An Epic Adventure

It doesn't take much to talk me into a road trip to DC.

In this case it was a gimmee. A friend was staying at an award-winning hotel and wanted me to come up for the night.

We were going to have dinner at a classic Washington restaurant four blocks from where I last lived up there, but one where I'd never eaten.

It wasn't like I had anything better to do.

After an easy drive up, I arrived on Embassy Row just in time for happy hour. I found my friend in the lounge and she admonished me to go upstairs to change and report back ASAP.

Done and done.

Over Chateau Grande Cassagne Rose, we chatted with other hotel guests, many of them attendees of a week-long conference there.

Our plan was to have dinner at the Jockey Club, the venerable restaurant favored by JFK and the Reagans.

My friend, the pickiest of eaters, had raved about the food, making me suspicious. I eat everything and she likes very few things I do, so how likely was it that I'd be as impressed as she?

Leaving the lounge for the restaurant produced no great surprises. The place looked exactly as I expected it would: tasteful, staid and traditional.

Although we chose to dine at the bar, we were warned that there was no bartender. We more than made do with our server, Guillaume, a charming guy from Cameroon who had us laughing within moments.

Turns out he lives in the Atlas District I've been so eager to explore. He kindly invited me up, saying he'd happily show me the neighborhood and what's worth knowing about it.

The amuse bouche was a seafood salad of crab and lobster in tarragon oil. It was two perfect bites and I'd have happily eaten a dish of that for dinner.

Taking our lead, a couple of Louisianians we'd met in the lounge, decided to dine at the bar with us.


We learned that they were with the Department of Transportation, so as you might expect, they liked talking about buses and subways.


From her former visits to the restaurant and hotel, my friend knew to start with the banal-sounding tomato soup and grilled cheese combo.

She was so right.

The Vermont Cheddar on brioche made for the fluffiest take on this old standby and the frothy heirloom tomato soup used a roux (I think?) to make it exceptionally creamy without dairy.

The Chef came out and introduced himself with just enough of an accent to be interesting. His recommendation for dinner was the Dover Sole Meuniere, done tableside, and Hillary Clinton's personal favorite.

And despite my friend having had the sole on her last two visits, she wanted to order it again.

Although she promised me bites of hers, that left me looking for something not chef-recommended.

One of the Louisiana contingent had offered me a bite of his Lobster Thermidor, and it was as rich and classic as you'd expect.

The most exotic thing on the menu was the Steak Tartare and my friend gags at the thought of it. She wanted no bites of that.

I ended up ordering the Pork Three Ways with roasted tenderloin, Nutfield Ham croquettes and pork belly with plum shallot chutney and a glass of Hob Nob Pinot Noir.

Although she was somehow unfamiliar with pork belly, she liked it. But come on, is there anyone who doesn't like pork belly?

The menu was very, very safe and no doubt caters to its crowd, but the restaurant is undergoing a complete change with more of a steakhouse menu being rolled out as soon as next week.

I'd be curious to see if the new menu offers any more creative choices than the old one did. Surely even a venerable institution can entice foodies, too.

Soon another was added to our group and this was a West Virginian who works for The Department of Homeland Security. He immediately took note of our wineglasses and insisted on buying us a glass.

I reverted to pink as we discussed dessert options with the Chef. He recommended the cheese plate and my friend nixed that (she knows she's picky, at least).

Thus our meal ended with chocolate creme brulee, always a good choice and the Chef provided the accompanying bubbles. It was an easy ending to a staid meal.

We moved back to the lounge, our trio of new "friends" following us, only to meet a Floridian who works for the Department of Defense.

I was starting to miss Richmond.

But I managed to turn the conversation to music and that improved things considerably (Defense's first show was Moby Grape...wow!).

When we got ready to make our exit, we said goodnight to the little group, resulting in the creative, the complimentary and the crass.

The Louisianan told me to send him a list of anything I wanted from his home state and he would send them to me. He'd already said cracklins and pralines would be on their way as soon as he got home.

The Floridian told me that I was a magnificent woman and the best conversationalist he'd met in twenty years.

The West Virginian said good night within ear shot of the others and then leaned in and said, "Room 300."

I slept soundly in Room 841.

Walking out into a beautiful morning in the capital of the free world, I had only to walk two blocks to find a place where I could get eggs and bacon on a bialy and enjoy it at a sidewalk table.

Greg, my friend, that bialy was because of you.

Afterwards I headed to the National Archives, a place I'd never been. You can always tell a native Washingtonian because of the places we haven't been.

I've never seen the White House, either.

The exhibit "What's Cooking, Uncle Sam?" was about the government's effect on the American Diet and it was fascinating.

There were food labels (Richmond Abattoir Corned Beef), fun facts (Jefferson smuggled rice from Italy in his coat pockets- a crime punishable by death)  and photographs (a 1958 modern housewife surrounded by processed foods to save her time).

A scientist recommended in the 1890s that Americans were eating too much fat and sugars and not getting enough exercise.

If only we'd listened then...

There were menus from White House dinners (Nixon, Carter) as well as Eisenhower's recipe for vegetable soup (give the extra meat scraps to the dogs or your neighbor's chicken, he advised in the recipe).

Recipes from the National School Lunch Program in 1946 included dishes like Liver Loaf and Soy Vegetable Chowder. How many school kids would eat either now?

The exhibit was enlightening in so many ways. I had not known that we sent food explorers to other countries seeking out foods that would do well in our American climate. Or that butter was once one of the seven food groups.

When I left the city, my adventures began anew.

First there was the flat tire on I-95 (a State Trooper arrived within half an hour and graciously changed it for me, even tipping his hat when he finished), and then endless backups and stopped traffic that finally sent me in search of a back road.

Exiting at Falmouth, I realized that my plans for the day were shot. I'd have to get a new tire as soon as I got home and nothing else was going to get accomplished.

So I decided that I might as well stop for lunch. The Mad Crab looked rustic and local enough and although everything on the menu was deep-fried (scallops included), they had three sizes of hardshells.

I ordered a half dozen, sat down next to a couple of gray-haired women doing the same and began cracking and eating. And talking to them, of course.

This wasn't supposed to be how my quickie to DC played out, but, all things considered, it wasn't so bad.

Honestly, the crabs beat out out last night's pig. But then, I'm a crab lover.

And I wouldn't have wanted to miss the Jockey Club experience, either.

I'll take it all.