As thunderstorms ripped through Prince George’s County last week, WAMU’s David Furst and I stood there in the downpour and talked about the continued crack down on pupusa truck vendors in the area. The trucks that defy the law against street vending continue to rack up $500 tickets; others have moved their trucks to an area around the West Hyattsville Metro station, where sympathetic police apparently don’t get hard-ons by issuing tickets to Salvadoran street vendors.

You can hear the latest on the Prince George’s County embarrassment—as well as recommendations on other street fare to sample in the area—by listening to Metro Connection today at 1 p.m. That’s 88.5 on your FM dial.

My buddy, Chad S., snapped this picture outside a fast-food joint in Sydney, Nova Scotia, home to the world’s largest fiddle. “I saw the sign,” Chad wrote me today via email, “pointed it out to everyone in the car (thankfully they shared my 4th grade appreciation of such humor), and I pulled the car over to record this historic event on film (well, digital).”

Chad denies personally removing the all-important “G” from the Harvey’s sign. Reason I even asked him is…well, Chad’s a vegan. He wouldn’t mind if the entire world thought Angus burgers tasted like a cow’s ass.

Donna Steele has not died in vain! She may have been pushed down the stairs by a husband drunk on Storz and trans-fat treats, but the creator of my favorite childhood cookie has found a second life in 2008. Thousands of you have asked for her chocolate-chip recipe—well, okay, only six of you have, but I bet through the power of online recipe-swapping, those Criso-heavy cookies have already killed eight in Bhutan.

So to better serve those who have been afraid to ask—or forbidden to ask by health-conscious loved ones—I’ve opted to post Steele’s gooey, crispy, wholly hydrogenated cookies right here. Don’t try to substitute butter for Crisco or quick oats for the rolled variety. The cookies won’t taste the same. Trust me on that one.

Donna Steele’s Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup shortening
3/4 cup white sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
2 cups rolled oats
1 tsp vanilla
12 oz. chocolate ships (semi-sweet)

1. Sift flour and salt, and set aside
2. Mix baking soda with 1 tsp hot water, and set aside
3. Cream the shortening
4. Add sugars, a little at a time, and mix with shortening until fluffy
5. Add eggs, and mix
6. Gradually add baking soda mixture
7. Add flour and rolled oats (you will need to hand-mix after adding the oats)
8. Add vanilla
9. Add chips
10. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Remove when golden brown.
11. Enjoy without remorse!

Photo by roboppy

In this week’s Young & Hungry, I proposed that José Andrés‘ THINKfoodGROUP finance the necessary research to open a full-blown Salvadoran restaurant in D.C., so that we all could finally get a taste of the country’s cuisine without interference from Mexico. The celebrity chef quickly responded this morning with an email. His short answer? No Salvadoran project.

Of course, his rejection came with a clever little dig.

The full text of his email is below:

“Hi Tim!…….good article……..

Sorry to inform that is not in my plans a Salvadorean project, amigo!

I have work to do to bring homeyness, consistency and price to my
Jaleo> menu…….

See you soon,

Jose Andres”

I received an email this week from a graduate business student at George Washington University who wanted to get ahold of David Nagar, co-owner of Teddy’s Roti Shop, about “the possibility of working with our team at GW to help this business rebound from its recent setbacks.” It sounded like a noble cause, so I contacted Nagar today to see if he’d be interested in potentially free help for his struggling Trinidadian restaurant.

Turns out that Nagar’s not even in business—at least not currently. He says he was forced to leave his temporary spot inside the Silver Spring Caribbean-Style Restaurant when the gas was shut off. (Just for the record, that info has not been verified.)

But Nagar says he’s close to signing a lease on a space in the 7300 block of Georgia Avenue NW, which would, interestingly enough, put him just down the street from his old location, soon to become Taste of the Caribbean II. Why do visions of Rosie O’Donnell and Donald Trump leap to mind?

