, that is part of the fun.

The menu is billed as "Asian tapas." My disdain for anything smaller than an entree being referred to as "tapas" is well documented elsewhere, so I will spare you the rant here. That said, they have a selection of sushi as well as noodle dishes, small plates and entrees representing a panoply of Asian influences - Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Thai, etc.

Our party of four ordered sushi, spicy green beans, Dan Dan and vegetable spring rolls. The waiter was polite enough to handicap the likelihood of receiving each dish as we ordered it. For example, an order of stir fried chicken was met with a disapproving wag of the finger and the disclaimer, "the stir fry station is jammed - if you order that, it will come out last."

[It is worth noting here that food at Raku goes in on one ticket and arrives whenever it gets cooked. Nobody is behind the scenes expediting and orchestrating the timely arrival of each of your dishes. It gets cooked when the chef gets to it and promptly arrives on your table irrespective of the status of anything else you ordered.]

On this occasion, the spring rolls came out first, followed by the simultaneous arrival of the string beans and Dan Dan. This left one of our party with their starter, one of our party with their entire meal and two of our party with a beer in hand. All around, uninitiated diners complained about this haphazard service. Don't bother. Embrace the chaos and go with the flow.

Eventually our sushi arrived and everyone was happy. The Dan Dan was a little greasy, but altogether very good (though probably a poor choice for when it is 90 degrees and humid outside - and 88 degrees and humid inside). The green beans were excellent, as always - then again, it is hard to screw up green beans and chili peppers in a wok. The sushi was good as well - there is certainly better sushi in DC, but this was passable.

That, in a nutshell, is Raku - a complete lack of order, solid (though not exceptional) Asian food, and lots of confused diners placating themselves with alcohol. The mix is equal parts train station, beer hall and Chinatown.

If you go to Raku, bring your patience, some good friends and a designated driver.

Colvin Run Tavern (VA - Tysons)

Many restaurateurs grudgingly participate in Restaurant Week. They view it as something they have to do (for fear of bad press) or worse, they use it as a loss leader to get traffic into their restaurants in hopes of up-selling guests to pricier regular menu selections or higher margin alcohol sales.

Chef Kinkead does none of the above. He embraces Restaurant Week and uses it as a showcase to win over new diners.

Rather than hand his diners the regular menu with a Restaurant Week insert that makes them feel like second-class citizens, Kinkead winnowed down his usual menu to a half dozen each of starters, mains and desserts and presented that as the ONLY menu option.

After making our selections, we received the chef's amusee of chilled melon soup and mint chiffonade. This was summer in a cup.

Starters included heirloom tomatoes with idiazabal cheese, pesto and balsamic vinegar and a plate of yellow fin tuna tartare with crispy yucca, yuzu lime vinaigrette and guacamole.

The heirloom tomatoes were brilliant and were a classic pairing with the basil pesto and balsamic. The use of idiazabal in lieu of the traditional capresse accompaniment, mozzarella, lent a bit of spine to the dish and stood up against the acidity of the balsamic.

The tuna was gloriously fresh and when accompanied by the yuzu lime vinaigrette made for a sort of short order seviche. The guacamole mellowed out the zing of the citrus and the salted yucca crisps both added some crunch to the dish and served as a good backstop for the fork for those who wanted to get some of each flavor in each bite.

For main courses, we had grilled salmon and braised short ribs. The salmon was perfectly cooked (for me at least), with a cool pink center, and served astride a parsnip puree with a bit of herb butter. Not the most creative dish, but very solid.

The braised short ribs arrived with some wilted greens, pan jus and what looked like long potato fritters (a cross between a French fry and a churro). The ribs themselves were sticky-sweet, like the ribs you get as take-out from a Chinese restaurant (you know, the ones in the foil bag), boneless, and melted in our mouths. The fritters were a good - albeit bizarre - accompaniment and the wilted greens did an admirable job of cutting the richness of the meat and glaze.

For dessert, one of us ordered the cheese course and the other ordered the white peach cobbler with caramel ice cream. The cheese course consisted of brie, a hard cow's milk cheese (maybe cheddar - very sharp) and a soft, almost runny, blue. These were served with champagne grapes and some raisin and walnut bread. All three were excellent and I found both the portions and the presentation to be generous - especially in light of Restaurant Week.

