Cupcake Heaven

I'm not usually a huge fan of the cupcake -- can take 'em or leave 'em -- but holy shitballs, this is amazing. It's a dark chocolate cupcake with some kind of peanut butter-caramely goo inside, topped with a thick peanut butter frosting.

Topped with bacon.

When I die, I want to go to there.

Cupcake courtesy of Buzz Bakery in Alexandria.

Top Chef Coming to DC?

Oh my god oh my god oh my god...

There's a rumor going around that Season 7 of Top Chef will be filming in DC! Can I get a "SQUEEEEE!" Eater National says:

The folks at Bravo have yet to make it official, but the Washington Post's gossip column reports that the new season of of Top Chef will be filming in Washington D.C. The city seems like a perfect pick — not only does it have a massive Whole Foods, but there are also a lot of former cheftestants who live in the area, and of course, there's the whole Obama factor.

This is awesome for a number of reasons, not least because it will finally give DC the notoriety it deserves as a serious food town.

It is also my opportunity to finally usurp Padma's throne. Starting mastermind planning now. Ideas/henchmen welcome.

Also: Colicchio? Saddle up, pal. Rowr!

Eating Las Vegas

I recently returned from my first “for fun” trip to Las Vegas. I’d been to Sin City twice before for work, but never just to kick around, and not for over 10 years. Turns out Vegas can be a pretty fun place if you don’t mind parting with your hard earned. Also turns out that you can find some damn good eating there!

Actually, that shouldn’t come as a surprise, since the last season of Top Chef was filmed there. But the last time I was in LV we ate at a lot of meh restaurants and those weird café/diner-ish places where you can get breakfast anytime (“I’ll have the pancakes in the Age of Enlightenment”) and play Keno while you wait. I’m sure those places still exist, but we, happily, did not have to encounter them.

My merry gang stayed in New York New York, which is one of the more reasonably sized hotels in Vegas. (I actually could find my elevator!) The part of the casino that is not covered in slots and tables is set up like a city sidewalk, which is a cute way to do it. There was a sort of food-courty “neighborhood” where you could get a wiener or a slice or a coffee, and there were also some bigger, nicer restaurants (Il Fornaio and Gallaher’s) and an Irish bar called Nine Fine Irishmen (none of whom I found, sadly). Ali and I were happy to discover that Il Fornaio’s café had great coffee and pastries in the morning—no buffets for us!

New York New York is also directly across the Strip from the MGM Grand, which, along with Mandalay Bay, houses a good number of the city’s finer restaurants—places founded by some of the world’s best-known chefs. It was here that we ended up on our first night, and after passing Joel Roubouchon’s L’Atelier and Michael Mena’s Nob Hill Tavern, we settled on Wolfgang Puck’s Bar and Grill. We all wanted a good meal, but nothing too fancy, and this fit the bill nicely. After getting some initial attitude from the hostess, (whatever, cow, do you want our money or not?), we sat down for a perfectly nice meal. My chopped roasted vegetable salad was pretty good, if a little mushy (EGGPLANT, bleh). Heather’s ricotta gnocci were somehow light and dense at the same time, and my meat-covered wood grilled pizza was a whole lotta comfort. Patti’s mussels were delicious and vast, and Ali and Alex both seemed to enjoy their salmon. Was our meal off the chain? No, but everything was very enjoyable and our waitress was the bomb.

Oh, but the homemade truffled potato chips with Maytag blue cheese almost made me start crying.

The next day, Ali, Heather, and I decided to take a walk down to the Bellagio to see the Chihuly ceiling, and managed to work up a bit of an appetite going halfway up the Strip and back. So we decided to see what the Nine Fine Irishmen had to offer. We didn’t want anything too much, since we were going to dinner in the Venetian that night and then to see Blue Man Group. How about some nice light fried sausages and fried taters and beer cheese dip? Ah, who cares. Vegas is a city of excess anyway, right?