The location that Nagar is eyeballing is not a commercial kitchen space, so he would have to build it out himself. Still, he thinks he could have the new Teddy’s ready in a couple of months.

In the meantime, though, he says he’s open to the assistance of the kindly grad students at GW. And, yes, they offered their help with the full knowledge of our November story.

ACKC may sound like a kennel club, but it’s really a cocoa bar, chocolate shop, and art gallery run by business partners Rob Kingsbury and Eric Nelson, who opened the operation last year on 14th Street NW, just up the way from the now-defunct Viridian. ACKC is an acronym for Artfully Chocolate (Nelson’s business in Del Ray) and Kingsbury Chocolates (Kingsbury’s in Old Town), which combined their talents for this first foray into the D.C. market.

Now just months into its existence, ACKC plans to open a second store in the former Sundae Times space in Alexandria, says Kingsbury. The new store, located at 2003A Mount Vernon Ave., is scheduled to open in early March. Unfortunately in this law of confectionary equilibrium, one door opening means another one closing. Nelson plans to close Artfully Chocolate around the time the new ACKC opens.

At 900 square feet, the second ACKC will be less than half the size of the original off Logan Circle. As a result, it won’t have a cocoa bar where you can sit on a stool and yak with the person making your hot chocolate, but it will offer the same chocolate-based drinks named after Hollywood starlets such as Lucy, Joan, Judy, and the rest of those one-name wonders. It will also feature Nelson’s artwork as well as Kingsbury’s chocolates and a small kitchen so patrons can see how chocolatiers go about their work.

Kingsbury says he and Nelson have been approached about opening more ACKCs, but have resisted the calls so far. First starters, neither one has the “time and money right now,” and secondly, neither wants to take on investors just for the sake of expanding. “We’re not looking at [the business] in that corporate sense,” Kingsbury says. “It’s just our business that we’re putting our heart and soul into.”

Restaurant Week always sounds like a magical opportunity. Twice a year, many of the city’s best restaurants open their doors to the plebeians who can’t normally afford their financially destabilizing fare. For $20, you get a three-course lunch. For $30, you get a three-course dinner. That’s three to four star dining on a half-star budget. Unfortunately, the experience doesn’t always live up to the hype. Servers and hostesses can be downright disrespectful to the invading middle-class masses. Some eateries only offer a few entree choices on their “special” menus and keep their best dishes at full price. You don’t need to be a professional eater to know that you’ve been gypped. This week, we’re breaking down our RW experiences for you.

The restaurant: Butterfield 9, 600 14th St. NW, (202) 289-8810.

The usual menu: For reasons I don’t understand, Butterfield 9 doesn’t get the respect it deserves. It was ranked No. 95 on the Washingtonian’s recent 100 Best Restaurants list, far below a number of places whose line cooks aren’t worthy to lick chef Michael Harr’s pans. The Washington Post didn’t even bother to include Butterfield 9 in its most recent Dining Guide. What gives? Maybe it has to do with the restaurant’s dated, dinner-club ambiance or with its equally cheesy reference to old Hollywood movies. (A number of writers have claimed that Butterfield 9 refers to the phone exchange from the Thin Man films, but I can only find a reference to the 1960 Liz Taylor flick, Butterfield 8.) Or maybe it has to do with Harr’s understated menu, which can, on the surface, seem too Old School for those dazzled by Asian fusion, upscale ethnic eats, or clever riffs on classic American prole food.

The RW menu: A smart, generous distillation of Harr’s regular menu. The dinner menu features four first-course options, five second-course options, and three dessert options.

The sneaky little surcharges: None of the dishes demanded extra charges, though you could add shrimp or foie gras to any dish for $5 or $10 respectively. You could also add wine pairings to each course for a modest $19.08 per person.

The total cost of my meal: Hell if I know. A friend paid for most of it, including the wine-pairing option. But I will say this: Had I paid for my fair share, it would have been $30.08, plus $19.08, plus tax and tip. That puts the final bill around $66, depending on what kind of tipper you are. Not exactly a RW-friendly price, but also not bad for three courses with wine pairings.