The peach cobbler was excellent. This dish was fresh peaches in a ramekin with butter and a cinnamon crust - very little, if any, sugar added. The result was a not too sweet expression of the peach itself, with the bulk of the sweetness coming from the caramel ice cream sitting next to it. The combination worked beautifully.

While none of these dishes were the most creative, they were all well prepared and honest expressions of what is peaking in DC right now - tomatoes, peaches, melons, basil and mint.

Kudos to chef Kinkead for bringing his "A game" even during Restaurant Week.

Oakville Grille (MD - Bethesda)

I had high hopes for Oakville. I have been a fan of the owner's Mendocino Grille in DC for years and hoped that this would be more of the same, in a suburban setting. First impressions were good.

The swanky leather booths and funky light fixtures belied the predominantly octogenarian clientele. Additionally, many of the entrees and the extensive selection of wines by the glass were reminiscent of Mendocino Grille.

Our waiter was very helpful, especially with respect to our wine selection. I noticed an anomaly in their wine list - one of my wife's favorite wines was available by the glass, but not by the bottle. The waiter understood our plight and was able to arrange a price and bring us our own bottle for the table.

[I have no idea why it wouldn't just be on both lists to start with, but kudos to the waiter for thinking on his feet and being accommodating.]

We opted for the three course, $30.05 Restaurant Week menu and the wheels more or less fell off the train.

The grilled scallops with roasted beets and herb butter was the "weekly special" on the regular menu as well as one of the three entree selections on the Restaurant Week menu (and who doesn't love eating scallops that were purchased in bulk at the beginning of the week?).

At 7:00 on Wednesday, they were "out" of scallops. I don't mean to be rude, but if you are out of them at 7:00 on Wednesday, and they were your "weekly special," then what you are telling me is that you were never really "in" them at all.

Unless the Ladies Who Lunch created a mad run on scallops that afternoon, how about re-printing your menu? If it is too much trouble to reprint the regular menu, you could at least run to Kinko's and re-print that shockingly bright yellow Restaurant Week menu. Their solution was to offer up rockfish in the same preparation (more on this later).

Starters were fair. Our trio consisted of one green salad (with champagne vinaigrette, teardrop tomatoes and spiced pecans), one arugula salad (with Bosc pears and gorgonzola) and one chicken kataifi (a mixture of chicken and currants rolled into a phyllo crust).

The salads would have benefited greatly from being served on cool (or at least room temperature) plates. As they were, the hot plates more or less wilted the greens.

The chicken dish, unpronounceable as it was, was a surprising highlight. The chicken and currants were a lovely, though somewhat heavy for a starter, pairing with the crispy phyllo shell.

Entrees featured two orders of grilled salmon with wild rice, mango and cilantro crème fraiche and one order of the rockfish "special." The salmon was actually pretty good. It was seared on the outside and rare in the middle - just as it had been requested. The cilantro in the crème fraiche was there visually, but didn't lend much flavor to the dish, so the mango dominated. The combination of long grain rice, mango and salmon was a bit odd for mouth-feel, but then again long grain rice always feels a bit like eating mulch.

The rockfish was an altogether different story. The herb butter combined with the juice from the roasted beets to create a horrifyingly bright pink and yellow starburst pattern on the plate. The only other way I can imagine this color occurring in nature is if someone unloaded a shotgun into a case of pink highlighters.

Amid all this fanfare, the rockfish just sort of sat there - small, limp and looking completely out of place. Once you got past the presentation, the flavors were good enough, but that sad little rockfish never really had a chance. It was only around a centimeter thick, so it was probably a bit overcooked before it had a chance to sit on the hot plate, where it had the opportunity to cook more while waiting for the beet juice to break the herb butter.

Desserts were a bit of a debacle as well. The Restaurant Week menu offered the choice of crème brulee with seasonal berries or a chocolate angel food cake with caramel sauce. We all ordered the angel food cake and were told that they were, predictably, "out" of that choice.

Thanks to some more fancy footwork on the part of our waiter, we were than offered whatever we wanted from the a la carte menu. We selected a carrot cake and a trio of sorbet (strawberry, raspberry and mango).

The desserts were actually very good. The carrot cake was moist, but a little heavy handed with the cream cheese. The sorbets were a little mixed. The mango was excellent, but the raspberry was a little icy and the strawberry a bit bland. The portions were huge. The carrot cake was close to a three inch cube and the sorbet trio was actually three ice cream scoops of sorbet (not the tiny melon balls you typically see).

