Tuesday, April 7 at 11 AM

Oh, we're looking to valorize the mediocre; that's pretty much where we start, when we sit down and begin the process. Come on, now — what do you think? Jeez …

Here's what's funny. You say most are mediocre, but give only 2 examples of restaurants on the current list. On the other hand, you name 6 that you "really liked." Say what?

(I'm surprised you didn't like Four Sisters. I think it's a terrific place: good food, beautiful space, warm and attentive service.)

Exactly what's our criteria. Okay, exactly: We're looking for distinctive, memorable cooking, first of all. First and foremost. If the food can't move us, then it hardly matters if we're dazzled by the setting or wowed by the scene, etc., etc.

We're also looking for service that is smart and warm and personal — with waiters and waitresses who know how to read a table, who don't do the same shtick with each and every group of diners, who know their stuff and yet who don't push. (Extra points for those men and women who are personable and enthusiastic — who are real people, the kind you'd like to sit down and have a drink with.)

This year, we also place a great (unprecedented, actually) premium on value, which is why some spots — like Willow, a fine restaurant — did not make the final cut.

I think, for me, a place where everything — food, service, atmosphere — is fine and smooth but nothing really stands out — is going to be less likely to stick in my mind when all is said and done than a place where a few dishes are knock-your-socks-off good and a few servers go above and beyond and there are interesting, unexpected touches scattered throughout the experience.

Incidentally, interviewed Wolfgang Puck for NPR last Fall, and he mentioned having dined at a couple of three-star Michelin restaurants on his recent trip to Paris. I asked how his meals were. Great, he said. I asked what he'd eaten. He smiled: I can't remember, he said. Nope, not a single dish. It was all good — great, even. But I don't remember a thing about any of them.

Bill,

I wish I had some little-known answer, but the fact is, there's nothing you can do when a place has shuttered like that.

It stinks, doesn't it? 

I hear you.

But I think it needs to be said: The point I was making had nothing to do, really, with wine.

The point had to do with high-end restaurants, and how they are in the business of hospitality — i.e., the business of being hospitable. At the very highest levels, the business of making people happy.

If you aspire to greatness, and you are truly interested in seeing people go away happy, and — and, please, let's not gloss over this point, which I stressed at the time I got into this debate a couple of weeks ago — the customer is not conniving and absolutely on the level, then you do what needs to be done.

A play, by the way, is different from a restaurant. If someone didn't like a production, they never say I'm never, ever going back to that theater. But people do this all the time with restaurants. One and done.

Here's another way they're different:

A night at a top-notch restaurant is a kind of improv in which you, the diner, are a part of the production. You change the experience by your very presence. If, say, you leave the table to take a smoke, you throw off the rhythm of the kitchen — a particular problem if you've ordered a multicourse tasting menu, where pacing is a real pain.

Generally speaking, if something goes wrong during the course of this improvisatory theater, you can alter the script.

You simply can't do that with a play, or a movie, or a concert.

And this is something a lot of people don't understand about restaurant reviews. It's not like a review of a CD or a movie or a play. It's not a static thing.

Those reviews ought to be sure things — if, of course, you are in sync with the p.o.v. of the critic.

There can't be guarantees with a restaurant, simply because so many elements are in play each and every night, and if any one of those elements is off in any way, it can throw off an entire meal.

And the thing is, we're not done yet. Far from it.

Le Paradou doesn't surprise me. I never saw the dining room crowded. Or close to crowded. And a restaurant like that — very expensive, very formal — had better bring it every night in an economy like this. And Le Paradou  didn't. It was very uneven. Brilliant, at times. But not often enough.

Actually, i think it was a casualty of the wealth of (interesting, more affordable) possibilities very nearby, in Penn Quarter.

I'm not prepared to say this is the death of formal fine dining, because things go in cycles, and hey, we may lift out of this thing just yet … by 2014.

But even before the bottom fell out, the mood had been relentlessly casual — come as you are, assemble a meal of your choosing, take a sip or a glass or order a bottle, etc., etc.

More and more, those are the kinds of places that you're going to be seeing. 

You're not looking hard enough. Here you go.

I think it's a terrific place, if you like good food.

Don't laugh. I recommend places all the time to people, assuming that they, like me, like good food. Like it, that is, above all.

But for many people, thoroughly decent food in nice, comfy surroundings, presented by nice, attractive and courteous servers, trumps good food in a hole in the wall location every single time. It's amazing to me, but there you are. (Actually, it's not that amazing. Disappointing; it's disappointing.)

Do i think it'd be good for a birthday? Probably not.

They're not going to do anything to make it special for you, just serve you good, honestly prepared Bosnian cooking at a good price. 

I enjoyed a meal I had the last time I was there at 208 Talbot. Good atmosphere, low-lit and cozy, and some good wines, including a fairly long selection by the glass. And cooking that tries hard enough but not too hard, if you know what I mean. 