The condescension factor: Okay, so I wasn’t pleased about waiting for 40 minutes for a table; we had an 8:30 reservation, after all. That’s excessive under any circumstance. Should Butterfield 9 have comped me something for the wait? Perhaps if I were a dick who didn’t understand RW and was under an extreme time-pressure, yes. But I was neither, and what’s more, I enjoyed my time bantering with the bartender over his approach to making a Negroni. At our table (which, by the way, was freezing because a draft was shooting right at it), our waitress was more efficient than friendly, but I didn’t hold that against her. Let’s all say this together: It’s Restaurant Week. The servers are under enormous strain.

Would you go back? In a heartbeat. I’d go back for the stewed bay scallops with octopus and calamari—a light, chowderlike appetizer that was grounded with the welcome addition of earthy winter beans. I’d go back for the longneck squash soup, a velvety puree of roasted winter squash with these bright, sharp, and textural garnishes of goat cheese and pancetta. I’d go back for the Hawaiian escolar, a thick, buttery fillet paired with toasted basmati and a “saffron shellfish emulsion.” I’d go back for the Carnaroli risotto—which uses the Italian “It Rice,” Carnaroli instead of the standard Arborio—even if the liquid in the watery dish could have been reduced more and could have shed some its crunchy bits of celery root. I’d go back for the warm pistachio financier, this warm, spongy tea cake that comes with a passion-fruit creme “veloute.” I’d even go back for the braised beef short rib, but only if the kitchen toughens up the wimpy pan jus that accompanied the tender flesh. All in all, I’d say Butterfield 9 did exactly what a restaurant should do for RW: presented itself in the best possible light to first-time diners. I suspect many others will be returning, too.

Wolfgang Puck, the gnomish chef with the massive empire, finally launched a restaurant in D.C. last year with The Source, located next to the Newseum, which itself is taking its sweet time to open. Puck has been pretty busy, so it’s understandable that he has been slow to reach the nation’s capital. He first had to launch restaurants in Vegas, Hawaii and Atlantic City. He had to oversee his line of all-natural pizzas. He had to try to cut a deal with DIRECTV to include a can of his cooking spray with every satellite installation.

I guess it was only a matter of time before the celebrity-chef flock finally perched their toques in D.C. In just the past year or so, we’ve seen Laurent Tourondel open BLT Steak, Eric Ripert debut his WestEnd Bistro, and Puck spawn his Source. Puck is, by far, the most famous of the three. But is there any reason to visit his new place aside from the chance to kiss the ring of the godfather of California-style pizza? (Not that you’ll get much chance to do that, since chef Scott Drewno is the man in charge here.)

Well, that’s exactly what David Furst and I will be talking about tomorrow on Metro Connection. The conversation will look at The Source from a number of angles: from celebrity chef owners to the food on the plate to how the management doesn’t seem to understand that professional critics are not political fat cats (read: We don’t need our ears scratched or our asses kissed).

You can catch our conversation at 1 p.m. Friday, Jan. 18, on 88.5 FM.

Restaurant Week always sounds like a magical opportunity. Twice a year, many of the city’s best restaurants open their doors to the plebeians who can’t normally afford their financially destabilizing fare. For $20, you get a three-course lunch. For $30, you get a three-course dinner. That’s three to four star dining on a half-star budget. Unfortunately, the experience doesn’t always live up to the hype. Servers and hostesses can be downright disrespectful to the invading middle-class masses. Some eateries only offer a few entree choices on their “special” menus and keep their best dishes at full price. You don’t need to be a professional eater to know that you’ve been gypped. This week, we’re breaking down our RW experiences for you.

