The Iron Gate (DC - DuPont)

A variety of unflattering and often contradictory reviews had kept The Iron Gate low on my list of restaurants to try. Finally, with the first wave of cool autumnal air bringing relief from the heat and humidity that come with living in a swamp, I decided to give it a try.

The Iron Gate is tucked in just South and East of DuPont Circle and from the outside, looks like a brightly lit alley way. At the end of the alley, you turn right, and the space opens up to reveal a gorgeous little private garden nestled beneath a canopy of grape vines and wisteria. Trickling fountains, stained glass lanterns and votive candles complete the setting, which completely transports diners from the hustle and bustle of city living.

We studied the menu while we enjoyed bread and the house "butter" - a captivating mixture of chick peas, olives, sun dried tomatoes, fresh basil and capers. I could have eaten a bowl of this alone as a main course. What would ordinarily be bland hummus was brought to life with the inclusion of the deep sweetness of the sun dried tomatoes, the bite of the green olives, the metallic tartness of the capers and the mouth cleaning freshness of the basil.

The menu is an eclectic mix of Mediterranean, Continental and Latin influences. For example, how often are stuffed grape leaves, paté and gazpacho listed together as appetizer options?

We sampled the grape leaves, hummus, paté and gazpacho before diving into entrees that included seared tuna, lamb shank, Greek salad and "Cuban style" pork.

The grape leaves and hummus were neither here nor there - I have had both better and worse. The gazpacho was a little too thin for my taste, but was passable. The best thing that I can say about it is that it was NOT just tomato salsa run through a blender. Too many restaurants (and I blame the average American palate more than the chefs on the line) think gazpacho should be an overpoweringly strong mix of garlic and jalapeno. Then again, a light, refreshing, bland, cold soup probably doesn't sell that well (when was the last time you saw a restaurant 86 its vichyssoise?). The paté was served with traditional garnish (cornichon, toast, etc.) and was surprisingly good, but served too cold.

For entrees, I didn't really sample the Greek salad or the lamb shank, but the tuna and the "Cuban style" pork were both fairly good. The tuna arrived seared and still translucent in the center. It was lightly seasoned with olive oil and generally left to its own devices.

The "Cuban style" pork (previously recommended to me as a house specialty) was more accurately the "garlic" pork. An otherwise tough cut of pork was forced into submission by a long braising process that involved a lot of salt and several knobs of garlic. It was a unique dish that I enjoyed, but is not for the timid or weak of stomach.

I think you will find me back at the Iron Gate when the weather warms up again this spring. It is such a lovely setting that I will give its eclectic, mediocre food a pass. I will be the guy with a chilled bottle of wine, a basket of bread and a bowl of the house "butter."

Jammin' Joe's Bar-B-Que (VA - New Baltimore)

Tucked away on the side of Route 29, a scant seven miles south of Route 66, is some outstanding Bar-B-Que. There, amid children's jungle gyms and storage sheds, sits a trailer and two large smokers, humbly turning out delicious pork, chicken and trimmings.

At first, Jammin' Joe's flew under the radar screen - kept afloat primarily by the New Baltimore Fire Department and a few locals looking to outsource their Sunday dinners. I have been stopping at Jammin' Joe's for years and it has been a pleasure to watch them grow, but the secret is now out.

For a roadside Bar-B-Que stand, the menu is a bit confusing. It consists of just ribs, chicken, pulled pork sandwiches and trimmings (baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad, etc.), but in a dizzying array of combinations and permutations.

Do I want the pulled pork sandwich for $6.95 and a side of beans for $1.95, or should I just get the pulled pork sandwich platter - which comes with two sides - for just $8.95?

If I got the 1/2 chicken and pulled pork sandwich platter (with two sides) for $10.95, would that be enough food for my wife and I?

Put away your Microeconomics textbooks, stop trying to break the pricing and just order whatever you think you can eat. Then order some of the baked beans as well - they're amazing.

I have never had Joe's ribs, but everything else is as authentic as it comes.

The pulled pork is tender, juicy and just a little bit tangy - not at all to be confused with that briny Carolina stuff. Order it as a platter or as a sandwich, but please, if you order it as a sandwich, get the cole slaw ON it - you are, after all, in the Commonwealth now, so try to act the part.

Joe's chicken is excellent as well. He uses real wood and slow cooks them, applying the sauce close enough to the end that he doesn't burn it all off. Inside, the meat is perfectly pink and moist (you will, occasionally see the "ring" that comes from proper BBQ technique). For those of you looking to save your arteries, the chicken is cooked skin-on, but it pulls away easily.