After that little snack (and several beers) we did a little gambling (read: losing, if you’re me), then got changed and headed over to the Venetian. Patti had an Italian restaurant in mind that she wanted us to check out, so we followed her to Canaletto, so named (presumably) because it’s on the “canal” that runs through the joint. I started with a simple salad of greens and carrots and then moved on to the saffron risotto with asparagus and chicken. It was pretty nommilicous. Patti scored, though, with a veal osso bucco OF THE GODS.

I was feeling a little iffy in the tummy area the next day, so I wasn’t all that into the idea of going to the raw bar at Harrah’s with Patti and Alex for lunch. That changed after some losing and free cocktails, so off we went in our cab, which was driven by Carlos Santana (who does a fine Tom Jones impression, I’ll have you know). And so began my day of eating things I normally don’t.

We wound our way through the down-at-heel-ish casino and eventually found three empty seats at the Oyster Bar at Penazzi. Now, I do not normally enjoy the raw oyster, but regular readers will remember my self-dares, so I decided to go for it. And you know what? They were really good! Don’t ask me what kind they were—all I know is that they were a good, Goldilocks size and they were pleasantly briny and not at all gritty. Yay me! Patti also ordered us some Oysters Rockefeller, which were an interesting surprise. Cooked oysters with spinach and cream and cheese? Huh. Liked ‘em, though. Enormous tempura prawns, a spicy tuna roll, and a hearty bouillabaisse rounded out our shared seafood-stravaganza. For the moment.

After some more bar time and gambling back at NYNY, and after Patti won the friggin’ JACKPOT at Keno, Patti, Alex, Mike, and I headed off to this out-of-the-way sushi place that Patti raved about. Now, I myself am not a fan of the sushi, having been overexposed to it the first time out (urchin, Fred? Really?), but Heather was going to a show and Ali took herself out for a big steak, so I decided to tag along. I don’t really know anything about ordering sushi, so I just winged it and let the rest of the gang do the honors.

This was some damn good sushi, y’all. The rolls were pretty ginormous, but everything was fresh and flavorful and very satisfying, which is saying something for a fish place in a strip mall in the middle of a desert. I’m still not excited about the giant pieces of raw fish (is that sashimi or the other thing?)—seems too much like eating a tongue (and not in a good way)—but I am all about some of those rolls now! Sister Terrifyah, not so much.

So that was Vegas. It’s a weird, weird place, but you can eat really, really well there.

Oh, and for our last dinner there, Heather, Ali, and I went to craftsteak, Tom Colicchio’s joint. Stay tuned.

RW 2010 Part 2 – Café Atlantico

For my second foray into Winter 2010 Restaurant Week, I really wanted to go somewhere I’d never been but had always wanted to try. Rasika was booked (damn you, Rasika, and your awesome popularity!), but I managed to find a table for four at a decent time at Café Atlantico. This Latin-themed restaurant is one of the many excellent offerings that innovative Spanish food weirdo Jose Andres has given Washington DC. It’s also the home of Minibar, a six-seat tasting “room” where the Andres team showcases their mad molecular gastronomy skillz (yo). Minibar is next to impossible to get into, and it’s wicked expensive, but I was happy enough to be going to its host restaurant.

I got off the Metro on this cold, blustery Wednesday night and made my way to where I thought the restaurant was supposed to be. However, Café Atlantico is on one of those weird Brigadoon streets that DC has so many of—streets that don’t appear where they’re supposed to, change in the middle of an intersection, disappear entirely—so I got a little turned around. Fortunately, I was early, so no big, but unfortunately, I was in some kickass heels, so that was a little more walking than I’d wanted to do. Anyway, I finally found it and the place was buzzing, but after the hostess took my coat I managed to snag a barstool so I could have a cocktail and wait for the rest of the gang.

As mentioned above, Jose Andres is known for his crazy experimenting with food, and this goes for cocktails as well. The bar features something called the “Magic Mojito,” and it is by far one of the cooler things I’ve ever seen. The mixologist (so much more than just a bartender) sticks a big wad of cotton candy in an up glass, mixes the mojito concoction, and then pours it over the cotton candy, causing it to disappear in an instant. So cool. And not overly sweet, surprisingly. Gary ordered one of these when he got there. I had a pisco sour, which was yummy and strong, and Sister Terrifyah had a caipirinha. She’s crazy like that.