The RW visit: A Monday lunch at Corduroy, 1201 K Street NW (inside the Four Points by Sheraton),
(202) 589-0699

The usual menu: Chef Tom Power typically offers a concise, corduroy-encased menu of 18 or so entrees and apps that are strong on both French techniques and pristinely sourced American ingredients.

The RW menu: A concise, corduroy-encased menu of 15 entrees and apps that are strong on both French techniques and pristinely sourced American ingredients.

The sneaky little surcharges: Four of the 15 apps and entrees on the lunch menu demanded $3 surcharges, including the Vande Rose Farms flat-iron steak and the lobster-and-chervil omelet. In other words, more than a quarter of the items required cash over and above the RW price.

The total cost of the meal: $27.08, which included tax and tip. I didn’t order any dish with a surcharge, and I was satisfied with tap water as a beverage.

The condescension factor: Absolutely none. Our waiter, a towering Lurch of a man, couldn’t have been more cordial. He was attentive, answered all our questions, and even slyly yanked the paper from its corduroy sleeve when I asked for a copy of the RW menu.

Would you go back? It’s not that easy. Power is pulling up stakes at the Four Points, leaving behind that power-broker treehouse of wood and soft light in favor of a 19th-century townhouse at 1122 9th Street NW. His last day will be Jan. 31, and he’s supposed to open the new-look Corduroy in March. But you know how openings go; I wouldn’t exactly rearrange your St. Paddy’s Day plans in hopes of a future rezzie. In the meantime, Power didn’t leave me drooling in expectation for his new place. The cauliflower soup with Parmesan was pretty darn tasty, a pureed mixture of the mild veggie, cheese, cream, and just the right amount of lemon for brightness. But the warm goat cheese in crispy potato was in serious need of an acid kick in the ass; the cheese’s potato crown of thorns was gorgeous, but the appetizer was bland and underseasoned. The entrees were a mixed bag as well: The crispy Long Island striped bass was undercooked; the fillet concealed a little pink circle of flesh in the center, as if someone were directing a laser pointer at the fish. What’s worse, the bass’s accompaniments—a squash “baghi” and a Thai curry sauce—provided few interesting counterpoints to the mushy fish, other than the occasional flash of searing, pepper-flake heat. The chicken confit, by contrast, was a true highlight. Slow-cooked in duck fat, the skin was perfectly crisp while the meat was succulent and ever-so-delicately spiced with star anise. The creme brulee was a well-executed yawner, but Power’s chocolate-hazelnut bars—otherwise known as Michel Richard’s “Le Kit Cat” without the cutesy-poo name—boasted a thick, rich layer of mousse over a satisfyingly crunchy rail of nuts and God knows what else.

The dish: N’oreo cookie

The location: Sticky Fingers Bakery, 1370 Park Road NW, (202) 299-9700.

The price: $1.75

The skinny: The other day I was eating some serious humble pie. It came in the form of a cookie—the Liz Lovely Cowboy Cookie, which I bought at my favorite patchouli patch of self-righteousness, the natural food co-op in Takoma Park. This tasty vegan treat, thick with rolled oats and rich with dark chocolate, made me think I had been a little rash in my previously published dismissal of Sticky Fingers Bakery. So I decided to give the Columbia Heights vegan sweets shop another try. My wife, Carrie, ordered a brownie with peppermint frosting, which she really liked (and I thought tasted like Dow Chemical and Altoids had gone into the baking business together). But I was quite fond of my order of milk and cookies. Well, at least the cookie part, which is the bakery’s riff on an Oreo. (An aside: I asked the guy behind the counter to explain the name. I knew it was a stupid question, and I got a stupid answer: “It’s like an Oreo, except it’s not an Oreo.”) My N’oreo featured two deep, dark chocolate cookies (made with margarine, not butter) pressing down on a thin, slightly goopy layer of mint frosting, which was strong but not overwhelming. What I liked about the cookie was its moistness and chewiness; unlike a real Oreo, it required no milk to soften it up. Which, in my case, was a good thing. First off, I couldn’t crack open my container of Silk soy milk and, second (and more important), the demon liquid inside tasted like watery beans. I wasn’t about to dunk my sweet and chocolaty cookie into that crap.

