Kakawa Chocolate House (Santa Fe)

It was worth 9 hours in the traveling chair to arrive in Santa Fe if only for the experience at Kakawa Chocolate House. Kakawa is a chocolate shop within walking distance of central downtown Santa Fe and within sight of the famous Canyon Road art gallerias. After a day of wandering and a Reflexology spa treatment, Mom and I decided we needed to indulge further. At the suggestion of Fodor's, we ventured to Kakawa

The ancient people of Mesoamerica used kakawa (a Nahuatl word, translated as cacao) in elixirs. They believed that it was food from the gods and only those of high-status were allowed to consume it. Cortez discovered chocolate when visiting the great Aztec Emperor, Montezuma, and brought it back to Europe where sweetened versions of the elixirs were formulated.

There are two types of recipes for the elixirs brewed here. Mesoamerican and European. The Mesoamerican elixirs are brewed to recipes thousands of years old and are for those who prefer a bittersweet, spicy experience. Throughout mesoamerica, chocolate was primarily mixed with water and made into highly spiced aromatic unsweetened drinks and considered to be the sacred and favorite elixir of the rulers and warriors.

Among the list are Atole, Acuyo, Aztec Warrior, Chili, Mayan full spice, pepper allspice, rose almond and zapoteca. Only a few of each are offered each day.

I opted for the Atole, which had a kick of an after taste that lingered in my mouth. It combines the staff of life, roasted blue corn with chocolate. Ingredients include purified water, blue corn atole, unsweetened chocolate, honey, chili and salt.

Fodors recommended the Aztec Warrior Chocolate Elixir, which after a sampling was such a unique concoction -- but far to potent for me. It had unsweetened chocolate, herbs, flowers, nuts, spices, pasilla de oaxaca chili and mexican vanilla.

Mom chose from the European list: "Chocolate will never be the same for me after sampling the Marie Antoinette elixir and the gluten free chocolate torte. For a common chocolatier like me, the decision was easy - non-dairy please. The torte defined decadent. Imagine chocolate the texture of butter, trimmed in raspberry compote. It's true, the shared slice was far too rich for me... "

The Marie Antoinette is one of the European chocolate elixirs brewed for those they are named after. This recipe of course comes from the french court of Versailles during the reign of Marie Antoinette in the 1770s. Marie brought her own liking and recipe from drinking chocolate with her from Vienna to the Royal Court of France. The drink had 70% chocolate, almond milk, orange blossom water, raw unprocessed cane sugar, ceylon cinnamon, mexican vanilla and culinary orange blossom essential oil.

We went back for a second time today, both mom and I trying European elixirs. I had the Italian Citrus that harkens back to the Italian court of Tuscany in the 1660s. It had a deep, mysterious and bright chocolate flavor made from Chocolate, lemon and orange peel, raw cane sugar, ceylon cinnamon, mexican vanilla and Ambergris essential oil.

While there, we also sampled some coconut milk and a raspberry peach pie that had the best crust known to man.

The owner of Kakawa, Peter Wolf, will delight you in the history of chocolate and its health benefits. He is more than happy to sample all of his flavors with you, educating you on their recipe. He reminded me of a bohemian version of Carrie-Anne Moss character from the 2000 movie Chocolat. He's been operating this shop for the past 5 years.

The shop itself is convenient to all the beautiful galleries of Santa Fe and a great place to stop for a morning or afternoon libation. It's a cozy place with local art displayed on the walls where one is inspired to linger over chocolate for hours.

I should also mention that the elixirs are not the only thing on the menu. Mark has a full case of truffles and other chocolates available with unique flavors such as Rosemary or Basil truffles. I tried both of these. The basil being the more savory of the two. I also had a smoked rock salt caramel, which had the "Ohmygod" factor to it... taking in the smokey smell of the salt as I bit into it.

I asked the proprietor for a recipe book to bring to my friend Mark Hare, an accomplished chocolate maker himself to share these elixir recipes, but alas, no such book exists yet. He's working on it though.

www.kakawachocolates.com

Acadiana

To celebrate Steph’s promotion to Colonel, I gathered together with three former coworkers turned good friends for a night out at Acadiana on New York and 9th. A lovely day, it was still a bit chilly for al fresca dining so we opted for an inside table as soon as our party gathered. Steph was running a bit late, so Jen, Jackie and I waited at the bar where they had a decent number of Abitas on tap. I chose a gin and basil cocktail though from their signature menu which I do not recommend. Tart.

Waiting, I tried to pinpoint the type of person who would enjoy frequenting this restaurant and the only thing that came to mind was: tourist. Nothing about the restaurant read DC: from the Cajun menu to the bland décor in an odd location overpowered by more Caps fans than Cap and Traders or trendsetters.

When Steph finally arrived, we took our seats where an overly ambitious waiter tried to take my unfinished drink from me at the risk of his tip. What I needed was food though. Thankfully, the biscuits came out complimented by a strange honey and mayonnaise concoction sure to turn my stomach later, but too good to resist now. Scarffing down a second basket of biscuits, my starter trio of soups arrived. I was the only one to order an appetizer, but at Darryl’s recommendation, I needed to try this dish. They were off to a bad start and I wanted a positive.

Each soup came in a tiny square demitasse lined horizontally along a long plate. The first was a tomato-based soup that the waiter pronounced 3 times to my complete lack of comprehension. Tangy and ok. The second soup was a crab and corn bisque which was probably my favorite of the three. Creamy with a slight kick. I unfortunately saved the worst for last: a chicken gumbo overly peppered with smoky, uncomplimentary spices.

My main dish was the snapper with pine nuts. Mistake. First, I am deathly afraid of any fish that may have fish bones in it from a childhood incident where I watched my father choke half to death on a fish bone stuck in his throat. If only… I digress. Plus, such fish is sometimes served with the head still on, especially at ethnic places. If any animal comes out on my plate still looking like the animal it once was, it is sure to head straight back to the kitchen. Nevertheless, it is rare for me to order such a fish, but I do like a snapper and I don’t find snapper on the east often. This means the restaurant is either adept at importing pacific fish and likely has its own fisheries, or my snapper was frozen and trucked across country as if I ordered it in Omaha. I have this thing about ordering fish when I’m not near water. So what made this dish even worse than the risk of ordering a boney fish? Every pine nut I crunched in my mouth I thought was a bone. And one was actually a bone. So I was forced to turn the fish into the consistency of the mashed sweet potatoes that accompanied the dish before forking its way to my mouth. It was also served with swiss chard which I didn’t touch and supposedly doused in a citrus butter, which didn’t come through. The final thing that made this dish such a bad choice was it came skin on and skin up. Fish skin. Seriously? Perhaps chef Brant Tesky learned this was a fancy way to serve up snapper, but it just reads “fish with head still on it.”