Heather and Roland arrived (poor Ali was sick with a particularly tenacious cold), and as the place had gotten very busy since I first checked in with the hostess, there was a bit of a wait for our table. No big deal, though—gave us time another cocktail at the bar! After about 20 minutes the hostess came and got us and led us to our table on the top floor of the restaurant—and we could look directly into Minibar! That’s about as close as I’m going to get any time soon, so it was pretty cool.

Our very friendly waiter, Bob (that wasn’t his name, but I don’t remember what it was) showed up to give us the RW menu, which was pretty short—just four starters, four entrees, and two desserts to choose from. That was a little disappointing, but what was on there looked pretty friggin’ good, so we got over it.

Gary ordered the celery root soup, which prompted a discussion about the difference between celery root and celeriac. (Turns out they’re the same thing. We learned!). The presentation was a nearly empty bowl with a dollop of yogurt sprinkled with a tiny bit of caviar, into which Bob then poured the creamy soup. Gary made many yummy sounds. Heather and Roland both ordered the tuna ceviche with coconut milk and avocado and made them disappear (more magic!). I got the Dominican conch fritters. I had had fried conch in a bar in Ft. Lauderdale which were awesome, but these were so much awesomer. Inside the lightly fried coating was a piece of the shellfish, and somehow some kind of chowder/gravy liquid. How you fry liquid, I don’t know, but it was amazing. They came with what looked like little steamed dumplings, but the “skin” was actually made from jicama and the filling was crazy creamy avocado goo.

Oh, I forgot—we started the whole thing off with guacamole that was made fresh at our table. Other places do this as well, but this was so much better. Rosa Mexicano can go straight to hell.

For entrées, we were all leaning towards meat. I was vacillating between the duck and the flatiron steak, but in the end the beef won out. You guys. It was CRAZY good. The meat sat on a fluffy pile of potato “espuma”—basically really whipped potato puree—and was accompanied by haricots verte with sautéed mushrooms, garlic, and plenty of butter, I’m here to tell you. The meat was cooked beautifully, with just enough char from the grill. Gary and Heather also got the steak, while Roland went for the duck confit with Brussels sprouts, apples, and raisins. Yumblies.

The dessert choices were warm chocolate cake or sorbet. The hell? We all ordered the cake, because we are not insane. (In fact, Bob told us that he had served something like 94 tables, and only 12 or so ordered the sorbet for dessert.) Don’t get me wrong—I love a sorbet, but not when the words “warm” and “chocolate” are on the menu, and especially since I had shortchanged myself at Kellari Taverna.

Check this business out:

That island of chocolate cake, sitting the middle of a chocolate mousse sea, was actually a volcano with flowing chocolate lava inside. Uh muh gah. The banana goo I did not care for, but the rest was incredible, and very nearly killed me.

It was a great evening, for which I was very glad. Our waiter was friendly and attentive without being obnoxious or hovery, and was happy to explain what the Minibar guy was doing when he came up to get some dry ice. The food was just lovely, even though the choices were few. And the company, of course, was terrific.

Wines (chosen by Roland, who I will always defer to):
Alcena Monastrell 2007, a Spanish Jumilla aged in oak
Crios Cabernet Sauvignon from Mendoza, Argentina

I’m looking forward to going back to Café Atlantico, especially for their Latin “dim sum” brunch. I’ll let you know.

http://www.cafeatlantico.com/

Restaurant Week 2010 -- Kellari Taverna

I had never heard of this place when Gary e-mailed to say he’d booked a table for our usual RW group, but I like Greek food and don’t get a chance to have it often, so was looking forward to it. The space where the restaurant resides has notoriously been a dead zone for eateries, so it would be nice to see something succeed there.