Restaurant Week is a terrible time to judge any restaurant, because of the above average demands on the kitchen and wait staff as well as the need to do so much merchandising to get under the $30.05 price tag.

That said, even during Restaurant Week, good restaurants still find a way to shine. Oakville did not.

CityZen - (DC - Southwest)

From the moment you sit down at CityZen, it is clear that Chef Eric Ziebold apprenticed under Thomas Keller. The sleek, minimalist decor and menu descriptions send a clear message that the food is the center of attention.

I don't want to focus too much on chef Ziebold's former employer - and he himself is no doubt eager to come out from under that shadow - but the menu here adheres to the same philosophy of simplicity, honesty and emphasis on serving whatever is local and in-season that has been the hallmark of cooking at The French Laundry for years.

We were seated at the table nearest the kitchen, which suited us perfectly. Several couples (no doubt Capitol Hill types looking to conceal extra-marital affairs) shied away from the seats around us, opting for more intimate surroundings elsewhere in the dining room. We were then offered a drink while we perused the wine list.

The wine list is exorbitantly expensive.

The most egregious example I noticed was a 2001 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay, listed at $118. This is one of my favorite white wines (and heir of the former winner of the 1975 Paris tasting), but it retails for a small fraction of this price. I bought a bunch last year for around $26 per bottle (after case discounts). If the sommelier really thinks that this is a reasonable price, I have some in my cellar that I would love to sell him. Maybe we can barter two of my bottles for two of CityZen's tasting dinners?

I am well aware that restaurants make their money on alcohol sales and I have grudgingly come to expect a solid 100% markup to retail pricing on most wine lists. Rather than bring my own wine and pay corkage fees, I view paying these nosebleed prices as a sort of "charitable contribution" in support of my favorite restaurants. I also understand the economic arguments around the higher prices (storage and shrinkage costs, the 80/20 rule around inventory turns, etc.) but this list was absurd.

I hate to harp on it, because the rest of the evening was delightful, but as they say, "first impressions are everything." Letting me stew over this, "too far off-market to be taken seriously," wine list for ten minutes before seeing the food menu was perhaps not the right tone to set.

After realizing that two splits of wine and a glass of champagne each would easily cost us $140, we opted instead to have glasses of wine paired with each course of the tasting menu (at $70 per person).

The canapé consisted of a mushroom fritter with truffle oil. This was two bites of warm, gooey, mushroom essence accompanied by a stripe of truffle oil and mushroom pureé that is lick-the-plate good.

This was followed by an amusé of big eye tuna sashimi with cucumber and dill. The tuna was nearly translucent and an excellent match with the cucumber, yogurt and dill (imagine tuna sashimi on top of raita).

The first course was soft-shell crab with sesame vinaigrette and pickled rhubarb. The crab was lightly sautéed to perfection and artfully presented, split in half with one of the halves plated vertically like a sail rising out of the middle of the dish. The sesame vinaigrette was a little swath at the bottom of the dish and the pickled rhubarb was tucked off to the side under a bundle of wilted greens.

Having grown up in Baltimore, I have been eating soft-shell crabs my whole life and this was as good as any I had ever had. I can't be sure, but I suspect chef Ziebold may brine his soft shells before cooking them. Maybe I am wrong, but his preparation was sweeter than most and devoid of that overly heavy, fatty mustard flavor that often overtakes soft shells. In addition, when combined in one bite, the mellow nutty flavor of the sesame vinaigrette complemented the crab nicely, with the sweet-tartness of the pickled rhubarb rounding out the dish.

This was paired with a Willamette Valley Riesling that was off-dry and yeasty, almost like a very mellow sake. The pairing worked well (I have heard some people say that, while beer is the official beverage accompaniment to crabs, sake is the best wine pairing they can come up with).

The second course consisted of seared black bass with summer squash and basil pistou. This was a beautifully seared, skin-on piece of black bass sprinkled with sea salt and served astride a pile of yellow and green summer squash brunoise. The fish was crispy on one side and delightfully moist throughout. The dish was then finished tableside with a crisp, clean, basil pistou that tasted like a liquid concentrate version of the freshest summer basil. The combination worked perfectly.

This course was paired with an Austrian Grüner Veltliner that was light and crisp. The wine's herb notes played well off the basil and it was acidic enough for a clean finish.