The dish: Pomodoro soup

The location: Domaso Trattoria Moderna in the Hotel Palomar Arlington, 1121 N. 19th St., Arlington, (703) 351-1211.

The price: $6

The skinny: Ordering tomato soup in winter is not the act of lunacy it would seem on the surface. Think about it: How many bowls of tomato soup have you wolfed down with a triangle of grilled cheese on a cold December day? Pappa al Pomodoro is a hearty Tuscan soup that, thankfully, requires neither fresh tomatoes nor fresh bread. The new (and hard-to-find) Domaso Trattoria Moderna in the Hotel Palomar Arlington—for the record, take the elevator to the fourth floor and keep turning right—does a terrific version of this traditional bread soup. Trust me, it’s far better than anything you ever heated up from a Campbell’s can as a kid. The soup is a thick, velvety puree—not a lumpy mass like many pomodoros—and it comes with concentric circles of olive oil and several housemade spinach gnocchetti. At first, the soup hits your tongue all smooth and slightly tart, but then the heat kicks in. It’s the kind of pepper blast that demands respect. It’s also the kind that warms you up inside, no matter how cold it is outside.

Under the heading “Food Flash,” which the Post likes to use as a chest-thumping device to announce its breaking news, Tom Sietsema wrote yesterday:

The area’s best-known Vietnamese restaurant—Huong Que, also referred to as Four Sisters (6769 Wilson Blvd., Falls Church)—will be leaving its base in the Eden Center for a larger home in Fairfax County next year, according to Le Lai, Sister No. 2 at the family-owned business.

Hate to break the news to you, Posties, but we reported that fact more than a year ago, in our August 25, 2006 cover story. Here’s the pertinent passage:

Ly’s future does not lie with Song Que, however. She plans to join the family at Huong Que’s new location at the corner of Lee Highway and Gallows Road in Falls Church, which is scheduled to open late next year. The plan is to move Huong Que in its entirety to the new spot, a combination residential/retail space, but the family hasn’t decided yet whether to sell its lease at the Eden Center or transform the current location into something different.

It’s the same story that explained the conflicted feelings that each of the Lai siblings has toward the restaurant that made their family famous. But you wouldn’t have known it from Sietsema’s last paragraph, which reads: “Just for the record, Four Sisters is a bit of a misnomer—and has been for years. Lai concedes that she and Sister No. 4, Lieu Lai, and a brother, chef Hoa Lai, are the only siblings who work regularly at the restaurant.”

This is the second time that the Post has “reported” details from one of our food-and-wine covers without crediting the little guy. In March, the Post wrote about Montgomery County’s stranglehold on alcohol distribution and how it affects fine-wine service. It came a month after our own cover story on the issue.

Oh, and by the way: That attempt at a rhyme in the headline of Sietsema’s Food Flash—Pho to Go–it doesn’t work. It’s pronounced “fuh.” As in “pho-king” Washington Post.

