Tuesday, December 14 2010 at 11 AM

Thanks for the info.

This is good news, although not quite the good news I was expecting. I was expecting a re-launch of Farrah Olivia in a stand-alone location, possibly in downtown DC. (I think that's what Morou had told me at the time he'd closed up the restaurant.) Nonetheless, it's welcome news for anyone who has thrilled over Morou's cooking over the years.

This is a really interesting question. And it's funny you ask this now, because my wife asked the exact same thing a week ago.

One thing that's important to keep in mind, here, is that "Michelin quality" means a certain kind of destination — one with a very, very specific brand of service, for one thing. There are fewer and fewer restaurants in the city that practice this kind of very formal, very highly orchestrated service, which, if you ask me, is a good thing. I don't equate that sort of formality with quality; it can be, certainly, but I think it's a mistake to think that coordinated waves of waiters and synchronized placement of dishes, always from the right, is synonymous with great service.

We're also not France; we're a much more informal country — for good and for ill — and I think the best American restaurants are much more intimate, casual statements, even if they're doing fine dining. They have the American energy, the American looseness.

That, of course, is not what the Michelin inspectors are looking for.

I would guess only a handful of restaurants in this city would earn an actual star of some kind. Citronelle, I think, is one. I could see it getting 1 or possibly 2 stars. Adour is another.

I think there's a good chance The Inn at Little Washington would clock in with either 2 or 3.

I could see a couple of 1-stars. The Source. Restaurant Eve. CityZen. Minibar. (Would I ever love to see the Michelin inspector's visit to Minibar!)

And then you'd probably have about a dozen or so other places that don't receive a star but are honored to be "mentioned."

If Michelin ever did come here, I think it would be a sobering thing for foodies in the city to see — a cold bucket of water on our great community plate of foie gras.

Thank you for writing. Smart, insightful words. 

I, like you, am most bothered by the treatment of employees. That's not to say I am not bothered by the tax embezzlement, and the money that was essentially taken out of diners' pockets. But taking from your employees is, in my mind, a deeper and more disturbing offense. It is, as I wrote last week, an abuse not just of power, but an abuse of the family that a restaurant is, and has to be. 

Honestly: I don't think any restaurant at National Harbor is worth spending the kind of money that you're going to have to spend.

By saying that, what I'm saying is that I'm unwilling to offer a formal recommendation. Not that I can't help you out; I can; I'm going to in just a second. I just don't want to be tagged as making any kind of endorsement.  

The place I'd choose is Rosa Mexicano. It's cheaper than the steakhouses and other big, expense-account sorts of establishments, and I think the kids would have fun with it. And if your meal is bound to be uneven — I'd all but guarantee it — you at least know that it's going to start well, with pomegranate margaritas and bottomless baskets of chips and salsa.  

If it's out of place, then the Ritz-Carlton ought to make some changes. 

I think the room is gorgeous — a triumph of design, and a huge asset to the restaurant. It's sumptuously elegant and feels appropriately expensive, but it's not at all gaudy or pretentious, as settings like this can sometimes be. And I love the dominant color, a rich, deep plum. So many designers — so many people — are afraid of color. It's nice to see someone who is not.

I never cared fo the dining room at Maestro. You'd dig into a piece of fish sitting atop a thatch of smoked hay, and the person sitting opposite you would pour a test tube of sauce onto their plate of veal or venison — very unusual cooking, in other words, very self-conscious, very stylized, and often very wonderful … but the room was as staid and featureless — colorless — as the food wasn't.

But back to Michel for a second.

There are some very good things coming out of the kitchen, and also some pretty good things that ought to have been very good. The place could use more fine-tuning. And that goes for the staff as well as the kitchen.

I suspect both will tighten up as the restaurant gets its footing.

But a potential problem is a deep-structure problem. Dinner for two, right now, is about a third more than Central, chef Michel Richard's DC bistro. Michel lacks Central's conviviality and informality, however, while also falling short of the high-gloss perfectionism of his fine dining flagship, Citronelle.

Yeah, who'd have thunk it?

Well, I guess I did, but I have to say, it didn't come to me at first when I was trying to come up with suggestions for you. The more I started thinking about it, though, it seemed like a good bet. The food, for all its technical wizardry and inventiveness, is really pretty straightforward in what it wants to communicate. 

I'm glad it worked out.

And brussels sprouts! Whoa. She doesn't like meatloaf, but loves brussels sprouts?!?

Since you brought up the lava cake … I know a lot of people who love going out, love good food, who now turn up their noses at the thought of a molten cake, or a lava cake, or whatever you want to call it. I know it's not new, or particularly clever, and I know that for a while there, a few years ago, every high-end or aspiring-to-high-end restaurant seemed to be featuring one. But you know what? It's a pretty wonderful way to round off a meal, even if the version you're eating isn't all that memorable. 

Pastry chefs love to work with chocolate, and it's imperative that you have at least one chocolate-centered sweet on the menu, but so many chocolate desserts aren't worth the calories. I love the trend of incorporating salt into chocolate, and also of using dark, high-quality chocolate, but I wish that more pastry chefs would recognize that all chocolate shows best when it's served warm. The flavors come out most fully then, and you have a silken sort of richness to sink into.