Everybody else seemed to enjoy their meal. Steph in her uncomplicated description of her blackened redfish, covered in a crab sauce, called it “good.” Jackie had the duck, which she described as tangy and citrus based: neither flavor was in the menu description. And poor Jen, who is not a seafood fan, was faced with limited menu choices. She ended up with a grilled romaine salad. Yes, the lettuce was actually grilled. She liked it. I found it strange. The macerated figs and farmers cheese made it for her, although I prefer to macerate my own food versus the restaurant doing it for me.

Neither I or Jen thought to check the menu beforehand as we normally do to ensure there are enough choices for a younger palette. In this case, there were not enough choices. They had every flavor of fish imaginable, but only one steak dish and not a lick of chicken on the menu. Call me crazy, but Cajun ought to have some chicken. Hello Popeyes! Which is exactly where I’ll have to go the next time I crave Cajun in DC because Acadiana is permanently off my list.

Bad service. Crappy drinks. Scary fish. No menu variety. Bland décor. And lets just add the fact it is in a neighborhood with the new 10pm meters as if it were some sort of real destination dining establishment. Insulting. The only compliment I can give Acadiana are its biscuits, but really: how hard is it to pop some pilsburys in the oven and douse them in honey. I can do that at home.

I was so disappointed that a place related to a couple of my favorites, namely Ceiba and DC Coast, could produce such a meal. I’m not surprised for the bad service given the relation to my nemesis restaurant TenPehn, but come on guys!

Thankfully the evening was rescued by my great company.

http://www.acadianarestaurant.com/

Masa 14 (Logan Circle)

Standing in line at the Black Cat one night in September, the sidewalk was alive with contractors traversing between their trucks and a new destination on 14th Street. Curious, I peeked in and saw a long bar (the longest in DC, so their web site claims), sleek wood contrasted with concrete décor, and red lamps dotting the air between tables and the ceiling. WOW! This is too high class for this neighborhood was my initial thought.

On a second examination last night, though, there were some unique details that brought the place down from my too-posh first impression like the chopsticks in a glass of lentils as table center pieces, and tequila bottles instead of art on the barren brick walls. Yet these details made the place more approachable for the neighborhood, allowing the vibe to attract both the hip trendsetters mixing with the common folk.

Drawing the U Street bohemian crowd down and the Logan Circle stylish metrosexuals up, Masa 14 bridges the neighborhoods with a concept already tried in Logan by the failed Merkado, but executed fantastically by Masa 14 – the fusion of Asian and Latin, yet here with small plates. I never forgave Merkado for that Fred Flintstone lamb shank they tried to serve me on my birthday, and that was the beginning of their downfall, allowing Masa to give the concept another, more refined shot in this neighborhood.

Not having done my research, I could sense a faint resemblance to another favorite of mine, Zengo, in Chinatown… and it turns out that sense was because chef Richard Sandoval’s dominion includes both restaurants. Masa, though, has a co-owner: Washington chef Kaz Okochi of Kaz Sushi Bistro downtown. The final leg in the chef tripartite here is Antonio Burrell of Vidalia.

An asian latin fusion on small plates… so tired and 2004. Hell, Wok-a-mole in San Antonio has been around since the 90s! How is this still trendy you ask? Well… it wasn’t simply the menu that was fused, it was the dishes themselves.

Case in point: The pulled beef tostada. Cilantro, peanuts, bean sprouts, cotija cheese and guacamole… it was like eating pad thai with guacamole on Mexican chips. A surprisingly fantastic combination where the competing ingredients ended up complementing each other versus distracting the two influences.

Our evening also saw the green curry chicken which was a bit too spicy for my taste, the Wagyu beef brisket, the crunchy shrimp (whose chipotle aioli had a kick as well, but great flavor), and the barbecued salmon (punctuated by large, juicy bacon bits). Also try the Yucca fries, which I didn’t see on the menu, but came with some sort of potent, citrusy mayo that is not to be missed.

The evening of course started off with cocktails at the bar. I chose a Red Star which is a signature drink there containing Herradura, Chambord, agave nectar, blackberry puree and lime juice. After my first pleasing sip, I asked the bartender what exactly was Herradura. Tequila! Oops… Tequila on a Thursday night? It’s going to be a long night! I highly recommend this drink. Not-so, however, do I recommend their caipirinha. Bland and boring.

The evening ended with a cocoa flan topped with a bit of peanut brittle, which was a disappointing and unnecessary ending to my otherwise unforgettable meal. I’m not a cheesecake fan and unfortunately my flan was less flanny and more cakey. My friend Darryl whom I dined with had the sesame ice cream, which I tried and didn’t care for. Some things just shouldn’t be fused. Go to your spice cabinet and down a shot of sesame seeds. Does that sound remotely appealing? The manage a trois of chefs needs to keep working on their desserts.

The service was adequate and forgettable, which as I’ve said before is neither a bad or good thing. I would recommend that the place could use an upgrade on their uniforms to professionalize their service and put their busboys in a uniform as well. All black would be so much more appealing than the rolls of fat ass in too-tight jeans and an ill-advised, messy gray t-shirt clad girl I was forced to look at bussing the table next to us.

Despite the two sour notes at the end, I highly recommend this place. Make your reservations early. Masa 14 is a hotspot. But if opentable cannot accommodate, give them a call. http://www.masa14.com/ Next time, I’m trying the octopus, which I’m told is less calamari and more meaty, and the banh mi, which Tom Sietsema bragged on.

Chelsea Grill (Hells Kitchen, NY)

Being as my Reserve job is now located in Manhattan, I’ve decided to include my restaurant outings in New York on my blog here too. While most of my readers are in DC, it is just a megabus ride away…

Upon the recommendation of my friend Adam, I ventured over to Hells Kitchen for the Chelsea Grill. My instructions to him were to find a place laid back, nice, ethnic but not spicey. I don’t think you can call Chelsea Grill ethnic, but anywhere you go in NY has a diverse vibe so… perhaps that was the interpretation.