Finally, the crown jewel of Jammin' Joe's, the baked beans. I feel somewhat guilty devoting so much time to a side dish, but these are some of the best and most unique baked beans I have ever had. They are a combination of kidney, black eye and lima beans, all swimming with chunks of bacon in Joe's great sauce. I don't know if they make them in small batches, or just bring them up to temperature in small batches, but somehow, every time I have had them, the various types of beans are all cooked perfectly - like al dente pasta - not too hard, but not turned to mush yet either.

So the next time your travels take you down Route 29, remember to set your odometer as you get off Route 66 - Joes is just seven miles ahead, on the right.

Soon enough, you will be just like me - making excuses to head down that way on the weekends.

Thorton River Grille (VA - Sperryville)

On a recent field trip to Sperryville, VA, I stopped into the Thornton River Grille for lunch.

Normally I grab a sandwich at Sunnyside Farms or try to hold out for some Bar-B-Que on the way back up Route 29, but I was swayed by how enthusiastic some of the locals were about Thornton River Grille.

The restaurant sits at the end of a row of buildings that date back to the early 1800s and have all been completely restored in the past three years. The dining room itself is a simple arrangement, with a dozen of so tables arranged in front of an open kitchen and another few seats at a bar just right of the grill.

This simple veneer completely belies the fantastic food that comes out of that kitchen.

On this Saturday afternoon, we ordered a hamburger and the spicy chicken salad.

The burger is amongst the best around. The Thornton River Grill butchers its own meat and the freshness is very apparent in the quality of the burger. We ordered it rare and it arrived red in the center, soaking the bottom bun with jus as we ate.

The burger was topped with sun dried tomato, avocado and jack cheese. The sun dried tomato is a stroke of genius. Used in lieu of ketchup, the sun dried tomato delivers a potent, concentrated tomato essence without altering the overall consistency or mouth feel of the burger. To get that much tomato flavor with ketchup, you would have to dip the burger in the stuff between bites.

The spicy chicken salad consisted of a blackened chicken breast topped with pepper jack cheese and apple wood smoked bacon with a side of salsa, riding atop an extraordinarily fresh bed of mixed greens tossed in a spicy ranch dressing. This isn't the salad your cardiologist approved, but it is terrific nonetheless.

The warmth of the chicken and melted cheese is tempered by the coolness of salsa, the heat of the blackening seasoning and pepper jack is tempered by the ranch dressing and the dish finishes cleanly courtesy of the bitterness of the arugula mixed in with the greens. The bacon is a completely gratuitous, but welcome addition to the dish.

The Thornton River Grill deserves a spot in your starting rotation as you head out this fall to enjoy the foliage, hike Old Rag and pick apples.

Coppi's Organic (DC - U Street)

Monday evening, we decided to stroll down U Street and see what the fuss and fanfare around the "U Street Corridor Revitalization" was all about.

We dropped in on Coppi's Organic, as much out of hunger as out of the fear that if we walked any farther, we would wind up in Ben's Chili Bowl (and neither of us had packed our statins).

Upon crossing the threshold, you are transported to the old country. The dim lighting, cramped banquettes, black and white cycling photos and wood-fired oven centerpiece make you forget about whatever it was that was going on outside this lovely trattoria.

We settled into our table (we had our run of the place - there were only six tables seated at 8:00), and were about to begin counting our blessings that a gem like this had opened close enough to home to become our "local," when we caught a glimpse of the prices on the menu.

The gnocchi entree was $26. I'm sorry, waiter, I just wanted a plate of potato dumplings, I didn't want to buy the entire bushel of potatoes.

Any reader of these pages knows that I am not afraid to pay up for good food. A disproportionate amount of my household income eventually finds its way down my throat. But I know a rip-off when I see one and this smelled just like it.

My wife eventually talked me down.

The waiter came by to take a drink order while we perused the menu. We ordered a bottle of water and two glasses of Primitivo.

Ten minutes later, we ordered two brick oven pizzas and inquired as to the status of our water and wine.

The waiter returned a few minutes later with some focaccia, olive oil and our glasses of wine. Still no water.

We stopped another waiter on his way by and asked for water - whatever he had - the bottle we had ordered or even a glass of tap - no response.

Only after our pizzas arrived did they manage to bring out our water, at which point they brought both the bottle of water and glasses of tap water.