I sincerely hope — for everybody's sake — that this is not true …

I'm going to list my email address here, tkliman@washingtonian.com, and ask that you or your friend please get in contact with me this afternoon. 

This is the very definition of "pressure cooking."

I hate it.

Nothing done under self-imposed scrutiny like that is ever going to be any fun. And cooking for friends ought to be fun.

I don't have an appetizer I turn to as a failsafe, no. But maybe there are chatters out there who can come to your aid –?

One thing I know, though. There are certain things that are bound to chime with people at a party. They are: bacon; cream; butter; cheese; fry.

Dishes with one or, preferably, more than one of those things usually fly.

I said I don't have a failsafe, and I don't, but I love to make romesco, and the flavor is so interesting and complex that it makes the dish seem more involved than it actually is. 

Romesco is pretty simple: Into a blender add a jar of drained roasted red peppers, and the following, all having been lightly fried in olive oil — a good hunk of bread, a nice bunch of almond slivers, and a couple of cloves of garlic. Add a generous pinch of smoked paprika, maybe a dab or two of tomato paste, and several hits of sherry vinegar. Puree, then add black pepper and salt to taste. 

Sear some nice, fat scallops — use the olive oil that's flavored with the almonds and garlic and bread, and aim for a golden, crusty exterior.

You're ready to plate. Smear the platter with the romesco. Position the scallops atop the puree. Then sprinkle each scallop with a little smoked paprika for color, and scatter some lightly fried almond slivers on top.

See if people don't ooh and aah.

I really like the steak frites there. The fries, when I last had them, were impressively thin and had been cooked in fresh oil; that's the kind of minding of detail you don't often see. And the hanger steak was perfectly seasoned. Great, blood-borne flavor, and I loved the thick, natural crust the kitchen was able to put on it — evidence of careful searing. 

I also like the mustard-crusted rack of lamb and, to start — and share — the country-style pheasant pate.

Enjoy yourselves tonight!

Sounds like the sort of thing that's made for a New Year's Eve party.

Who's staying home this year? — I'm curious. Or staying in with friends?

I haven't gone out for NYE for a while now, and I really love the parties my wife and I have been throwing every year. Stay in, splurge on ingredients and make something really lavish, and open up a bunch of bottles of wine.

Last year, I made a huge pot of bouillabaisse with five kinds of fish and seafood, and we served a caramel crepe cake — 36 crepes, stacked one on top of another, with warm dulce de leche serving as the "mortar" for each layer and a drizzled, runny "frosting" made with caramel, orange juice, orange peel and Cointreau. 

Alongside: a lot of white Burgundy, a sparkling Shiraz and a bottle of Champagne.

This year? I have no ideas at the moment. … Any suggestions?

I think the year before we did thick, prime-beef steaks, and got them good and (over)seasoned with grey salt and cracked black pepper and herbs, and then sliced them up at the table for everyone. With a potato gratin, some vegetable or salad I can't remember now, and lots of good red wine.

e.) a moment of incredulity, followed by:

f.) a moment of self-admonishment, for being surprised 

And just for the record: the magazine didn't promise anything. I know there are publications that work deals like that, but Washingtonian is not one of them. 

It's all pre-selected, all of it. There's no more menu to consider. The diner surrenders control the moment he or she steps through the door.

You can, however, suggest in no uncertain terms to your server that you would really love to see the slow-roasted baby goat show up at the appointed time.

As for the wine pairing: My feeling is that it's worth splurging on in a restaurant where you're only dining on, say, four courses.

At Komi and at Minibar, there are so many courses, and so many flavors, that it's hard to synchronize the wines with them — even for a good sommelier. It's really asking a lot of any one glass of wine, to be a perfect fit with three or four small courses.

I think a couple of wines is the way to go, along with a bottle or two of sparkling water.

Restaurants would never admit this, because they'd stand to lose a ton of money, but it's true: Sparkling water is the most versatile, most dependable drink for a fine-dining meal. It always does the job — always — cleansing the palate every single time with its tiny scrubbing bubbles.

What you won't ever get from sparkling wine, of course, is the wondrous alchemy that results when wine and food have each met their match. That's a special kind of magic. 

But it's also elusive; many supposedly great pairings never fully materialize.

We can do much, much better — much, much more interesting — than Benihana.

How about Honey Pig Gooldaegee in Koreatown (Annandale)? Or, also in Koreatown — Oegadjib. Both are really good for large groups. Honey Pig, in particular — there's probably no more festive spot in the area; it's like a nightly party, one that goes on forever and ever.

For Ethiopian, there are a wealth of options: Meaza, in Arlington, and Etete, in DC, are two of my favorites, and both are well-suited to big gatherings.

It sounds like a fun night. I'd be curious to hear which place you end up hitting. Drop back on and let us know, okay?

Meantime, I'm running late for lunch …

Be well, everyone, eat well, and let's do it again next week at 11 …

[missing you, TEK … ]