Public Service Announcement: DO NOT PATRONISE

Morgan is right in that we mostly write positive reviews of the places we go to, with only occasional mentions of ticks or pet peeves. Should we not also write about restaurants that don’t quite make the grade? I feel as though I am doing the public a service here, by warning them away from the following restaurants.

West End Bistro

I have been to this place twice, once for lunch and once for dinner, and I believe I have given it its due. One expects a certain standard of a restaurant by Eric Ripert. Unfortunately this restaurant does not quite make that standard. Maybe I am being harsh in expecting superior preparation of fish from a Ripert resto, but my skate was completely botched on my first visit. Even still, I accept that fish is difficult to master. But I also sampled the tagliatelle al ragu and, on my second visit, the braised short rib. Now, these preparations of beef are not difficult. It is, in my opinion, more difficult to mess up braised short rib than to do it well. You don’t even need a good wine for braised short rib – the key ingredient here is time. Lots of it. The short rib at West End Bistro was flat, had no depth of flavour, and was woefully underseasoned. I don’t know if anybody tasted it before sending it out, but it certainly did not seem so. To say that the restaurant – which is in the Ritz-Carlton – is also responsible for in-room dining is simply not an excuse. The Blue Duck Tavern, barely two blocks away, also has similar responsibilities for the Park Hyatt Hotel, and they do a lovely job. My advice to anyone who is thinking of visiting the West End Bistro – walk two blocks to the Blue Duck instead.

Café Atlantico

This place has definitely jumped the shark. It used to be known for adventurous, interesting flavour combinations and what was also enjoyable cuisine, but that is not the case any longer. I went here for dinner last week and had a scallop appetiser that was downright terrible. The menu promised seared scallop with coconut and crispy rice, drizzled in squid ink. The scallops were not seared properly and had been clearly been left cooking under a heat lamp for too long. The coconut rice was lacking in flavour, and there were probably four drops of squid ink on the entire dish, splashed on almost as an afterthought. I had to ask for more squid ink, which the waitress graciously provided – but even then it did not taste very good. My entrée of beef cheeks was less than spectacular, and a companion’s duck confit was just bad. The one bright spot was the flank steak, but even that was not enough to redeem this restaurant in my opinion.

(The other bright spark, obviously, was that I went to this place on someone else’s tab, and got to drink these wines: a ’90 La Conseillante, an ’89 Margaux, a ’90 Latour and an ’86 Mouton-Rothschild. They were all fabulous, with the Latour winning top honours and the La Conseillante a close second. But it only made me more pissed that the food did not stand up to the wine.)

Central

This is the sister restaurant to Citronelle, which I gushed about so heartily a little while ago. There is absolutely no comparison. Citronelle is thoughtful, eclectic and innovative cuisine with a strong emphasis on presentation. Central is none of those things. Sure, there is an attempt at bistro cuisine, but I tried a pate de campagne there that had a somewhat stiff texture and not enough taste to redeem it. I was there in a party of three once, and a party of six another time; so I tried my fair share of dishes, but none among them were worth writing home about. Bistro food is not tough. It is the equivalent of comfort food – of hot dogs and hamburgers – for the French. It is not rocket science. If you want to complicate it, by all means. Just don’t fuck it up.

Fogo de Chao

This is a chain restaurant. That should be enough said against it, but let me go on. Fogo de Chao is a Brazilian churrascaria, and it should be a heaven for a meat-eater like myself. A phalanx of servers bring grilled meats around on skewers and platters, and carve off pieces for you table-side; and they don’t stop until you tap out and beg for mercy. The problem here is that everything is seasoned the same way – sea salt and garlic. So everything, after a while, begins to taste the same. You can’t even tell the difference between lamb and beef anymore, much less between top and bottom sirloin, or between ribeye and filet mignon. I have been in other churrascarias before, and not had this problem, so I know it is possible. Also, I was promised by someone who had been here before, that they had a wonderful salad bar – “just like being in the produce section of Whole Foods”. Not that it really mattered to me, but I decided to hit the salad bar in the middle of the meal as a respite from all the red meat, and I have never seen a larger spread of limp vegetables in my life. Sure, it was impressive, but nothing looked very appetizing at all. I got some beets and nearly spat them out later at the table. Now, I even like beets raw, so you have got to do something seriously fucked up to them for me not to like them.

Every Chinese Restaurant in DC, Every Last One of Them

There is no good Chinese food in the District of Columbia. Period.