A Google search for Chelsea Grill will bring you to a place in Chelsea that has since closed and relocated to Hells Kitchen on 9th between 46th and 47th.

The drink menu was a step above the standard. I opted for something with elderberry liquor that tasted like a capriana, but wasn’t. I would have been just as comfortable with a beer here as a fancy cocktail with the relaxed ambiance.

I sat on a padded bench along the exposed brick wall near the windowed entrance. A long bar with tiffany-looking lamps hanging over it led the rest of the way down the restaurant dotted with two-tops throughout the space. Behind my head was a very HOT pipe. Steam, hot water… I don’t know, but it added to the complete lack of pomp and stripped down décor of the place.

For dinner, I chose the grilled shrimp and ratatouille which was presented by the kitchen as if this were a high falootin’ restaurant. Mighty tasty and the shrimp were huge. The ratatouille was piled high, chunked larger than I’d expect and cooked enough to not be hard, but not be mush.

This was truly a neighborhood establishment. The waitress joked with the table for one next to us where a man was seated who had flowers. “For me?” … Sure… he handed the bouquet over to her referencing a bodega on the way home where he could get more. Only in New York.

Birch and Barley (Logan Circle)

What does the 14^th Street revolution need? More places you can casually lounge. Fortunately Birch and Barley with its upstairs bar, Churchkey, moved into the space formerly known as Hamburger Mary’s and Dakota Cowgirl (Fanning). Mary and Dakota were both burger joints where you could order a plethora of fried things and drink cheap. When they left, a vibe left the neighborhood too. At about the same time, the leather bar above them also left.

What replaced both is a combination of neighborhood gems that raised the ante on their predecessors. Upstairs is a bustling bar with so many beer choices they needed a beer director—50 on tap and a truckload of choices in bottles. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a place that required a beer director. The beer menu was intimidating, fortunately a beer connoisseur sitting in front of us helped navigate us to a white German beer of which I never heard the name, but thoroughly enjoyed. It was almost like champagne. I highly recommend a few tastes. Click here to check out their current menu. It is hard to believe this transformed bright and busy space was once a sticky hot mess filled with assless-chapped furry daddies. Ok, so that was a stereotype. I didn’t see any assless-chapped daddies there when I played trivia in Churkey’s former iteration, Titan… but there were plenty of assless-chapped daddies on the sidewalk on this particular occasion, in town for a leather convention and were not informed this upscale straight bar replaced their former watering hole. Only in our nation’s capital… It provided an added level of humor to an already sidesplitting night with my dinner companions: Jen, Monica, Ty, Dre and Mary El.

But we were not there to enjoy the happy hour, only upstairs to wait for our table. When the beeper buzzed, we were directed to the front window of the restaurant, which seemed more like a glass garage door and made a chilly winter night a pseudo sidewalk al fresco dining experience. As I had a view outside, those facing me got to view a killer interior design punctuated by a number of floating lights that could have been inspired by Harry Potter’s great hall. Gorgeous and simple.

Our spunky waitress explained the two dining options. The first, which they were clearly pushing, was their tasting menu with beer pairings. It didn’t get past me that the menus were all placed tasting menu side up with the Restaurant week menu on the back. The only thing that appealed to me on that menu was the Gnocchi al Forno with tomato coriander sauce and house cured pancetta, although the figgy pudding was certainly intriguing, as I’d only ever seen it before in a Christmas carol. Who knew figgy pudding was an actual dish?

Chef Kyle Bailey, though, really put out decent options for the three-course price fixed restaurant week menu. For my first course, I chose the crispy polenta in a mushroom ragu with artichoke hearts and taleggio fonduta. The mushrooms were fantastic and diverse. I also tasted the vialone nano risotto which came out crimson, flavored by beets and sprinkled with goat cheese – a creatively re-thought interpretation of flavors most serve as a salad. The port-glazed fig flatbread was also quite good, but should have been described with onions. I like onions, but Jen doesn’t and had to send it back.

For my main course, I was between the Brat Burger and Braised Pork Cheeks. I would have loved to try a different dish given half the table ordered the pork cheeks, but I couldn’t resist the description with their stone ground white grits, parsnips and pearl onions. The cheeks were by far the tenderest meat I’ve ever eaten and all the flavors were delectable. Certainly a memorable dish for its creativity, but not something I need to rush out and try to recreate at home.

For desert, I chose the Meyer Lemon Cream with meringue, huckleberry sorbet and basil, which was good but totally forgettable, as were the other options the table ordered including the chocolate glazed donut with coffee ice cream. Dre ordered the Tete De Moine Cow’s Milk Cheese with apple butter and walnuts despite the waitress’s warnings it wasn’t the optimum choice. It tasted like eating shaved butter.

Overall, I give Birch and Bailey serious props for their creativity and diversity on their menu. For that, I can forgive the slight failures on the table. The space was gorgeous, albeit small, but inspired lingering. Coupled with their upstairs neighbor and the good service, I was quite happy with my evening.

http://www.birchandbarley.com/

http://www.washingtonpost.com/gog/profile/birch-and-barley-and-churchkey,1159105/critic-review.html

Darlington House (Dupont)

The occasion was Restaurant Week night 3 and my company for the night was Lou, Tim and Jeff. Despite the beating Darlington House took in the Washington Post a couple of years ago, it has long been on my list for its quaint curb appeal in its prime location in Dupont.

The row-house-cum-restaurant, formerly DC staple Childe Harold (named for a Byron poem), had long been vacant until Darlington moved in.

We were ambitiously greeted in the entryway by modern light fixtures juxtaposed with period federal style ornamental inlayed woodwork with a rich brown and stark white color scheme. The design of the place was gorgeous and carried throughout the restaurant. Our table next to the inoperable fireplace allowed me to admire the stainless steel tilework and the cold night made me long for a fire there.

The substantial bar toward the back of the room held two empty seats next to a lively group of women who shared an off-menu order of donuts with us and advised that Chef Fabio Beggiato would be happy to cook us his preference if we allowed him to. While that may very well be, it was restaurant week and I wanted to stay on-menu. The specialty drink list was lacking creativity to the point where it doesn’t even deserve a creative negative retort.

But that was the only negative I could find. I emphatically disagree with the thought that this restaurant doesn’t deliver as written by Washington Post Food Critic Tom Sietsema in Sept 2008 and think he should consider another trip soon.