After running into each other on the Metro, Gary and I battled the freezing wind and made it to the restaurant to meet Heather at the bar and wait for Ali. The restaurant and bar were very inviting on such a cold night—dark wood and sizable wine glasses at the bar, and warm ivory and blond wood in the dining room. The bar was pretty crowded, but we managed to snag barstools and settled in with some wine. They are very generous at Kellari Taverna’s bar (a trend that would continue in the dining room—more on that in a bit). In addition to the deep wine glasses, there is also a massive bowl of different kinds of olives and a large platter with a big hunk of cheese and piles of crunchy bread for snacking on—gratis. Not your average bar snacks, that’s for sure.

Ali having arrived, we settled our bar tab and headed to our table. The hostess handed us our reading material—in addition to the Restaurant Week menu, you could also order off the regular menu, which is pretty sizable, and there was also a HUGE wine list. Our young waitress, the adorable Alexandra, came by to explain how things work. Kellari is primarily a seafood restaurant, and one of their specials is fish by the pound. Sitting on a mound of shaved ice on one side of the restaurant is a variety of types of fish, which customers are invited to inspect before choosing what they want. That seemed too complicated for us, though, so we just stuck with the RW menu.

All right, so appetizers: Ali and I ordered the grilled octopus, Gary got sardines, and Heather got spanakopita, which is a classic Greek snack of phyllo dough with spinach and feta cheese. The octopus was charcoal-grilled and came with a little salad of fennel and leeks and capers. Gary’s sardines were grilled with olive oil and lemon, and he declared them delicious, if bony. The octopus was very good, but man, I am here to tell you that that was not an appetizer portion. I don’t think I got even a quarter of the way through it before I started getting full, and we still had two courses to go! I felt bad letting Alexandra take my uneaten portion away, but octopus is not something you can take home and reheat the next day. Unless you are trying to resole your sneakers or something.

Wine with apps, recommended by the manager/wine guy: Kir-Yianni Paranaga, a dry-ish blend of red varietals from Greece that I cannot pronounce. Very good.

When it came to entrees, I wanted the paidakia (lamb chops), but I was a little reluctant to order something that wasn’t seafood, since that’s the restaurant’s specialty. But then I remembered that this was also a Greek restaurant, and Greeks know their lamb, that’s for damn sure. Ali ordered the scallops with squid ink pasta, Heather got the tomato-braised Chilean sea bass, and Gary got the Arctic char. Everything was really good, but once again—HUGE portions. My plate held four lamb chops, which was about two more than I needed, and they were Flintstone-sized. I got through two and a half, and the rest of the gang helped out with the rest. Ali’s scallops, while cooked beautifully, were each the size of a baby’s fist, I swear. And not a preemie, either. I’m talking a regular baby. Big. Flavors were great, though—the lamb was exactly what I was hoping for from a Greek kitchen.

Wine with dinner, also chosen by wine guy, who gave it to us for a cheaper price because he rules: Angelo Iatridis Axia, a 50-50 Syrah/Xinomarvo (I don’t know) blend. Less dry than the previous one, and a very nice wine.

I had maybe a micron of space left for dessert, but I was looking forward to at least trying the Greek yogurt with sour cherries and walnuts. I probably shouldn’t have been. The yogurt was fine, but the cherries were more like pie filling. Certainly was no match for the chocolate bombs and hazelnut ice cream that the smarter people at the table had ordered. I gave my dessert the finger, and I think Alexandra saw me because she came over and pretended to scold me, “Okay, what’s the matter with your dessert?” I said, “Nothing, it’s just not that,” and pointed to Ali’s chocolate-palooza. “I would totally have this for breakfast, though!” Which I did the next day.

All in all, a good experience with Kellari, but I sure hope they can stay in business. Between the fancy freebies at the bar and the gargantuan portions, I worry about their bottom line. But it’s a nice place, the food is good, and the staff is pleasant. And the President lives right down the street, so if he ever gets a hankering for a shitload of Greek food, maybe you’ll see him there!

http://www.kellaridc.com

Up next: Café Atlantico.