From there, we moved to a third course of seared foie gras with pepper shortbread and plum soup. The foie was delicately seared on the outside and more or less medium rare (pink) on the inside. It was plated on top of a piece of peppered shortbread and surrounded by a lagoon of light pink, chilled plum soup. This dish couldn't have been simpler, but the cacophony of flavors and textures was amazing: Warm, soft, fatty, gamey foie combined with crunchy, peppery shortbread and cold, sweet plum.

This was paired with a Patz & Hall Pinot Noir from California (I don't remember which of their four Pinot bottlings it was). I was initially suspicious, having grown accustomed to dessert wines with my foie, but instead, in this dish the plum soup provided the sweetness and the plum notes in the Pinot tied the two together. Very well done.

The fourth course was beef with English peas and mushrooms over melted spring onions and veal reduction. This was served along with a box of miniature Parker House rolls. Here again, chez Ziebold allowed summer's bounty to flourish with a minimum of human intervention. The spring onions, peas and mushrooms played well together and were a lovely accompaniment to the beef.

At first, I thought that the veal reduction was a mistake - a rare instance of an "extra" ingredient in a menu that features no more than 3-4 flavors and textures per dish. Once I dredged one of those delightfully chewy, doughy Parker House rolls though the veal reduction and beef jus, I was sold.

This course was served with a South African Syrah that marked another good pairing. The musty nose echoed the mushrooms, the sweetness in the Syrah picked up the spring onions and the spicy backbone packed enough tannin to stand up to the beef.

The chef then served a watermelon sorbet as a palette cleanser. It arrived at our table as a ball of light pink sorbet floating in a tiny dessert wine glass full of a slightly anise flavored aperitif. The watermelon and anise flavors combined surprisingly well and the presentation was a triumph of both form and function.

The cheese course offered the opportunity to select three or four cheeses from a grouping of roughly twelve cheeses organized horizontally by type of milk (cow, goat, sheep, etc.) and from front to back in order of firmness. These selections were accompanied by bread, some spicy toasted almonds and a tandem of fresh peach and pear puree.

Everything was delicious, but the server's knowledge was a bit disappointing. When my wife asked him to describe some of the differences between the goat cheeses, he replied, "good question - nobody has ever asked me that" (further lowering my estimation of the average Washington restaurant-goer). He then proceeded to say, "This one is spicy, this one is nutty and this one is grassy." Really? Thanks.

I will be the first to admit that the pageantry around selecting and describing cheeses is quickly becoming as obnoxious as that of selecting wines (I am certain that we are not far from the day that we get to slice off a piece of rind and inspect it, then take a tiny taste of the cheese before declaring it acceptable for the rest of our party, the way we currently scrutinize corks and swill and slurp wine in a show of faux expertise and self-import), but give me at least a little information. I'm not asking about the terroir, what the shepherd's name was, which hamlet in France the cheese is named after, what temperature they maintain in the cheese cave, or which bacteria gave the cheese its flavor, but please give me a little more than, "spicy, nutty and grassy."

We continued to sip the Syrah throughout the cheese course.

Dessert consisted of a Valhrona chocolate soufflé and cafe con leche ice cream with coffee granita. This was accomplished by serving an individual soufflé on the left side and a scoop of ice cream on the right, topped with granita.

The soufflé was a simple, clean, perfect execution of a classic. No frills, no theatrics, none of that phony, "I'm going to finish it tableside by pouring crème amglaise in the center so that you don't realize I made it ahead of time and just reheated it for you," nonsense.

The same can be said of the ice cream. On its own, it was sinfully sweet frozen custard with the faintest hints of coffee. When combined with the coffee granita, you had the whole package - like drinking an iced cafe con leche. My wife may, or may not, have taken the last remnants of her cafe con leche and poured them into the last of the chocolate soufflé to create an haute mocha latte of sorts. What can I say, we're Philistines.

The dessert was paired with a 2000 Vintage Port from the Douro (they had decanted it, so I missed the producer's name). This was a relatively young port, full of fruit and life and willing to pair with these desserts in a way that older, dowdy ports can not.

We rounded out the meal, savoring the last of the port, with a plate of mignardises. There was a raspberry gelee, an almond tuille and several chocolates. All were excellent (especially the diamond-shaped ones comprised of soft chocolate and hazelnut brittle) and a great way to finish a fantastic meal.