I would describe the food as classic Milanase with no real embellishments. It isn’t infused and encrusted. It isn’t a modern interpretation of classic dishes – it’s just simple northern Italian food done well.

For starters I had the Italian cotecchino sausage over braised lentils. The thinly sliced sausage had a mild flavor with a hint of perhaps clove? It was almost like a meat cookie. Coupled with the rather large lentils, I was pleasantly impressed by this well-executed dish.

My main course was the stracotto in Barolo, which is braised beef in a Barolo wine and vegetable reduction served over polenta. The meat was tender and doused with a plentiful reduction with a strong wine flavor. The polenta added a pleasant texture to an otherwise saucy dish. While very flavorful, I was happy for the cracked pepper to give the dish a little more kick.

The desert was tiramisu della casa, which was light, room temperature and exactly how a good, authentic tiramisu should be.

Our bottle of wine was a Sangiovese from Tuscany that was smooth, dry and hearty off of an adequately large list.

Many of the write-in critiques online of this restaurant were very negative of the service, making me wonder if I had dined at the same place. I found the service impeccable. Our waiter was Johnny-on-the-spot when we needed something before we realized we even needed it, and he allowed us to linger without offering the check until we all decided we wanted to continue the evening with an aperitif. He even called our car out of valet while we still sat at the table minimizing the wait outside. Even the busboys were constantly buzzing, yet invisible: lifting dirty dishes and filling water and wine glasses.

Overall, I give the décor, service and attention to detail in all things high marks. While I have nothing negative to say about the food, it didn’t blow me away or create any sort of desire to return in short haste, but it was a delicious meal I thoroughly enjoyed.

Perhaps next time I will allow the chef to create a special meal for me.

http://www.darlingtonhousedc.com/

Againn

I can’t get the taste of last night’s hanger steak out of my mouth. And I don’t want to. It was grilled a hot medium rare; tender with a succulent, juicy, red wine flavor and a dollop of shallot butter—rich and mesmerizing. The other diners at Againn (pronounced ah-GWEN: a gaelic term loosely translating as “with us”) at New York and 11th faded into the background as the flavor of this perfect steak teased my pallet.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The occasion was Restaurant Week night 2 and my company was Darryl. We were both slightly phased by the idea of going British for our dinner, with images of Bangers and Mash, mushy peas, goat stomachs and whatever other bland, strange and fried stereotypes come to mind when one thinks of British food. But upon walking in to the restaurant (after walking past it), our dismay was quickly averted by the hanging fox heads and buzz of this trendy locale. Greeted and seated with haste, I barely had time to contemplate the raw bar awkwardly positioned at the very entrance, but it did what it was supposed to do: tempt me into a half dozen oysters to start the night. I made mental note of where they were from, which I quickly forgot trying to decipher the cocktail menu. It was filled with nothing that resembled alcohol. Our petite and attentive server explained that Againn hired somebody from California to design their drinks as a throwback to prohibition era. Darryl chose a curry flavored take on a Manhattan which could knock me out for the intricacies in it and I chose their popular mayflower martini, which was like drinking fermented rose water while sitting on a lily pad. The drink I really wanted had egg white in it, which the server insisted was prepared in a way to ensure there was no salmonella, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Againn touts their sustainable seafood, organic meat and local produce, so I wanted to hit all the bases. With seafood covered by the oysters, I went on to their Beetroot Salad made with frisee, walnuts, young goat cheese and a honey dressing. What a perfect combination of flavors. My only improvement is if the goat cheese, instead of turning into a mess with the frisee halfway through, could have been breaded and heated to sustain itself throughout the dish. The beets were varied in color and flavor, complementing the elements. While frisee can be an intimidating green, its texture served well for this salad. Darryl chose the pan-seared diver scallops with a sunchoke puree, salsify crisps and watercress. I was unimpressed. The dish was bland. The puree was odd. The salsify crisps looked like bacon, which would have made the dish flavorful, but were just texture. While the scallops were cooked perfectly, they lacked interest. I was far happier with my choice.

Moving on to the main dish… I’ve already described my steak, which came with “chips.” Darryl chose the pan-seared loch duart salmon served over French green lentils and braised greens. While England is an island, I don’t recall them being known for doing seafood well (not that the chef is English or has even studied in England). Risk the hoof and mouth to stay on land. The rest of his dish lived up to my perception. I will never understand why people serve lentils without lemon juice. Lentils have no flavor. They need something to kick them in the ass before serving. Lemon juice works perfectly. His fish was bland and braised greens just confused it all. After giving him a taste of my steak, he was immediately annoyed at how good my meal was and how flavorless his was. When I commented about my steak that I didn’t know the British liked such flavor and asked him how his tasted, he said, “More British.” Their wine list was extensive, but stiff with only two by-the-glass choices under $10 for the reds.

For desert, we both had the sticky toffee pudding with toffee sauce and stout ice cream. I could have eaten five of these. If I were at home alone eating this dish, I would have licked the porcelain off the plate trying to get the last taste.

Againn puts a heavy dose of marketing toward their scotch lockers, with their catch phrase, “meet, eat, neat.” While I didn’t sample their pub menu, claiming to be a gastropub where you should “meet” might be a stretch. The bar area was cramped, as was the entrance. The dinner menu was expensive and fit for foodies – not what I’d describe as a gastropub. The restaurant is a cross between a fine dining experience and a place to watch rugby on a Saturday.

While I’ve never watched any Rugby past the movie Invictus (which was really good), I’m not sure I’d want to watch it in a bath house. The leather ceiling and rich wood throughout the restaurant was in stark contrast to the vast expanses of white bathroom tile lining the walls and adorned with light fixtures I’d expect in a modern dungeon. Couple the decor with the 24-hour-diner layout, and one is left with questions. I imagine the decorator as a former British punk-rocker with skinny jeans and a lopsided, spiked mullet smoking a fag who grew up and got money.

Overall, I’m not surprised by the mixed reviews and I don’t see the restaurant staying in this space long. It is an odd location with a chef who has spent all of one week in London learning what British food is personally. There are too many contradictions that exist in this restaurant for it to be survivable: the rich and fantastic dishes I sampled compared to the bland food not worthy of the price; the glitzy high-end restaurant described as a pub; the scotch lockers and all-to-posh cocktail menu marketed to a rugby crowd; leather ceilings and bathroom tile walls; a Louisiana chef in a British restaurant who couldn’t tell mashy peas from mashed potatoes. While I had a wonderful evening with wonderful food, service and company, I’m simply left in confusion.

http://www.againndc.com/
http://www.washingtonpost.com/gog/restaurants/againn,1158196/critic-review.html

Restaurant 3 (Clarendon)

To kick off DC’s 2010 winter restaurant week (my favorite holiday), I went out with my office to Restaurant 3 for lunch. Nestled between such chains as the Cheesecake Factory and Harry’s Tap Room in the heart of bustling Clarendon, this southern gentleman of a restaurant ought to draw a larger crowd than was present, but perhaps the frigid temperature and Monday afternoon timeslot for our visit were not opportune.

