We’ve noticed a trend in a handful of our neighborhood bars lately. It seems that staff who pride themselves in stocking high-quality, flavorful beers are figuring out ways to undermine their need to sell yellow water to the masses. And they’re speaking up about it.

The Black Squirrel, for example, has a section of their beer list dedicated to “lightly-hopped lagers” and describes them as “classic” and “mild,” the kind of beers that “whisper instead of scream.” A use of euphemism if we’ve ever seen one.

The Reef’s approach is even better. Their description of Miller Light states it’s from “somewhere in America” and reads, “The aroma of beer precedes a distinct beer taste. Finishes like beer.” Next to their thoughtful descriptions of the craft and imported beers they can always be trusted to have on draft, this is an obvious slight.

Bourbon is by far the best example, as you can see from the photo above. They boldly state how they feel on their board, as well as their beer menu, which has ”Something Light” listed where the  fizzy yellow stuff should be. When we asked our server recently why they couldn’t bring themselves to write  the B-u-d word anywhere in the bar, he said they didn’t like that stuff there and that it was a jab at the weekend clientèle who demand it.

We’ve heard some bar owners say it’s good to carry what your customers want and then nudge them along toward more flavorful styles. We’ve also heard beer directors with a “no-crap-on-tap” mentality say that the big beer companies make enough money without their help. We pose the question to you. Have you seen treatment like this anywhere and what do you think about it?

Super Tacos’ super gordita

Super Tacos & Bakery sounds either like a joke — with its affected comic-book adjective — or an ESL owner’s attempt to appeal to gringos. Whatever the case, the name doesn’t give you any perspective on this tiny take-out on Columbia Road NW, which clings to the Hispanic traditions that once defined the Adams Morgan neighborhood.

The tacos are prepared Mexican-style, the fillings folded inside a double-layer of corn tortillas and sprinkled with cilantro and diced onions, those two towering aromatics of Latin American cuisine. Despite the authentic prep, all ST&B tacos are not alike; the carne asada leans toward the tough and chewy, while the fine-grind chorizo smacks of too much cumin. The best tacos, I’ve found, are the meaty lengua and the piquant, seasoned al pastor.

Read More “Spot Check: Super Tacos & Bakery” »

In today’s Washington Business Journal, Jonathan O’Connell reports that Ray’s Hell Burger, the Oval Office’s first choice for ground beef patties, will open a branch in Adams Morgan this fall. This news was enough to ruin Y&H’s morning since I had spoken with owner Michael Landrum several weeks earlier about this very issue, and he denied any such plans.

So I got Landrum on the horn today to do some ’splainin’. Bottom line: He has no deal in place to open a Hell Burger in the former Ghana Cafe space at 2465 18th St. NW.

Read More “Not So Fast: There’s No Deal for a Ray’s Hell Burger in Adams Morgan” »

Paul Rudd: No rabbit for you!

There’s an 18-wheeler parked just up Champlain Street from the City Paper offices. Behind it, there’s a large, portable Southern Pride unit, smoking up a batch of ribs. Just off the sidewalk, on a piece of concrete that leads to the First Church of Christ Scientist, there’s a dude sporting what sounds like an Australian accent, cooking up a whole griddle-full of half-pound burgers. To his right, there are unknown morsels bubbling away in two deep fryers. Fries?

All of this — every last bite — is designed for the cast and crew of the untitled James L. Brooks production currently filming in Adams Morgan. (CP’s Darrow Montgomery has already aimed his lens at some of the principal shooting.)

I asked the cook what’s on the menu, and the terse Aussie (I think!) said, “Everything.” I pressed him, and he replied, “It’d be easier to ask what’s not available.”

Read More “James L. Brooks’ Crew Eats ‘Everything’ While in Adams Morgan” »

As promised, I went back to Shawarma King last Wednesday, May 27, for a guided tour and meal with owner Butros Qumseya, who requested I give his restaurant a second go after he read my negative review in the Feed a few weeks back.

Disclaimer: Food critics eat anonymously because the average restaurateur, if given the chance, would make sure that a critic had the best experience possible at his restaurant; one that the average diner would not have. Seeing as I promised Qumseya to come by when the shawarma might be juicier, I do know, for a fact, that I was treated differently the second time around than when I wandered in off the street a few weeks back. I agreed to a second visit in part because I felt guilty for slamming his restaurant when it already had—among other things—location going against it. (Case in point: When I showed up Wednesday morning, someone had sloppily vandalized Shawarma King’s storefront using acid, which left clearly visible grooves in the glass.) But more importantly, I wanted to see if Qumseya was blowing smoke about the shawarma being better right around lunchtime than during the late afternoon. Qumseya refused—not once, but twice—to accept my money. I paid nothing for my meal.

Read More “Shawarma King, Revisited” »

LL just got off the phone with a nearly manic Ward 1 Councilmember Jim Graham. Manic, because he says that he’s being unfairly deemed a pizza-banning legislator by a local TV station.

“I have been in media for 30 years, and there’s never been a more preposterous story than this one,” he says.