It's very near the water, but not right on the water.

I also enjoyed a meal I ate at Bella Luna, a quirky Italian restaurant and market that's not at all near the water and is about a ten, fifteen minute drive from the heart of downtown. I didn't love everything, but one thing that charmed me was a plate of cheeses and meats and pickled veggies; really wonderfully done, and a great dish to while away an hour or so over a glass or two of wine.

Let me know what you end up doing/eating, and drop back in and share your report with us … 

Sorry — I've got nothing.

Anyone?

It's interesting. These small touches really are important. In the end, they're not small at all.

South Street Steaks, when it first opened a few years ago, in College Park, was doing a really pretty good job with its hoagies and cheesesteaks. But a year or so ago, I saw they'd added mayo as one of their condiments. A true Philadelphian would be horrified by the sight of mayo anywhere near a hoagie. The guy behind the counter shrugged and said something to the effect of: People keep asking for it. What can you do?

What you can do, is tell them no. Presuming, of course, that you want to remain a Philly-style hoagie and cheesesteak place.

There's the rub. Alienate the core of people who know, or turn off the audience that doesn't know and doesn't care and simply wants what it wants and now.

I have no problem with a business choosing the latter path. But then, it's just another sandwich place, not a true hoagie place.

I love, love, love the dosas at Woodlands, in Langley Park.

If you go, get the Special Onion Rava Masala Dosa, which is my favorite. Absolutely scrumptious. One of the single best dishes you can find in the area.

And very, very affordable.

Go.

Do not pass go. Do not collect $500 dollars …

Very, very interesting.

You know, my instinct with these things is always to side with the culture on whose turf you're on. But in this case, it's tricky.

Ravi isn't a private organization, it's a public space. It's a business. 

I'm guessing the manager did nothing, because what can a manager do in this instance?

The table behind you was offended, and I understand that. And I'm betting they were offended, not just at the display of flesh, but at the idea — possibly; again, I'm guessing — that Ravi is their place and hence, their space.

But it's not.

This is a pluralistic society, and, especially in this area, a multi-hued, multi-racial, multi-voiced demographic, one that values tolerance and openness and difference.

At least, most of the time, it does.

I so cherished those long-ago games with my au pair, when mummy and father were away, overseas. The estate was a cold, sometimes lonely place those days …

But humorously … 

No, thanks for the quick correction. That just goes to show you how long it's been since I played!

"Recession edition"? Heck, if things keep up, those yesteryear prices won't seem so yesteryear. 

Don't hold back. I mean, what's the web for if not for long, windy, self-indulgent expulsions of thought and feeling that you could not air anywhere else. ; )

Ketchup. No idea. It's been much, much delayed.

Thanks for the tip about Five Guys. I love burgers with eggs on top. In fact, I would love to see more of these around town. Big, sunset-yellow, runny eggs to pierce and ooze their yolky goodness down the sides of a fresh, charred burger. Get on it, chefs!

Yes, Central's burger is terrific. Re: Ray's. I like it with Epoisses. See above, albeit it sans yolk. But I love the runny, soft, funkiness. But really, it's the meat itself that impresses me. It eats like a steak molded, loosely, into a patty, as opposed to a disc of ground beef, which is what you usually find, even at the good spots.

I'm with you on Good Stuff's fries; huge disappointment.

And actually, since you bring up fries, and since every restaurant you can shake a ketchup bottle at is doing fries these days, I thought I would just say: I really like the fries at Bourbon Steak. I don't think you can do any better than these.

But, having said that — and while I think it's a very disarming move to open a meal at a very expensive restaurant in a very expensive hotel with french fries — I think it's time to say I (and others; I'm not just speaking for myself, here) have absolutely od'd on the whole fry thing. We're tired. We're bored. Enough.

Interestingly, the GM at Bourbon Steak claims that the restaurant is a "neighborhood restaurant."

This is the Four Seasons we're talking about. In Georgetown. Where they are currently charging — ahem — $85 for a lobster pot pie.

Can we all put the "neighborhood restaurant" talk to a rest, please?

A neighborhood restaurant — a real neighborhood restaurant — is the kind of place where you can show up fresh from the gym without having showered, and no one will give you a cross look. It's not fancy. It doesn't aspire. It just is. It's not the kind of place you go talking up to anyone, other than your neighbors. You love it, even when it doesn't always seem to love you. It has faults, obvious faults, and yet you go, anyway. In fact, you go because of the faults. Because the faults make it seem more real, more human.

One fault at a place like Bourbon Steak, or a couple at the new Eventide (it's a notch or two below in ambition), and you stop coming, and write in to me and complain.

Must I be so snotty …

Well, I'd really prefer not to be snotty at all. I'd prefer to be embracing and warm and kind. That's what i'd prefer. 