Meet the Mascot

Please say hello to Sister Terrifyah, the Tiny Screaming Nun.



She'll be making appearances here on Nom3 as she accompanies me to various dining establishments and hootenannies. Here she is being menaced by a giant olive at Kellari Taverna. The terror!

Bryan Voltaggio is a Dirty Liar

A couple of weeks ago my friend Roland said to me, “It’s too bad you’re not going to be here the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I have the chef’s table in the kitchen at Volt.” To which I replied, “I’ll be back on Saturday!” And so began on of the most spectacular dining experiences of my life so far.

A little background: Volt is a restaurant in Frederick, MD, that is co-owned and chef-ed by one Bryan Voltaggio. Bryan (I call him Bryan) is also one of the final three contestants on this season of Top Chef, and he always does really innovative, interesting food on the show. It’s hotly debated who is going to win this season—all the finalists are great contenders. Volt has also received much high praise as one of the best restaurants in the DC area. So clearly this was not an opportunity I was going to pass up.

Oh, and Bryan’s also super dreamy.

I got all duded up and arrived at Kim and Andy’s house at 7:45 or so, having been told that the limo (limo!) would be picking us up at 8:15. Greg and Sally were already there, so we hung out in the kitchen with some wine and cheeses, and Kim and I tried not to squee too much about the prospect of meeting Bryan. “What if he’s not there? Do you think he’ll be there? I bet he’ll be there. I bet he came home for the holiday. Oh my god, what if he’s there?” Finally, just before our voices reached teenage-girl pitch, I got a text from Roland saying he was two minutes away. We all got our coats, said goodbye to Amelie and Grandma, and went outside.

I had never been in a limo before—went to proms in Honda Civics or my date’s dad’s Caddy—so I didn’t know what to expect. Here’s the thing: limos are ridiculous! Blue starry lights on the ceiling, shag carpeting, bottom-lit bar along one side, big wrap-around seat—absolutely hilarious. Roland, being the wine guy and generous soul that he is, had brought along some very nice champagne. It was quite an experience, being driven through Maryland while drinking fancy wine, laughing with pals, and rocking out to Motley Crue. This is the way to travel, folks.

We finally arrived in Frederick, and after some joking about stopping at Sheetz for subs and chips, made our way down the main street of the very pretty Old Town area. The trees are all decorated with white lights, which just added to the special feeling of the evening. The restaurant is in a massive brick mansion, and while it’s quite grand on the outside, it’s very clean and modern inside. Roland checked in with the hostess, who took our coats and then guided us past the main dining room and the private party room to the small kitchen dining room in the back. I went in first.

You guys? Bryan. Was. Right. THERE.

He was talking to the people at the table next to ours. I looked at Kim. She looked at me. We may have both peed a little right then. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” went my brain, although I don’t think I said anything out loud. My face must have been betraying my thoughts, though, because Roland gave me a look that said, “All right, calm down.” You would have thought all of Duran Duran were there (except Andy Taylor, because he sucks).

Once we were seated, a tiny little boy wearing his father’s suit came over to explain the menu and take our cocktail orders. (He was actually the junior sommelier, and I shouldn’t make fun, but seriously, he was very wee. And 23. How does one become a sommelier when one has only been legal to drink for two years?) We asked him for recommendations, and he told us which were his favorites. (The Presbyterian and the Pomegranate Fizz, in case you’re curious.) We had decided not to go with the wine pairings with dinner, but rather to order off the wine list. This is what you do when you’re out with Roland.