Chef Ziebold is a dynamo in the kitchen. In a World where many chefs are absentee landlords who lend little more than their names and recipes to their restaurants, Ziebold is everywhere and doing everything.

Saturday night, I saw him do everything from cook and plate starters himself, to plating desserts, expediting orders, and in one instance, when all of his servers were occupied, I saw him walk a course out to the dining room to avoid having it die on the line. Towards the end of the night, I even saw him take advantage of a lull in orders to make plates of snacks for the guys (and gal) on the line.

Here is a guy busting his hump and really pouring everything he has into his restaurant.

Once Ziebold straightens out the front of the house (you know, hand out a few copies of the Cheese Primer and fix that ridiculous wine list), CityZen will really be something special.

In the meantime, you can find me enjoying his fantastic cooking and appreciating his hard work from the table closest to the kitchen - perhaps ignoring the cheese steward and paying corkage fees.

Chicago Dining - TRU

Last Saturday night, six of us shared the kitchen table at TRU. There was unanimous consent that this was one of the finest meals any of us had ever had, with everyone either giving it the top spot, or at least admitting that it deserved to be on equal footing with a meal had years ago at The French Laundry.

Set aside as a room within a room, the kitchen table is a climate controlled room with windows that look out on all the action on the lines as well as in the pastry kitchen. As much as I like sitting in kitchens where I feel like I am sweating it out with the chefs, I think Chef Tramonto has it right by allowing us to see everything, but not feel it.

We began the evening with the chef's amuse, a plate of four selections that included: a salad of haricots verts, a spoon of squash panna cotta with chili oil, salmon sashimi, and a spoon of apple plum soup.

The salad was a very simple combination of haricots verts and baby asparagus tossed in a light vinaigrette. The squash panna cotta may have been my favorite of the bunch. It was a thick, rich, mouth-coating concoction with a few drops of hot chili oil suspended in the middle. The result is a cool, creamy squash flavor that is hot on the finish because of the oil. The wild salmon was fatty and delicious and melted in your mouth. The spoon of cold, apple-plum soup rounded out the quartet and also served as an excellent palate cleanser to set up for the next course.

The second course was the chef's now legendary Golden Osetra caviar staircase. If the amuse were a study in sourcing the freshest ingredients and preparing them simply in order to let them shine, the caviar course was our first taste of chef Tramonto's artistic side.

The "staircase" is a series of eight glass slabs fixed around a central axis, with each containing a different type of caviar or garniture. On this particular evening, from top to bottom, we had golden osetra, osetra, salmon roe, wasabi infused whitefish roe, egg whites, egg yolks, onion and capers. In addition, each diner was served a plate of toast points and crème fraiche with chives. This was both visually appealing and delicious. It was really fun to have the "horizontal" of different caviars in front of you and to discuss them all with each other as we sampled each one up and down the staircase.

Up until this point, our dining experience was excellent. Everyone was impressed with the food - both the ingredient and the preparation - and the service was beyond reproach. As with many other high-end restaurants, plates were presented and cleared in unison, dishes were carefully explained, and glasses remained full as if by some invisible hand.

With the presentation of the third course, chef Tramonto crossed the Rubicon.

Our server began laying out serving pieces for each of the six of us and eyebrows began to rise when many of the utensils did not match. We were about to say something, when he returned with different wine glasses and different bottles of wine for each of us.

It was then that we realized that he intended to serve each of the six of us a different dish - and pair it with a different wine.

"P" had a duo of fish tartare, avocado salsa, seaweed salad, potato gaufrette
"R" had an octopus carpaccio, teardrop tomatoes, micro arugula and olive vinaigrette
"M" had a chilled peeky toe crab salad, plantain puree, cilantro lime vinaigrette
"S" had the chef's sushi plate, soy reduction and wasabi
"K" had seared yellow fin tuna, tapenade, potato confit, carmellini beans and shaved radish
And I had the deconstructed Wagyu beef tartare, caper berries, white anchovy, quail egg, consommé gelee

All of these were excellent, but my Wagyu beef tartare was head and shoulders above the rest. The beef itself was a bright red and well marbled and served in a tower topped with a raw quail egg yolk and white anchovies. The caper berries and a wide swath of black truffle vinaigrette completed the dish. All of these very strong flavors competed for attention, but were in perfect harmony when combined in one bite. The consommé gelee was a bit out of place. It offered a bit of artistic flare (several translucent cubes off to the bottom left of the composition) as well as displayed the kitchen's technical skills (ask anyone who has ever tried to siphon consommé how much fun it can be to prepare), but just sort of sat there, staring at the rest of the dish.