And actually, maybe it's a matter of p.o.v., but here's the thing: I don't call that snotty. I would say, at worst, it's flippant. It's an honest, candid reaction, typed quickly. (This is a chat, right?)

I think it's okay for someone to come on and call the restaurants on the list mediocre (it's more okay if you can furnish better specifics; 2 bad vs. 6 good is not a very convincing argument.) but I also think it's okay for me to respond in kind.

Good lord.

(Note to self: Exnay on the evitay-lay.)

I'm talking about the corner restaurant. The corner restaurant, which, to me, is the real neighborhood restaurant.

And I'm not advocating that people show up sweaty. I said it's the kind of place where, if you DO show up sweaty, then it's not the end of the world.

If people are going to get all bent out of shape, well, then that's a pretty good idea we're not really talking about a neighborhood restaurant.

Most of the places that call themselves neighborhood restaurants, to me, are not truly neighborhood restaurants. They are employing a marketing device. Many of them are far too upscale in their aims and pretensions to be true neighborhood restaurants. Being in a neighborhood, does not automatically make you a neighborhood restaurant.

Neighborhood restaurants, real neighborhood restaurants, don't advertise the fact, and don't need to. 

I don't think it's going to bury anything.

I think Old Town can support a lot of different places, and different kinds of places; it's a magnet, and continues to be, despite the economy. It's just flooded with people every time you go.

I've had one meal at Brabo, the restaurant, and one meal at Brabo, the Tasting Room — not enough visits, that is, to make any definitive judgments.

But I can tell you that I enjoyed my time at the Tasting Room more. It was simpler in aim, but it also realized its aims more fully. It was also more exciting and more memorable. The restaurant itself reminds me of a lot of hotel dining, with a very conservative (especially by today's very forward-thinking standards) menu. A lot of things done well, and done correctly, but without much verve. And I would have to refer back to my notes to tell you what I had.

I drove by the butcher's on Sunday, looking (in vain, it turned out) for parking. It was packed. I'm looking forward to shopping there.

Very sensible, thoughtful comments.

Thanks for chiming in on this, Adams Morgan.

And it needs to be said again, that restaurants don't have to take a full hit on an opened bottle of wine that's been rejected by a customer. That bottle of wine can very easily be turned into several wines by the glass.

And the gesture, I believe — graciously accepting the rejected bottle and furnishing another that's more to the customer's liking — will be handsomely repaid at some point down the line. And perhaps, many times over.

I think you make some very good points.

I also think it needs to be said that restaurants in this area — I'm talking about high-end restaurants, not family-style ethnic restaurants, etc. — are generally not that consistent. (The family-style ethnic restaurants are very, very consistent; that's one of their great selling points.)

What you get, in the very top tier of restaurants on the list, is more of a guarantee of consistency. Which isn't the same as saying a guarantee. But you minimize your chances of off-nights and oddities and slip-ups.

I had a mind-blowingly great meal at Citronelle this Fall. One of the best meals I've had, ever, anywhere in the world.

I went back exactly two weeks later, and what happened? A very good meal. But not mind-blowingly great. Not even mind-blowingly good.

Just very, very good.

Well, that's a kind of inconsistency. It happens. Even at the very top. 

Roscoe's is the pizza place that's due to open in Takoma Park. Of course, it was due a good while ago. I haven't heard anything in months.

What you need to do is, you need to get yourself to Pete's Apizza in Columbia Heights. Truly great New Haven-style pies — better, if you can believe it, than what you find a lot of the time in New York and Philly, etc. It's that good. 

I like Pete's pies better than any other in the area at the moment, and there are a lot of good ones out there — 2 Amys, Moroni and Brother's, Comet, Cafe Pizzaiolo, American Flatbread, and, of course, the near and dear Tommy Marcos's Ledo Restaurant. 

Well, it's not like it's Sophie's Choice. You're not really going to go wrong with any of these. That's three of the best restaurants in the city.

I'd say do the bar at CityZen. You can go there as a couple, but I think it lends itself better to solo dining, particularly if you're really looking for a foodie adventure and want a real experience. Enjoy it.

Congrats on that!

Here's the thing, though. If you're already talking about/thinking about wine, then you may be setting yourself up for disappointment. 

FF is a very upscale, eco-minded Bob's, is what it is. Go with that in mind, and you're not likely to be disappointed. I.e., simple, comforting, minimally fussed-with dishes.

I like the 17-veg salad — three or four could share it. And the fried chicken, while sometimes uneven, is often very good.

I've got a lunch to make, and I'm running late, so thank you, everyone, for the great and sometimes poky questions.

Eat well, be well, and let's do it again next week at 11 …

(TEK, we love and miss you; Wednesday night won't be the same without you … )

Didn't get your question answered in this chat? Submit in advance to Todd's next chat on Tuesday, April 14 at 11 AM.