The first pizza was the crimini mushroom, basil and proscuitto pizza. This was quite good. The bite of fresh basil and rich, fatty saltiness of the proscuitto completely drowned out any mushroom flavor, but it was good nonetheless. Perhaps blindly wasting ingredients on dishes where they will not be tasted is part of what is driving up Coppi's food cost and leading to their nosebleed pricing?

The second pizza was a complicated combination of artichoke heart, roasted red pepper, grilled eggplant and crimini mushroom. This "tapenade on a crust" combination was pleasant, but the red peppers dominated everything else. At first bite, you got the salty undertones of the cheese and later the uber-sweet finish of the roasted red peppers, with little room for anything else.

These were passable pizzas. The clumsiness with which the recipes were concocted was more than made up for in the freshness of the ingredients and the quality of the crust. The soft, pillowy crust may well be the best pizza crust I've had in DC. Then again, I prefer my crust barely golden brown - what most would consider underdone.

When the bill came, we had paid $60 for two small pizzas, two glasses of cheap Primitivo and a bottle of water. This is completely ridiculous.

For the record, Coppi's is charging roughly TWICE as much as 2 Amy's for food that is far inferior.

If Coppi's can get away with charging those prices, for that food, on 14th and U Street, I feel much more secure about the value of my real estate, but I won't be back to eat there again.

Jim's Steaks (PA - Philadelphia, South Street)

As the wedding neared and more friends arrived in town on Saturday, we regaled them with our tales of cheese steak glory the prior evening at Pat's King of Steaks. Encouraged by our success, but wanting to test the hypothesis that Pat's was the definitive cheese steak, we made a sport of asking everyone who would listen where their favorite cheese steak came from.

We soon realized that this was the same as asking people in Baltimore where to go for crabs. Everyone has their own waterman or dive bar that they think serves up the best crabs, but nobody will send a tourist there, so everyone says, "Obrycki's," or, "Bo Brooks."

After a deafening chorus of, "Pat's," and, "Geno's," someone finally said, "Jim's." Everyone wheeled on them and asked, "Where?" and, "Why?"

Before long, we hatched a plan to do a brief walking tour of the area around the old State House culminating on South Street at Jim's. That would give us exactly one hour to run back to the hotel, shower and change before the wedding. The girls protested slightly, so we built in some shopping time on South Street as a concession and struck a deal.

When we arrived at Jim's, there was a line out the front door and around the corner. We quickly joined the queue and positioned ourselves under the grill exhaust, where we stood under a waterfall of air perfumed with fry grease, beef fat and caramelizing onions.

After a half an hour, we had wound our way to the front of the line, where we were met by the jovial line cooks. Unlike the angry, gruff woman at Pat's, these guys were joking, having fun, teasing the customers and still cranking out tons of cheese steaks.

The second major difference between Pat's and Jim's is that almost half of the customers at Jim's ordered Provolone, not Wiz. To melt the Provolone, the guys at Jim's lay the cheese on top of the steak, while it is still on the griddle and then lay the roll on top of it, open-faced. With a deft flick of the wrist, they slide a spatula underneath and flip the entire concoction upside down and onto your plate.

Having had the benefit of watching countless steaks made before my eyes while I waited in line, I knew why Provolone was so popular - Jim's is stingy with the Wiz.

With that in mind, while my wife ordered a "wiz wit," I ordered a, "double wiz wit." All of my friends stared back in confusion, as if, "double wiz wit," were Glossolalia.

We collected our steaks, ordered beers (the third major difference between Pat's and Jim's) and headed upstairs to feast.

Technically speaking, Jim's steaks were nearly identical to Pat's. The only major difference is that at Jim's, they slice the cheese steaks in half, which makes them slightly more manageable that at Pat's. Jim's may also be slightly larger than Pat's, but the difference is negligible.

If you compare wiz wit to wiz wit, Pat's is slightly better, owing to a better ratio of cheese to meat and bread and the fact that their rolls were a bit fresher. Jim's miserly wiz portions and slightly stale bread were big strikes against it. This put my wife squarely in the Pat's camp.

However, if you compare Jim's double wiz wit to Pat's wiz wit, I think you will find that Jim's comes out on top. The melted wiz, fat and jus stream out of the sandwich, roll across the palm of your hand and pool in the wrapper. Towards the end of each half, you can drag the end of the roll through the pooled liquid like a poor man's French dip. By contrast, without the double wiz, Jim's steaks can be a little dry.