The Dish: Build-your-own salad

The Location: Chop’t Creative Salad Company

The Price: Varies

The Skinny: Let me just say this right from the start: I think salads are sides, not entrees. Sure, you can throw some grilled chicken or salmon on a pile of lettuce leaves and call it an entree if you want, but let’s not fool ourselves. The protein’s the star; the salad’s a bit player. Don’t get me wrong. I like a well-composed salad as much as the next person who secretly desires a burger. I enjoy salads made with fresh veggies, fruits, and cheeses, and I love how a hit of acid from a good vinaigrette can brighten everything in the bowl. Still, I don’t get the draw of these all-salad, all-the-time places like Sweetgreen in Georgetown and the new Chop’t Creative in Penn Quarter Chinatown. You might as well open an all-mashed potato joint, as far as I’m concerned. The draw of places like Chop’t is supposed to be its DIY approach, but frankly, I hate standing there at the counter, trying to compose a salad on the spot while feeling the impatient eye of both employee and awaiting customer burning a hole in the base of my skull. Besides, unlike at home where you can fix any mistake by adding or subtracting ingredients, you’re stuck with your salad, for better or for worse, once you’ve made an order. Case in point, I tried creating a Southwestern salad using mesclun greens as a base. From there, I added avocado, red onion, grape tomatoes, Jack cheese, smoked tofu, and, just because it sounded good, smoked bacon. My dressing of choice was a “sweet and smoky chipotle vinaigrette.” (Worth noting: Aside from the greens, you’re allowed only four ingredients, so I had to pay more for the extras, plus surcharges for the smoked tofu and bacon.) My chosen ingredients were then dumped onto a cutting board, where a guy took a mezzaluna to the pile and pulverized it into a thick dice. No longer were there large, cumbersome ingredients to deal with. I felt like a baby who needs his food cut up into small pieces. Once everything was dumped into a tall plastic bowl, I wandered off to a table to test my concoction. I wasn’t too impressed with myself. The bacon dominated the salad, which was my fault, but because all the ingredients were unceremoniously chopped and mixed together in the bowl, I had a hard time composing a bite. One forkful would have too much bacon, another too much mushy avocado. Plus, once you got past the first inch of salad, the whole thing started to resemble a soup, the result of too much dressing and too much “chop’ting.” I was forced to go around the corner to Five Guys and get that burger after all.

The drink: Jewbelation Eleven

The location: Your home

The price: $6.29 a bottle at Total Wine & More in McLean.

The buzz: To celebrate its 11th anniversary, Shmaltz Brewing is turning itself into Dogfish Head Brewery. At least that’s the impression I got after tasting Shmaltz’s anniversary brew, the latest incarnation of Jewbelation Eleven. The massive brew—both in size and structure—reminds me of those hop monsters that have made Sam Calagione the darling of microbrew nuts everywhere. True to Shmaltz’s cheeky approach to making and marketing its beer, Jewbelation Eleven is brewed with 11 different malts and hops, which gives the brewery plenty of opportunities to quote Nigel Tufnel’s famous line about volume—and more of it. Jewbelation Eleven reminds me a bit of Dogfish Head’s 90 Minute IPA, though without the heavy hits of caramel and raisin. The best thing about Jewbelation Eleven is its hoppiness, which isn’t just some palate stress test. The hop blend gives the beer a complex, aromatic bitterness that I prefer over any of Dogfish Head’s hoppier bottlings. Don’t believe me? Determine for yourself on Wednesday, Dec. 19, when Shmaltz’s Jeremy Cowan puts Jewbelation Eleven to the test as part of The Brickskeller’s Annual Holiday Beer Challenge.

Former City Paper reporter Dave Jamieson and I pulled up a chair last week at Levi’s Port Cafe and practically ordered the left side of the menu, everything from a slab of ribs to Carolina-style barbecue pork to fried catfish to mac and cheese. It was our first visit, and we wanted to sample widely. The meal was part of my ongoing quest to find decent Carolina ‘cue in the area. More on that later.

But as I was paying the bill at the counter, another apparent first-timer walked in and introduced himself to the cashier. “Hi, I’m Marion Barry,” he told her and held out his hand. He said he had heard about the soul food and barbecue outlet. By the time I paid up and started to walk out, Barry had settled in at a table by the window, and plates were starting to pile up around him.

Barry’s glad-handing struck me less as politicking than as a ploy for a free meal. But not so, says Johnny Kersey, owner and chef at Levi’s. “Everybody pays that comes in,” he says, otherwise he’d go out of business fast. “If the president comes in, he has to pay.”

But Kersey did say that he’s known Barry for awhile, though he couldn’t remember if the councilmember had ever visited his place before last week’s meal.