Despite our ill-timed visit, the kitchen was ready to please. Led by Chef Brian Robinson formerly of Whitlow’s on Wilson, the Louisiana inspiration of his grandfather was pleasantly evident on my plate and clearly he learned to cook more than a burger from his old menu.

Three, being the third restaurant in the Whitlow family (Insert Monty Python joke... ONE, TWO, FIVE. Three Sir. THREE), came about when Brian wanted something more that Whitlows, and Whitlows wanted a third restaurant. Three also refers to the restaurant’s mantra of good food, good drinks and good times. I can vouch for two of the three given I only had a diet coke, but the wine list looked promising. Three (play Sesame Street's 'Count von Count' laugh track)

Amazingly, what erupted from this redefined relationship is nothing like its sister Arlington staple just blocks away. Three is a refined gathering place, with a number of dining spaces, each with their own personality. In less than 20 degree temps, the patio was closed, however the sunroom decorated with antique distilleries and a quiet fireplace provided a light-filled atmosphere for our business lunch. The stone and wood details aided in the warmth, although the awkwardly hard chairs did not.

Past the long bar were low tables and footrest level stools for the happy hour lounge crowd. While I have passed the place often during happy hour, I’ve never seen it packed and buzzing. I should hope that some group adopts it as their hot spot because Arlington needs more gathering places like this.

Of the options on today’s menu were the standard 3-course restaurant week selections from their traditional menu. Many places edit their restaurant week menu significantly, however I found everything I had wanted there and the edits to be at a minimum.

My meal began with a low-country dish of grits and scallops. It had bits of thick and smoky ham and shallots. The butter overpowered the richness so I couldn’t tell if there was any cheese in the dish. Even though the scallops were cooked with a tender middle, I would have preferred them on a higher heat and cooked in the grease of the ham to give them more flavor and a finished, blackened edge.

My coworker, Eric, had Wings in a Savannah barbeque sauce, which resulted in the debate over what is Savannah barbeque sauce. We decided it was a cross between Memphis’ sweet red sauce and the Carolinas’ vinegar based sauce as that’s the tangy flavor it gave. The sauce was integral to the supple amounts of meat on the bone instead of a gooey topping expected at lesser places. The wings had bite but were not tongue-searing hot.

The other appetizers selected were a salad with bacon vinaigrette that got some attention and a grilled porabello mushroom cap in what was described as spinach pate (blech).

My main dish was a panini made from their main menu’s braised short ribs with “caramelized” onions and goat cheese. With a tang that danced from the meat, the sandwich could only have been improved by actually caramelizing the onions that were simply just soggy cooked onions and with a bit less of the overpowering goat cheese crumbles. The side to this dish and three of the other plates chosen by my luncheon partners were 5-star rated fries – perfectly crisp with a soft center and battered like my great grandmother’s broasted potatoes.

Eric’s main dish was the grilled cheese sandwich with two types of cheeses: goat and smoky cheddar. But while the cheese was good, the bacon was nondescript, there more for crunch than flavor. An improvement would have been the cheese combined with a ham. The "soup of the day" that accompanied the sandwich was a brothy Navy bean soup but with kidney beans. It built in flavor further into the bowl, although the initial reaction was bland.

The other dishes chosen in my party were the pulled duck sandwich and the blackened grouper sandwich, both of which got high praise.

For dessert, to my demise, I chose the cheesecake, which was unfulfillingly filling and probably from Costco. I had a bite of Andrew’s chocolate bread pudding though and was in heaven. So rich, light and moist with sugar syrup and chocolate syrup double poured over the concoction, I was immediately jealous I didn’t choose this dish.

The friendly waiter seemed like a transplant from Whitlows. While perfectly attentive, considerate and overall deserved the good tip, he displayed a sloppy appearance not suited for this more refined cousin of Whitlows. Either send him back to the other bar or put a clean shirt on this kid. Also, first impressions count, so buy the host some slacks. My grandpa’s jeans on a college kid will not attract the upscale crowd the food at this place deserves.

Hilda's (Jacksonville N.C.)

At home in Jacksonville, N.C., I met up with some of my D.C. friends (Mark and Mike) also spending their holiday in eastern rural North Carolina for lunch. Knowing Mike is a fan of kitsch hillbilly deliverance humor, I recommended Hilda’s, a down-home cooking restaurant housed in a former Piggly Wiggly. Take away all of the posh from Georgia Browns. Add the family local appeal of Mama Dips in Chapel Hill. Mix in 2 tubs of lard and a buffet. Throw it all into a converted grocery store with some ugly fake plants on wall sconces and a pencil drawing of a large black woman… and you’ve got Hilda’s.

My lunch consisted of fried popcorn shrimp, fried chicken, fried okra, mashed taters and some peas – then douse all of it in 3 sticks of butter with a side of diabetic shockingly sweet tea. For desert, a sliver of sweet potato pie – as if the small size could offset the calories and fat I had just ingested. I really was tempted by either the chicken neck or liver and onion special offered today, but the fried buffet looked too good. The vanilla pudding with nilla wafers was also especially southern and tempting. Our service was done by a no nonsense woman clearly unenthusiastic about working on Christmas eve, but who recommended the chicken fried steak nonetheless. She mostly left us alone, but kept the sweet tea flowing. I would like to think her lack of attention was due to our buffet choice and not because we were three white men clearly out of our element given our lack of flannel and dirty overalls. While I doubt most folks who may read this would ever find themselves in Jacksonville N.C., I felt such a quintessentially southern experience would round out my 2009 restaurant blog entries.