Still glowing from the revelation of the third course, we noticed that we were all presented with the same utensils for the fourth course. Oh well. You can't really expect the chef to serve six different tasting menus at the same table, but it was fun for one course.

Then, several of us received very different wine glasses - and a stunning array of mismatched wines: Sauternes, Tokaji Azu, Berenauslesse, etc. As the next course arrived, we realized that each of the six of us was being served a different preparation of foie gras, with a wine paired accordingly.

"P" had seared foie gras with coconut emulsion and roasted pineapple
"R" had seared foie gras with brioche French toast, banana chutney and chocolate sauce
"M" had seared foie gras with steel-cut oats, blueberry compote and aged maple syrup
"S" had seared foie gras with vanilla-apple puree, apple macadamia nut salad and caramelized emulsion
"K" had seared foie gras with peach and basil marmalade, fried tarragon and duck jus
I had seared foie gras with spring berries and braised red cabbage

All of these were very good - and some were exceptional, both for their creativity and for their successful combination of flavors.

The foie gras, brioche and chocolate sauce was brilliant. The seared foie melted into the chewy brioche and the gamey, nutty flavor of the foie married perfectly with the chocolate sauce. I don't know why I had never seen chocolate paired with foie before (other than the fact that it is completely and utterly, over-the-top, decadent), but more chefs ought to try it.

The steel-cut oats, berries and maple syrup was another excellent pairing with the foie. When considered at the same table with the brioche/foie pairing, the foie with peach marmalade and the foie with vanilla, apples and caramel, I began to think: foie gras - it’s not just for breakfast anymore.

As we sat licking that wonderful combination of foie butter and residual sugar off our lips, our waiter returned with the soup course. Once again, chef Tramonto seemed hell-bent on blowing our minds. Each of us received a different "capuccino style" soup, served in mis-matched Versace coffee cups.

"P" had porcini mushroom
"R" had lobster bisque, served with a spoonful of lobster meat
"M" had corn chowder
"S" had potato leek, with a fin of crispy bacon protruding from inside the cup
"K" had cream of asparagus
I had curried cauliflower

Again, there was not a dud in the entire lineup. Each soup was unique, true to its "form" and provided a nice intermezzo before the arrival of the main courses.

By now, we realized that we were truly experiencing a remarkable meal. We gave up trying to guess at what might be served next and completely surrendered to chef Tramonto's genius.

By the arrival of the sixth course, we had grown accustomed to having a variety of different utensils and wines on the table and just sat back and marveled at the breadth of dishes we were witnessing.

"P" had hamachi with baby bok choy, bamboo rice and ginger cream sauce
"R" had roasted Columbia river sturgeon with braised oxtail and spiced carrot puree
"M" had grilled dourade with English pea spaetzle and foie gras consommé
"S" had grilled swordfish with escargot, fingerling potatoes, olives, white anchovy and herb-butter emulsion
"K" had roasted wild Alaskan salmon with squash puree and potato gnocchi
I had roasted halibut with Israeli couscous, marcona almonds and lemon confit

Each time a course came out, we would take a few bites and then begin passing them wildly back and forth.

The sturgeon with oxtail and carrot puree was a heavy, solid presentation that played up the oily, fishy flavor of the sturgeon, rather than dance around it. The dourade with English pea spaetzle was a very simple dish that screamed "summer." The Alaskan salmon with squash puree and gnocchi was terrific comfort food, with the fat of the salmon mixing with the sweetness of the squash and the chewy, doughy potato gnocchi.

Once again, I was partial to my dish, the halibut. It was finished tableside with a tomato broth that played off the lemon confit and added just enough acidic bite to make the halibut come to life. I ended up essentially licking the bowl clean.

As a reminder, it is worth noting that by now, we had been served four amuse, four caviar, six different starters (one each), six different foie gras (one each), six different soups (one each) and six different fish courses (one each).

Nearing the end of this culinary marathon, we had to dig deep and prepare ourselves for the seventh course.