Okay, so the main event. The kitchen menu is six courses, plus an amuse bouche and yummy breads. Here’s what we had:

Amuse bouche – tiny meringue shell filled with guacamole, tiny tuna tartare with sesame oil “air”, tiny falafel with lamb heart:





Shiitake veloute with pine nut sabayon, chili oil, and basil:




Goat cheese ravioli with butternut squash, sage brown butter, and chanterelle mushrooms

Monkfish tail with ruby quinoa, black trumpet mushrooms, salsify, and prosciutto broth

Iberico red wattle pork belly with cranberry beans, calypso beans, red ribbon sorrel, and pancetta chip

Beef strip with ratte potatoes (I don’t know), broccoli puree, dragon carrot, and garlic “transparency”:





Textures of chocolate – white chocolate ganache, milk chocolate ice cream, cacao bean crisp, and chocolate caramel:




Wines:
Domaine Humbrecht Pinot d’Alsace (Roland, correct me on this?)
Hartford Court Pinot Noir, Russian River
Saviah Cellars Une Valee red, Walla Walla

Everything was absolutely exquisite. If I had to find fault with anything, I’d say that the ravioli was slightly more al dente than I like, and the monkfish was just ever so slightly overcooked and a little tough. But the shiitake veloute was UNBELIEVABLE, the sage brown butter sauce was the stuff of dreams, and the beef was probably the most perfectly cooked piece of meat I’ve ever had. Just stunning, stunning food.

And the service! The waiters are all very young, but whoever’s the boss of them has those kids trained. Everyone’s dishes arrived at the same time, and the team of waiters, acting on some invisible signal (I know, because I was watching), put the dishes down in front of us at the exact same time. Gorgeous to watch. Oh, and they all wear eggplant-colored Chuck Taylors, because that’s what Bryan wears.

After we finished dessert, I begged Kim, who had been making friends with our various waiters all night, to ask one them if Bryan was still there (he was nowhere to be seen just then). She said, “You ask! I’m not asking!” So I took a last swig of wine and screwed up my courage.

“Is the chef still here? Do you think he could come out and say hello to the birthday boy?” (Read: “take a picture with me?”) I was assured that yes, he was still there, and the waiter would go see if he was free.

He was free.


When he came out I almost fainted, but managed not to make too much of a fool of myself. We chatted with him a little bit about the food, Kim asking him about the sabayon and why chili oil and not siracha and things like that. He was incredibly gracious and professional, and just an all-around nice guy. I asked if I could take a picture of Roland and him, and even though he must be getting sick of people taking his photo, he said, “Sure, of course!” He and Roland were posed together and I was about to take the photo, when Kim said, “Jenny, you get in there too!” Not being one to disobey orders, I took up position on the other side of Bryan. And I put my damn arm around his waist! Holy crap, what was I thinking?! He didn’t seem to mind, though, although all I could think was, “I’m touching Bryan Voltaggio. I’m touching Bryan Voltaggio.” He’s a pretty slim dude, too, in case you were wondering.

So after all that, TJ (the tiny wine guy) came by to see if we wanted any after-dinner drinks or coffee. We didn’t, but one of the guys said something about wishing he had a cigar. Says TJ, “Let me get you our cigar menu.” What does this restaurant NOT have? So the boys ordered cigars and we all repaired to the patio so they could enjoy them. TJ accompanied us out there to cut and light the cigars, and in the meantime told us about his aspirations to own his own restaurant one day. He was just a delight to talk to. He brought us chairs and got our coats for us. He brought the bill out to us with a plate of teeny tiny “ice cream sandwich” profiterols, and didn’t rush us to pay, even though we were one of the last groups in the place. And after we’d paid the bill and the guys were finishing their cigars, out TJ comes one more time.

“Here are some pumpkin cranberry muffins for you all to take home.”

I mean, come on. Just a lovely touch. That right there is how you get a repeat customer.

It was a perfect evening. Good friends, good wine, a little celebrity sighting, and exquisite food. Thanks, Roland, for letting me be a part of it!

Oh, and the dirty liar part? While we were talking to the chef, Roland said, “Well, we hope you win Top Chef,” and Bryan replied, “I hope I win, too!” At which Kim or Andy or someone said, “You don’t know who won yet?” He said, “No, I don’t even know!” Which is when I sassed back, “You’re a dirty liar, you do too know!” Bryan laughed and said, “You’re right, I do know.”

I made Bryan Voltaggio laugh.

Squeee!

http://www.voltrestaurant.com/