Potenza (15th and H)

The occasion: a power lunch with Jackie and Doug to network, discuss our current project and reminisce about working together 5 years ago. We needed a downtown restaurant and settled on Potenza at 15th and H. While the restaurant has been on my periphery since it opened in March, Italian (while fantastic) is not something I typically seek out. I've been to Italy and most Italian restaurants are either the checkered table cloth, overly cheesy pasta mom and pop places or the trendy, over-priced places like iRicchi. Potenza, though, reminded me of sitting in a small cafe table clinging to the edge of the seaside hill in Positano savoring every bite, where the atmosphere only added to the flavor of the meal. Italian, to me is about fresh ingredients and seafood. If pasta is there, wonderful. It isn't necessarily about 1000 degree triple baked manicotti covered in Parmesan crumbs like those mom and pop places. Here, I chose the gnocchi in a lemon pesto with shrimp and toasted walnuts. Most places cannot compare to my grandmother's gnocchi (whose recipe came with her on the boat in 1930 from Puglia just over the heel). And most pesto cannot compare to my friend Andrew's who chops down his basil annually and freezes blocks of it like pellets for later use. But the lemon and grilled-perfect shrimp with the fresh and light dumplings made for a perfect lunch. Jackie had a soup and the calamari. Doug had spaghetti and meatballs. We all each had dessert too. I went for the Cannoli to see how it compared with grandma's. They were crisp cinnamon and cocoa laced shells stuffed with ricotta, citron and chocolate chip filling. Grandma has some serious competition. The bakery bordering the H street entrance supplied us with the obligatory bread basket, but there was nothing routine about these treats. A salty breadstick and a light bread-cake with a nutty olive oil took the hunger pangs away as we waited for our lamb meatball appetizer. The meatballs had a sauce with a kick. Rural Italian is how I'd describe the overall menu with the obvious effort by executive chef Bryan Moscatello to find perfectly fresh ingredients. Jackie and I admired the decor but couldn't quite describe it with a single description. The wooden ceiling was transitional modern, but the distressed mirrors, the country spindle chairs (alluding to the menu) and the richly framed photos of La Dolce Vita era movie stars confused the decor. Confuse isn't the right word though. The restaurant is comfortable and beautiful. Our table was in the light-filled area facing 15th street and the American Bar Association. The center of the restaurant is a bit darker and probably pleasantly intimate for an evening date. Their only noticeable quark was the service, and it is less of a complaint than a double mint double take on our Nebraska-esq, twilight zone-strange server. While she wasn't johnny on the spot with the grated parmesan, I have no complaint with her actual service. Overall, a great place for lunch. I might be annoyed by that particular server during a romantic dinner, but certainly a worthy place for a power meal.

Rosa Mexicano (Chinatown)

With an event at the Harmon Center on a Tuesday night, I chose Rosa Mexicano on the other end of the block in Chinatown for its convenience, not its guacamole that everybody brags about. Having never been there, I decided it was time to give in. You see, I have an automatic gag reflex for any restaurant that is a chain and with Rosa's expansion to National Harbor, two locations in the D.C. metro area added to their 7 others around the nation reduced their status in my mind from that of upscale chains who get a pass for their ability to deliver gourmet to something just north of Applebees status. This fact, added to the idea of paying $25 for a chalupa when I can get out of a night at Guapos for under $15 (unless I go crazy with some 'ritas) -- I have therefore purposely avoided Rosa Mexicano until now. This particular Tuesday night brought with it the pungent stench and the street blockage of a horse show at the Verizon Center directly across the street from Rosa's front door. Thankfully, the horse tents in the street had sides this year, avoiding what was certainly an unfortunate dining experience with horse-ass waiving in your face as the Janeane Garafalo look alike matron explained occurred the year previous with the horse show. There is something unappetizing about eating a "burro-ito" with such a view. Perhaps this is leftover stigma associated from the donkey show in Laredo to which I was once subjected (ah-hem, Chris Randall). As an aside, WTF with a horse show in downtown DC? Are there not more appropriate venues for such an event? Go bother the other Rosa at National Harbor where you don't have to block traffic with your massive trailers and tents. So... with the buzz of the bar as I entered, I somewhat expected Rosa to live up to its reputation as a trendy eatery, but I've clearly come long after this place's prime. I don't think it was just the shitty table we had right in front of the door. The service was mediocre. From the lack of water, to the pushy insistence throughout the evening to order immediately or take our plates while we were clearly still eating, I do not appreciate a restaurant whose goal it is to turn the table instead of satisfy the customer. Now lets talk about the food. The more creative dishes, I will admit, were things I certainly give executive chef James Muir who hails from Buenos Aires some props. The "fusion encrusted and infused" (I know, that term is so two-thousand and late) category of food had two things I really wanted to try: The Pato en Salsa de Zarzamoras (Duck with Blackberry Sauce) is a roasted duck breast served over mashed chile de arbol sweet potatoes, grilled asparagus and blackberry chipotle sauce. The other enticing dish was the Costillas de Cordero (Rack of Lamb), which is a roasted New Zealand rack of lamb, black bean pumpkin tamale, grilled asparagus and pistachio mole. Now, if you know me well enough, you know what my hesitation was. Asparagus? It was with every damn dish there! I don't mind it once in a while. It isn't on my "blechk" food list. But could I please have some variety? I'd have chosen either of these dishes if I had the choice of no asparagus. So... I ended up deciding to compare this restaurant directly with Lauriol Plaza, which has the local appeal for Mexican and doesn't try to be the spectacular restaurant that it is. There, I almost unequivocally get the crab enchiladas, which half the time I have to order off menu. So... as in Forget Paris with Billy Crystal always ordering the veal parmesan... I went with Rosa's version of crab enchiladas, or as they call them, Jaiba. It was two soft corn tortillas filled with jumbo lump crabmeat topped with a creamy tomatillo sauce, melted chihuahua cheese and pumpkin seeds. The waiter assured me the 3 chili peppers next to this dish on the menu were a farce, so for somebody who isn't a fan of the super spicy -- I reluctantly trusted a Mexican's opinion of the heat in this dish. Crazy, I know. Most of the Mexicans I know can eat a hot pepper like its a pickle. The dish was adequate. I don't understand the pumpkin seeds -- they added nothing to the dish, but the tomatillo sauce was some of the best I've ever had. And indeed, while spicier than I'd have preferred, this dish does not rate 3 chilies. Perhaps I am comparing it too much to Thai ratings of spicy. Before dinner, we did order the mild Guacamole en Molcojete. I have no idea what that means, but they make it at your table and it is pretty tasty. My mother's is better though. She adds more lime. I also like the make-it-at-your-table Guac at Cafe Atlantico better. Rosa's was certainly not something I would tell a friend about (OMG Becky, you're going to Rosa? you have GOT to get the Guac, ooh, yummy). But as long as you're there, you might as well get it. You can't miss the kitchen carts with the fixings rolling around the place like they are serving dim sum. I was also in the mood for sangria. We chose the white sangria. Nothing to write home about, and after a pitcher, I'm pretty sure the majority of it was juice versus anything resembling liquor. Perhaps I should have gotten their signature pomegranate margarita instead, but I was recently jaded at Harris Teeter when I saw pomegranate in something totally inappropriate. I can't remember what it was, but my brain wants to say peanut butter. Like the marketing department for this product thinks it'll sell just because pomegranate is the "it" food right now. So I'm boycotting pomegranate despite antioxidants being good for my health. I'll eat more blueberries instead. So, with all of that, I give Rosa Mexicano the big zorbit and will reserve my Mexican cravings for local staples like Lauriol or Guapos. Sorry Rosa! Go cater the suburbanites who frequent national harbor and turn your Chinatown location over to a new "it" place.