When WJLA-TV trained his cameras on him last week outside the John A. Wilson Building, he says, he mentioned nothing of legislation—only the jumbo slice pizzerias happen to be associated with certain problems, he says. “When they turn their speakers to the sidewalk, ramp up the volume, and have terrible fights occur not only outside the place but inside the place, when they provide kind of an unruly boardwalk atmosphere, they become a nuisance.” But that doesn’t mean legislation! He has no such bill in the works, Graham says.

“It’s wrong, it’s inaccurate, and it’s unfair,” he says. “To suggest that this is my point of view is absurd.”

LL is currently seeking a response from Channel 7.

UPDATE, 6:10 P.M.: WJLA-TV reporter John Gonzalez says Graham indeed told him, in response to a question, that he was considering legislation. “He said, ‘Oh yeah, I’ve already talked to the mayor.’ And I asked, ‘You mean to revoke licenses?’ He said, ‘I mean, yeah.’”

“I have it on camera,” Gonzalez adds. “I have the raw video!”

Read More “Jim Graham: I’m Not Trying to Abolish the Jumbo Slice!” »

The Diner is fine. In fact, everything at the Diner is so fine that I imagine the restaurant was dreamed up somewhere in Northern Finland by a mad scientist bent on creating food that elicits neither complaint nor praise, food that will absolutely satisfy you but to which you’ll never have to give a moment’s thought once you’ve ordered it. Here’s a rundown on some of the menu items. Burgers: fine. Chicken cheese steak: fine. Veggie burger: fine, if a little crumbly. Kids’ chicken strips and fries: fine. Kids’ hot dog: Better than fine, but not as good as Five Guys’. Milkshakes: fine. Omelets: fine. Croque Madam, Croque Monsieur, and Croque and Dagger: fine, fine, and fine. Various grilled cheeses: fine, especially the Plymouth Rock. Pies: fine. Blackened Tuna Sandwich: I get this 4 times out of 5, and I can’t think of a single thing to say about it. Coffee and ice tea: both fine. I’ve eaten more at Diner than anywhere else in D.C., probably because when it comes to choosing where to eat, it’s hard to argue about food that’s this consistently OK. Not fine: The room’s boomy, so if they decide to play, say, some Zeppelin, that plus the patrons’ collective roar means you’ll be asking your tablemates to repeat every other freaking word. And sometimes you have to wait awhile to be seated. But really, in the aggregate, that’s fine.

If Old City Café’ falafel bar seems suspiciously similar in style and spirit to another, Adams Morgan-based falafel joint, there’s a reason. Before striking out to start his own business, Old City founder Walid Abuelhawa was a chef at neighboring Amsterdam Falafelshop. As a result, it’s difficult to tell the two establishments apart based on cuisine alone. Both function on the same do-it-yourself toppings-bar concept and, for the most part, the same toppings are represented—from the fried cauliflower to the Turkish salad. So picking a favorite is more a question of politics. Do you want falafel as product of imperialism: with cramped quarters and headshop palm cards as décor? Or do you prefer to consume your falafel in an environment that more closely represents the food’s Middle Eastern cultural origin: a dark and expansive restaurant with nary a pack of spent zig zags in sight. If you’re feeling the latter, choose Old City Café. —Aaron Leitko

Aside from mainlining blubber directly into your veins, fried dough might be the worst thing that you can put into your body. But if you’re willing to sacrifice some of the remaining elasticity in your arteries, Churreria Madrid’s churros are worth a try. You certainly get a lot for your money: A plate of 10 or so sugar-covered eyelets of fried-to-order dough runs about $3 and if you aren’t enough of a glutton to finish them all at the table, they still taste surprisingly good a few hours later after the grease has cooled. They’re definitely a step up from the stale, sugary ropes that popularized the churro as a staple of boardwalk-and-zoo cuisine. Dinner, however, made less engaging use of hot oil. A plate consisting of fried eggs, fried peppers, fried potatoes, and Spanish sausage was soggy with grease, even by the standards and expectations of an entirely fried entree. —Aaron Leitko

I ate my first shawarma-type sandwich in Baku, Azerbaijan, where street vendors call the shaved-lamb-and-pita combo a döner-kebab and top it with cilantro, tomato, cucumber, a ketchup-like red sauce, and fresh herbs. Baku doesn’t have much else in the way of fast food (the city’s three McDonald’s franchises charge more for a combo meal than its nicest restaurants charge for sturgeon steaks and caviar), so perhaps I found the döner-kebab tasty only because there was no place else to grab a quick bite between classes. For a similar quick bite in Adams Morgan, I turned to a chicken shawarma from the Shawarma King. A friendly cook topped it with pickles, cucumbers, tomatoes, and some Tzatziki per my request, but the sandwich failed to help me recall my earlier experience. While seasoned well, the chicken was a tad mealy—a side effect, perhaps, of chicken not being as fatty as beef and prone to drying out. Overall, it was a boring meal. Perhaps my choice of toppings was partially at fault, but, frankly, this trend of encouraging customers to load their sandwiches willy-nilly is a terrible idea. As I learned from watching the street vendors in Baku, there’s an optimal way to prepare most dishes—from hamburgers to pizza to Caesar salad to shawarma. The topping bar may have contained a chicken-redeeming trifecta of fresh veggies, sauces, and preserves, but that’s not what ended up on my sandwich. A list of go-to topping combinations or a knowledgeable line cook could have turned my sad sandwich around, but that’s not what happens at Shawarma King.