I also think the friendly service and liquor license at Jim's help put it on top. Let's face it - cheese steaks were meant to be enjoyed with a beer, not a diet coke.

We emerged from Jim's, fat, happy and realizing that in addition to showering, we needed to burn our clothes because they would forever reek of onions.

So, there you have it - a split decision. I vote for a double wiz wit at Jim's, while my wife votes for the straight up wiz wit at Pat's.

We will demand a recount in December when we return to the City of Brotherly Love for the Army / Navy football game.

Pat's King of Steaks (PA - South Philadelphia)

We were headed to Philadelphia for a wedding and figured we would sneak into town a night early for dinner at Morimoto. At the last minute, my wife suggested that instead of dropping a few hundred dollars on adding another restaurant to our trophy collection, we ought to go find an authentic Philly Cheese steak.

Neither of us had ever had one and I was excited at the prospects of trading another boring night of four star dining for some real culinary adventure.

My wife had done some advance research with a colleague from Philadelphia and I scoured her notes on the train - a jumbled mix of words and addresses with phrases like, "Pat's - claims to be the original," followed by, "order wiz wit," and finally, "cash only - don't forget Geno."

Confused by the notes, which read like a cross between the scripts from A Beautiful Mind and Goodfellas, I began looking for a real live Kurtz the moment we arrived at 30th Street Station. We were in search of THE quintessential Philly Cheese steak and didn't have time to waste on pretenders.

I began with the cab driver. He claimed that Pat's was the best, but confessed that he didn't eat cheese steaks that often. The bellhop at our hotel also suggested Pat's. The hostess at the check-in desk suggested Geno's, but added that, "I really like their French fries," which completely discredited her.

Upstairs, in our room, we ripped through guide books, scrutinized ads in the yellow pages, read tea leaves and contemplated enlisting the services of an Augur before journeying forth into the darkness.

With the power of popular opinion behind Pat's, we hopped in a cab and barked out Pat's coordinates. We knew that if we didn't like the looks of the place, we could always go to Geno's instead - they are located across the street from each other.

As the cab drew closer, the horizon brightened - aided by the hundreds of neon lights dancing above Geno's and the pale glow of the countless florescent tubes illuminating the outdoor seating at both establishments. I felt like I had been had.

This glow-in-the-dark intersection looked like South of the Border dropped in the middle of South Philly. This had tourist trap written all over it.

I surveyed the outside of the two establishments, and as I rounded the corner next to Pat's, that sinking feeling of doubt in the pit of my stomach was replaced by hunger as a wave of caramelizing onions washed across my face.

I grabbed my wife's hand and charged to the counter.

The long line at Pat's gave me time to consider my order. I remembered reading the words, "wiz wit," on the train and now began to understand their previously cryptic meaning.

"Wiz," refers to Cheez Wiz - the preferred dairy accompaniment to a proper Philly Cheese steak. The menu offered Provolone and American as possible alternatives, but it was authenticity we were chasing, so "Wiz" it was.

The "Wit," portion of the cipher referred to whether or not you wanted onions. In Philly, nobody orders, "with onions." Instead, they bark, "wit," which causes any cheese steak jockey worth his or her salt to add onions to your "steak wiz."

After practicing this new language over and over in my head, I approached the Charon-esque woman behind the counter and recited an overly rehearsed and somewhat canned request for, "two wiz wit." She nodded in understanding and wheeled around to begin assembling the cheese steaks.

Next to her was a pile of sub rolls, a vat of warm Cheez Wiz and a griddle that had to measure at least six feet long. Piled high on either side of the griddle were towers of raw steak and sliced onion. In between these two towers was a veritable Death Valley of caramelizing onions and frying steaks. The fat pouring out of the steaks had pooled in the center and the result was that the onions and raw steak more or less braised in the runoff - rather than frying on a clean griddle.

Charon grabbed a sub roll, slathered it with Cheez Wiz and then stuffed a mound of steak and onions into it. She repeated this process and thrust the two creations back at me through the window.

Buoyed by my mastery of the Philly lexicon and perceiving more of a rapport than I had actually established, I then said, "thanks - we also need an order of fries and two diet cokes." She stared back at me blankly, shot out her open palm and said, "$9.80." I said, "What about the fries and the drink?" She barked back, "next window - $9.80 for the steaks."

Completely crest-fallen, I paid and sulked to the next window to collect my fries and sodas. Once I paid the cashier at that window (I'm still not sure why they make it two transactions), we grabbed a seat and began to tuck in.