Flagship (Portsmouth, VA)

My friend Dr. Mike lives on a pier sticking out into the Elizabeth River. The building used to be a warehouse, turned into condos. Sitting in his living room is like sitting in the stateroom of a luxury liner on the ocean with vast windows and all kinds of nautical views -- from the massive cargo ship cranes and Navy ships to the varied, anchored boats waiting for the 4th of July fireworks. A building on the river of course comes with a marina, in which his friends come in their diesel trawler and carry us across the water, cocktail in hand, to an arm of Scott's Creek. There is perched an old dock where we tied up and navigated the creaking boards to the Flagship Restaurant. This is my second trip to the Flagship and this hole in the wall has earned its blog. There is nothing to the actual restaurant -- with an outdoor covered area and sticky wooden tables inside. It looks like a fish house should look, with nothing trendy, waitresses sloshing sweet tea and local paintings of boats on the walls. Perhaps there was even a wooden ships wheel. If there wasn't, it's the type of place that you'd think one would be hanging. Our table of 7 ordered a couple bottles of chardonnay and I ordered the black and blue wrap -- fresh ahi tuna blackened and served in an herb wrap with blue cheese. The side was a bowl of red beans and rice. Fantastic! The first time I was at this place was for brunch where I ordered the shrimp and grits. I remember them being tasty. Its the holes in the wall that always have the best food!  Since we took the boat, I couldn't tell you a thing about the neighborhood, so here is the address: 103 Constitution Ave, Portsmouth, VA‎ -(757) 398-1600‎. I'd go back to this place... even if it were not on a boat.

Eventide (Clarendon)

The Occasion: Darryl's birthday week. I owe a lot to this guy. When I was a wee pup, he introduced me to a different level of sophistication and quality in such things as music, clothes, travel, conversation and dining. So on the occasion of his birthday, I sought a new, trendy and upscale location for dinner. At one time I would have called this genre of restaurant "infused and encrusted," but that's so two years ago. In my search, I found Eventide -- a four month old restaurant on the same block in Clarendon as another new staple of mine, The Liberty Tavern. Formerly the burnt down building of a secret society (hence the tall windows high from the ground level so people couldn't see in), the restoration is a magnificent space. Most of the outer walls are exposed masonry firewalls, leaving a rough outer shell embracing the softer luxury of the wood and textiles elsewhere in the decor. With such sophisticated decor though, more attention should have been paid to the bathrooms, which were plain and loudly painted. The first floor is like any other sidewalk restaurant with seating near a bar -- but the bar has popouts making conversation with your peers a bit more palatable. This room was filled with the type of folks you'd expect at a neighborhood bar. Baseball hats and after work clothes enjoying a cocktail. Nobody sheik and everybody very "Arlington." Dining on this level is first come first served. The second floor is the experience, with reservations required. The space is expansive, and the perception of it is embellished by the incredibly high ceiling and heavy blue drapes breaking up the space. The tables are set far enough apart where your dining neighbors can still have a private conversation without putting up booths or partitions between the tables. There is a grand staircase leading to the roof, unfortunately the flow of people from the rooftop bar prevents it from being accessible. The menu was split evenly between appetizers and entrees. Simple items with some kind of twist each. We began with the seared diver scallops. The twist on this dish was the red pepper and bacon puree. Who doesn't love bacon?  Darryl had the Lobster Tagliatelle which was poached lobster tail, lobster meatballs, fennel, brandied butter and arugula. I had the grilled tasmanian salmon with cornmeal gnocchi, spring pea ragout, and sorrel pesto. My salmon was grilled medium and was a very thick piece of fish, so I'm impressed it was so perfect. The portions were manageable and flavors playful. We popped a bottle of California Viognier that was much stronger than the Virginia Viognier I am used to, but once let to sit out of the chiller and after the taste of my pre-dinner cocktail died, it was quite good. The service was adequate. I was never quite sure who our server was. Two guys in suits attended to us. I assume one was the sommelier, but he told us more about the building than the wine. The other could have been the manager, but he acted like a jester busboy. Our actual waitress was fairly non-existent and forgettable. The actual busboy was more talkative than she when he brought a tasting of gazpacho shots with mint to begin our meal. And I just now realized we forgot to eat dessert! We were so focused on bringing out wine to the rooftop deck. I would have loved a strawberry rhubarb tart. Oh well, next time. We took the remainder of the bottle with us up to the third floor which is divided into two spaces. On one side is an outdoor seating area I would have liked to go to, but 1) it is first come first served and 2) It has a menu that isn't as appetizing (at least upon first look) because everything up there is meant to be served "not hot." I've had many cooked dishes outside, so this alternate menu confuses me to the point of stupidity. Do they think the chicken isn't going to survive on the patio? Executive Chef Miles Vaden of Eventide purports an interest in technological advances in cooking. Sorry bud, I think you missed the mark on a "cold food only" menu for the summer crowd in your outside space.  Keep that sort of thing for the vegan lesbian niche market in San Francisco. The other side of the roof top deck is a too-small bar with a stunning view of the sunset with a backdrop of the buildings of Balston. There was a mix between Arlingtoners in their brown flip flops and sexy summer sophisticates out for the evening -- drawn to this rooftop bar partly because of their eclectic drinks. I mean, who serves a Pimm's cup outside of England? What a great summer drink though.  One more thing that deserves mentioning is upon reaching the second floor where the formal dining room is, both sides of the elevator opens, revealing a baby changing room. The restaurant's web site purports understanding of being a parent. I question the rationale. This is a seriously upscale, trendy and posh place. Whoever in their right mind brings a child, let alone a baby in diapers, to such a place should be tarred and feathered. With the exception of the diaper room, I give the restaurant an A for effort and execution, but only a B+ for the rooftop. That space should have been so much more than it was.