"P" had Millbrook farms venison saddle with summer fruits and vegetables and red wine-pepper sauce
"R" had roasted squab with lemongrass-sunchoke puree, chanterelles and ginger-foie gras sauce
"M" had espresso-roasted quail with salad of hazelnuts, cippolini onions and figs with sauce aigre-doux
"S" had assiete of pork: loin and bread stuffing , rillettes and great northern beans
"K" had Elysian fields lamb saddle with marmalade of peas, pearl onions, lettuce and merguez sausage
I had braised beef short ribs with Thumbelina carrots, parsnip puree and natural jus

As we get farther into this meal (and the subsequent wine pairings), it is harder to remember every detail, but there were a few standouts here as well.

The venison with red wine, pepper sauce was outstanding. The venison was tender, served very red in the center and married well with the red wine and pepper flavors - a classic combination.

The squab was an intricate combination that married the gamey squab with classic accompaniments. We have all seen squab served with mashed potatoes, chanterelles and foie sauce (or some other rich gravy). Chef Tramonto has taken this classic and contorted it, by using sunchoke puree (Jerusalem artichokes) in lieu of potatoes and perfuming them with lemongrass. The trick is taken a step farther by flavoring the foie sauce with ginger. The result is a decidedly southeast Asian twist on a northern hemisphere dish.

The espresso roasted quail with hazelnuts, cippolini and figs worked very well, with the aigre-doux reinforcing the juxtaposition between the cippolini and the figs. The lamb with "marmalade of peas" was another great expression of summer's bounty. Finally, the short ribs on parsnip puree were heaven on a plate - there is a reason he did not serve that dish to the same person who had the Alaskan salmon with squash puree and potato gnocchi in the prior course.

For the cheese course, they wheeled in a trolley with dozens of cheeses and breads to choose from and offered each of us a selection of three. Realizing that we were all dangerously full, we opted to select nine or so from the group and each try just a taste of them all.

I remember a very ripe Livarot (aren't they all) and an exceptional Spanish blue, but to be perfectly honest, by this point, we were all a little flush and mouths began to hang open out of near exhaustion.

After a little breather, the dessert courses began to arrive. That's right - I said dessert courses, in the plural.

Like the grand finale at the end of a fireworks display, the pastry kitchen unleashed a torrent of sweet confections that built to one, final crescendo of the evening.

Each of us was served a two-part dessert, with ice cream and berries on the left and pots de crème on the right. As I recall, the men received vanilla ice cream with a coffee/caramel pot d'crème and the women received a cinnamon ice cream with a deliciously dark, chocolate pot d'crème (again, apologies for foggy details, I was quite literally at my mental and physical limits at this point - and poised to go straight past them).

Just as we were tucking into these, each of us received an individual soufflé, either blueberry or a sort of "smores" soufflé (chocolate soufflé with melted marshmallow on top and a tiny graham cracker garnish). Each soufflé matched the other dessert courses, was perfectly prepared, and completely unnecessary.

As we rounded the corner and began to push away our various dessert plates, we were served miniature root beer floats. Picture an old fashioned shot glass, with the tiniest scoop of vanilla ice cream floating in a thick, syrupy root beer, with a miniature straw sticking out of it. It was a little silly, but delicious and the little bit of carbonation helped to wash away the sweetness of the other desserts.

As we sat, alternately moaning and sipping coffee, they wheeled in the trolley of mignardises and lollipops. This was a collection of a dozen or so small cookies, lollipops and other confections (somehow, candied grapefruit wound up on my plate). A few of us made selections, if for no reason other than to be polite.

Finally, in one last attempt to ensure us all a trip directly to Dante's third circle, we were presented with a selection of chocolates.

These came around the table on a three-tiered silver serving plate and we were each encouraged to make selections. All of these were made in-house and ran the gamut in terms of the variety of colors and flavor combinations.

There was a white chocolate streaked with purple, which had been infused with lavender. There was another streaked with orange that was orange-flavored and another, with red stripes, that was imbued with chili pepper. Those were the only three that I could force down - more out of curiosity than anything else - but there were eight or nine different flavors to choose from.

At the end of the meal, we were presented with menus commemorating the evening and as we trundled out the front door, each of us was given a package of Cannelés (like a vanilla and rum scented, miniature French cruller from Dunkin' Donuts).

The inscription described the laborious process of making these delightful, ancient cakes from Bordeaux, and suggested that we consume them the next morning, "so that the memory of tonight's meal may linger."