I was at first surprised by the size of Pat's cheese steaks. Pat's steaks are only about three inches wide and about seven inches long. These were not the monstrous, foot long, six inch wide imposters you sometimes encounter elsewhere. At these dimensions, they more closely resemble a French baguette sandwich than anything that Subway or Quizno's can churn out.

Each bite revealed salty Cheez Wiz and tender bits of steak, finished by the clean sweetness of the onions. The liberal amounts of fat and jus melted into the bread, converting an otherwise average white loaf into a sort of chewy, beef flavored bread pudding.

Pat's is the real deal. After years of churning out good cheese steaks, they have perfected the ratio of bread to meat to cheese and onion. This ensures that every bite of your Pat's cheese steak will include equal portions of all of the ingredients.

We mopped up the last of the melted Cheez Wiz and jus and sat back, basking in the afterglow, convinced that we had found, "the one."

Rocklands (DC - Georgetown)

Question: What to do when you have a dozen friends coming over on a weeknight, but you get home too late to cook for them?

Answer: Rocklands BBQ

A few weeks ago, my wife and I were getting ready for bed, when we realized that she had a dozen friends coming over for "book club" the following evening and we hadn't done a thing to prepare for it. After a few moments of frenzied recipe review, it came to me - we would outsource our cooking to Rocklands.

The next evening, she called in the order when I was on my way home from work and 30 minutes later, they had a big order waiting for me. Ten more minutes later, the girls were dining on ribs, BBQ chicken, cole slaw, potato salad and everyone's favorite, the macaroni and cheese.

I have always been a casual admirer of Rocklands - eaten in a few times - carried out occasionally for a quick weeknight dinner - but this was the first time that they had come to my rescue in a catering emergency.

As always, they were up to the task. I walked in, past the long line of people waiting to place orders, gave them my name, swiped my credit card and then they helped me to my car with a bread rack full of food.

At Rocklands, they slow cook the meat over hickory and then bring it up to temperature later, after you place your order. This ensures that your order is hot, but also still tender and juicy. They also go to the trouble of splitting the ribs and breaking the whole chickens into individual serving sizes before wrapping them up for you.

[NOTE: The one drawback of their reheating approach is that they tend to mop on a lot of sauce and apply high heat when they are bringing the meat up to temperature. What this gains in terms of preserving the texture of the meat, it loses by burning the sauce. Too often the overwhelming initial impression from Rocklands chicken and ribs is that of charcoal. If they laid off the sauce until after firing the meat, then mopped it on hot, they would get the same result, without the charring.]

With respect to side orders, I am partial to the applesauce, braised collards (with just a bit of bacon tossed in) and Texas corn pudding, but on this particular evening, the macaroni and cheese prevailed.

This is a sinfully rich, creamy version of the classic dish, made with large shells and what appears to be Velveeta. During the cooking process, some of the cheese on top browns. This is later broken up and arrives on your plate as incorporated crunchy, salty morsels. I could eat a pint of this stuff on my own if I had no fear of heart disease.

Next time you are in a pinch, expand your horizons (and your waist line) with some help from the guys at Rocklands.

Mike's (MD - Edgewater)

We stopped into Mike's on Labor Day because we were just too knackered from our weekend pig roast to actually steam our own crabs. Mike's is one of our favorite crab haunts - fast, friendly, no fuss, beautiful waterfront setting and always great steamed crabs.

Much to our surprise, they were completely sold out of crabs - at 6:00 on Labor Day.

It took a minute for it to sink in, but then I resigned myself to actually reading their menu. After dozens of trips to Mike's, I had never bothered to glance at the thing. Typically it is, "a few dozen of the largest you have, onion rings, fries and a pitcher of whatever's coldest."

We ordered a pound of steamed shrimp to pick over while we mulled over the choices. The shrimp were good - not great - but I have certainly had far worse. They were smallish - about the size of your pinkie finger - but well seasoned and tender. Too often steamed shrimp come out the consistency of those pink rubber erasers, but thankfully, this was not the case at Mike's.

Consensus at the table seemed to be to stay in the crab theme, so it was crab cake and soft shell crab sandwiches all around.

The crab cakes were massive - the size of softballs - and packed with some of the biggest chunks of jumbo lump I have ever seen. They were also very light on filler - mostly just crab meat and some binder - nary a bread crumb to be seen - and broiled to a golden brown perfection.

Unfortunately, they were also amongst the worst tasting crabcakes I have ever had.