http://www.eventiderestaurant.com/

Lost Dog Cafe (N. Arlington)

Tonight, I discovered the best gourmet pizza ever, and I've been searching for a good place since college to at least live up to Peppers on Franklin Street, Chapel Hill NC to no success. But in the Lost Dog Cafe, not only have I found the ultimate gourmet pizza, but it's a restaurant with a cause and if that were not enough -- they sell every beer known to mankind. Speaking of which, I had a Dundee -- a Rochester lager brewed with honey that had a big yellow bee on the label. Cute and tasty, just how I like my ... beer. Tonight was all about convenience. I am watching my friend Alyssa's critters for the week -- cats and fish, which require very little watching. So I went over to learn the routine and get a key. We then walked from her home to the quiet and eclectic Westover village of N. Arlington on Washington Blvd where we had a few dinner choices. I have to laugh at the call I made before driving over to ask if the place we were going to was casual as I considered jeans and a polo or shorts and a T-shirt. Apparently a softball uniform would have been okay since this hip place was clearly a very loud team's hangout. The aroma was a mix between wafted whacatacabacky. no judgement. Pizza smell and beer. The wooden booths were sticky and the waitress who sat down with us to take the order looks like she was beat with a hose and hung out to dry. But very sweet. Behind the bar was a wall of beer bottles, 90% of which you'd never heard of. A chalkboard listed the new brews for the summer, and the walk-in convenience store connected to the place let you take home a six pack of these rare beers. Alyssa and JP ordered the pit bull pie which was spicy with jalapenos, pastrami, ham, pepperoni, salami, red onions, basil and oregano. I ordered a Yogi the Lab's pie individual pizza which was basically a BBQ chicken pizza -- one of my favorite combos. It had housemade BBQ chicken breast sliced and topped with red onions, mozzarella and green onions. This version hands down whipped the ass of the original BBQ chicken pizza from the original Macaroni Grill north of San Antonio before they went commercial... That BBQ sauce came from their sister restaurant, an authentic Texas BBQ joint next door. So it is saying a lot that some lost dog place this far from decent BBQ could beat that original pizza. (The commercial version doesn't compare). And don't even talk to me about comparing it to the slop at CPK. The conversation flowed, as did the beer. The place finally came down a few decibels as the softball boys left. At this point, I started to notice all the dog art on the wall and in the bathroom and wondered what the place had for dogs that was so strong. Then there was a wall of people and their dogs, little pictures. Alyssa then mention a place down the street called the Stray Cat which sold sandwiches and was somehow related.  It wasn't until I got home and looked up their web site that I realized their cause that I previously mentioned. I will copy/paste verbatim from their site, which is www.lostdogcafe.com. Being a dog lover and owner of a rescued schnauzer who has brought so much love to my life -- even if the pizza sucked, I'd go back to this place. Thank god the pizza didn't suck.

--- From their site:

The Lost Dog Café has been serving up great pizza, hot sandwiches and beer from around the world in Arlington’s Westover neighborhood since 1985. Wellknown as a place to get great food at a great price, the café also serves up a hefty slice of compassion with each pizza. Café owners Ross Underwood and Pam McAlwee have been rescuing stray dogs and cats almost as long as they have been in business and the effort continues.

It began with a few “lost” dogs needing a place to stay until they could find new homes of their own. In 2001, thanks largely to the success of the Lost Dog Café, the pair established a non-profit foundation dedicated solely to the cause of helping homeless and abandoned dogs and cats find forever homes. Today the Lost Dog and Cat Rescue Foundation (LDCRF) places almost 2000 animals per year into permanent, loving homes—each one spayed or neutered prior to adoption. The foundation’s efforts continue to be supported by the Lost Dog Café and its sister restaurant (just a few doors down), the Stray Cat Café.

It’s the compassion that makes the Lost Dog Café more than just a great place to eat—here you can rest assured that you are helping to make a difference—one dog or cat at a time.

To learn more about the foundation’s efforts, to donate, or to volunteer, visit the Lost Dog and Cat rescue foundation website at www.lostdogrescue.org.

Cava (Capitol Hill)

After being mildly annoyed by my last venture out with a recommendation from Washington Post food critic Tom Seistma, I had to quickly give him a reprieve to help restore my faith in his opinion. And his write up this week of Cava -- the Rockville, Md., cum Capitol Hill Barracks Row restaurant did just that. I did their Greek Mezze during Friday night happy hour with my friend Mike who just moved up from Tampa. The posh atmosphere was sexy and inviting. Dark, candlelit with brick walls that didn't let you forget you're on this historic street, but the contemporary and polished fixtures and warm wood added to the buzz of loud laughter. The front windows slid to the side erasing the line between the sidewalk and the bar, welcoming walkers in for a drink. The one I chose was a twist on a mint julep with apricot puree and liquor in it -- my homage to the Preakness this weekend. Go Papa Clem! Move your bloomin' arse!  As the after work crowd arrived, Cava got ever more livelier with a very hip and refined clientele, although our table for two in the back was perfectly private. The number of options on the menu were all traditionally greek but with some semblance of gourmet twist to them. Different Herbs here or there.  Wanting meat -- we chose the Cava grill, which came with 3 lamb chops, 2 chicken souvlaki, 2 grilled meatballs and 2 pork medallions that melted like butter in my mouth. We also ordered a dish of spanakopita to balance it out.  All of the meat was grilled perfectly -- sometimes kabobs can be dry. Not here. And the lamb chops were FANTASTIC. I feel terrible for those people who won't eat lamb. I've had bad lamb before and know why they don't prefer it... don't fear it at Cava though. All of this food would have been perfect for three people at a happy hour timed dinner as we ended up taking home a few things.  The wait staff was attentive and considerate. When I said we'd be having a drink and were not going to even look at the menu for a while, they didn't bat an eyelash unlike other hopping places I frequent. Definitely a good recommendation by Tom and a place I will add to my list of places to return in the near future. http://dc.cavamezze.com/site/home