Behind this Potemkin village of size, color and texture was a bland mound of mush that was almost completely devoid of any flavor at all. Quite honestly, I don't know how they pulled this off. I couldn’t even taste the crab meat itself. When crab cakes go wrong, it is usually lesser quality meat, too much filler/binder, too much seasoning, or God forbid, the inclusion of green peppers.

Never before have I have a crab cake LOOK so perfect and taste so wrong. My only guess is that they used some combination of frozen lump crab meat and forgot to season the binder at all. This was a colossal disappointment.

The soft shell crab sandwiches that half of our party had ordered were outstanding. Two soft shell crabs, very lightly dredged and sautéed, each measuring between five and six inches across arrived between perfectly fresh wonder bread.

These were tender, juicy crabs exploding with flavor and freshness and served on bread so soft that it stuck to your teeth as you bit into it. Fortunately, the portions were large enough that they shared with those of us who had unwisely chosen the crab cakes.

The silver lining in this otherwise uneven trip to Mike's is that everyone had plenty of room left for dessert. At Mike's, they serve ice cream, pies, etc. but the real draw is their "nutty buddy cone."

These mammoth ice cream cones feature a sugar cone, filled with vanilla soft serve ice cream, dipped in chocolate and then rolled in peanuts. They measure over ten inches from bottom to top and are so large that they now arrive on their side, in bowls, with spoons. Whatever you do, don't pass these up.

I would still like to get another round of steamed crabs under my belt before they stop running this season. Hopefully Mike's won't be sold out next time, because I would hate to have to brave the line of luxury cars with Baltimore area private school window decals over at Cantler's.

Sweet Licks (DC - DuPont)

This appropriately named, basement level ice cream parlor is a neighborhood favorite.

The quirky combination of soft serve frozen yogurt, milkshakes, pastries, dog treats, coffee drinks and unique flavors of hand dipped ice cream, while dizzying at first blush, offers a bit of something for everyone.

On a typical night you can find - at the same table - someone on the Atkins diet enjoying low-carb frozen yogurt, someone who is lactose intolerant enjoying sorbet, a dog quietly mooching on a biscuit and a couple diving into a sinfully sweet banana split.

My favorite flavors are the white chocolate blueberry (white chocolate ice cream with blueberries) and mango sorbet (some of the best around).

The proximity to Hank's makes it a no-brainer after a meal there and the tables outside make for great people watching.

So stop by the next time you are in the neighborhood – even if your friends snicker at the name.

Hank's Oyster Bar (DC - DuPont)

We stopped into Hank's Thursday night for a casual dinner with some friends.

You have no idea how nice it is to be able to say this. 14th Street has become a culinary wasteland of bar food and ethnic takeout joints against which Hank's is the sole beacon of hope for those seeking a "neighborhood" restaurant.

Our party of four began with a light-hearted bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, an order of fried oysters and a dozen oysters on the half shell.

I have showered praise upon Chef Leeds' fired oysters elsewhere and these were more of the same. Light, crispy, crunchy shells just barely able to contain the soft, moist oyster.

The half shells were good as well - served at the peak of freshness and offering a good variety of both species and geography. If you closed your eyes (and swapped that foofy wine for a bottle of Dixie or Abita) you could almost feel like you were sitting in Casamento's.

For entrees, my wife and I ordered the seared white tuna with peach salsa and sautéed soft shell crabs with citrus buerre blanc as well as a side order of sautéed spinach. Everything was outstanding.

The white tuna was a massive cube of fish that more closely resembled filet mignon. It had been seared on all six sides and was still just barely above room temperature on the inside - exactly how my wife had requested it. The accompanying peach salsa was a simple mix of fresh peaches, tomatoes and lemon juice that paired very well with the tuna.

The soft shell crabs were excellent as well. They were simply sautéed and then dressed with a citrus butter. The acidity in the citrus helped cut the sweetness in the crab, which is why this has become a classic pairing.

The sautéed spinach is straight out of Grammercy Tavern - high heat, toss the spinach with a few cloves of garlic, remove from the heat before it wilts and dress with sea salt and lemon juice. Perfect. Michael Romano would be proud.

Chef Leeds still does not serve dessert at Hank's, so after we mopped up the last of the citrus butter and peach salsa, we settled up and headed up the street for dessert at Sweet Licks.

Hank's continues to deliver. I can hardly wait to see what Chef Leeds does with clam chowder, oyster stew and cioppino, now that the weather is turning cooler.