“I was joking around that I was a white-collar kitchen worker and now I’m a blue-collar kitchen worker,” says Bursik, 39.

A glance at Bursik’s resume suggests she’s a victim of downward culinary mobility. Her career previously placed her in esteemed fine dining establishments, under the tutelage of some of the District’s brightest culinary minds. For the last three years, she worked at Palena, James Beard Award winner and former White House chef Frank Ruta’s house of haute cuisine in Cleveland Park.

Prior to that, Bursik cooked at Hook in Georgetown, learning how to properly butcher fish first from sustainable seafood guru Barton Seaver and later serving under Josh Whigham, the former opening chef at Minibar, José Andrés’ tiny six-seat temple to the fanciful art of molecular gastronomy. “That’s like a whole set of skills that I never thought I’d get from Hook,” she says.

Then, this past June, Bursik abruptly traded in her prim and proper chef’s uniform for the more proletarian apron, taking on duties as head chef at the grungy DC9 nightclub in Shaw. “It’s a little different,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s a one-man kitchen. I have to wash my own dishes and most days run my own food. But it’s fun.”

For most of the summer, Bursik staffed the nightclub’s kitchen solo. But, in the past couple of months, she has recruited some old colleagues to the cause. “Now, we have two guys from Palena helping me out—three-star line cooks in a dive bar kitchen, which I think is really hilarious,” she says.

Compared to the high-stress environment of toiling in a top-tier kitchen, the down-market assignment has its perks. “It’s quiet and calm,” Bursik says. “It’s just you banging out food, which is nice. You don’t have to worry about people yelling at you. You get to listen to music. It’s definitely a relaxing change of pace.”

***

The fancy cooks of DC9 are hardly unique. Other veterans of the often intense white-tablecloth scene have also been lured away by the promise of cooking in a decidedly more laid-back setting.

Joe Rumberger, for one, left his post as sous chef at the venerable Restaurant Nora over the summer to helm the kitchen at Mount Vernon Square’s Passenger and Columbia Room, D.C. mixology maestro Derek Brown’s two-pronged cocktail lounge, where the best-known bite is a kimchi hotdog.

Not long ago, the beer-centric Granville Moore’s on H Street NE brought in two toques from more upscale venues: chef de cuisine Maria Evans, formerly of Rhode Island’s acclaimed Castle Hill Inn and Resort, and sous chef Mike Lunsford, previously at New York’s Beauty & Essex and Metropolitan in Annapolis. Lunsford is now moving on to The Big Board, a beer and burger bar down the street.

So is this just another sign of our national economic apocalypse—the food world equivalent of some cash-strapped Bear Stearns refugee turning up as the teller at your local savings and loan? No. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: Now, it seems, even dive bar patrons want some foodie flair. “D.C.’s becoming a very food-oriented town,” says DC9 co-owner Bill Spieler. “We knew we had to step it up.”

Bursik’s hiring at DC9, though, is a story of love as well as a tale of changing culinary tastes: The chef is actually married to co-owner Spieler. “He was kind of at a loss,” Bursik says of her husband. “He needed help getting the kitchen back up and running after everything went down.”

Bursik is referring to the death last fall of Ali Ahmed Mohammed outside DC9. The details surrounding the fatal incident remain in dispute. But initially, authorities shuttered the nightclub and charged Spieler and four other DC9 employees in connection with Mohammed’s death. The charges were ultimately dropped and the venue was allowed to reopen. Bursik’s recent retooling of the menu represents the final touches to DC9’s re-launch in the aftermath of that tragedy.

She tossed out several old barroom standbys, such as quesadillas and mozzarella sticks, while rethinking other lingering old favorites, including the fried pickles. “I kind of changed the breading around, so that they’re a little bit crisper,” she says.

She also introduced new items, including smoky deviled eggs made with pimento cheese and heavily dusted with paprika, as well as fried chicken that’s been brined in buttermilk and salt for 24 hours.

The soul food staple might sound like cheap eats, but it comes at a more upscale price than DC9 regulars might be used to. “It’s been a little bit of a hard sell at $12,” Bursik says, “but there are people who come in once a week and have the fried chicken.”

For a chef with such a refined pedigree, Bursik has tried to keep her aspirations in line with the realities of the facility.
“I’m limited not in the quality but in the adventurousness of it or scale of it by the venue,” she explains, noting the confined space of the kitchen. “I’m not going to be putting out pastas and raviolis that I’ve been making for the past three years in this kind of environment.”

One fancy idea that quickly found its way to the dustbin: “I had this great idea for pickled shrimp, which is something that my grandfather from New Orleans would serve at every family function and big holiday,” Bursik says. “I love it and it’s delicious and I was looking for something we could prep ahead and just put out on a plate. It’s an oil-marinated shrimp with herbs, onions and capers, and bay leaves. Everybody I pitched the idea to was kind of like, ‘Really? Pickled shrimp? I don’t know if that’s the best place for that.’”

DC9 is an ideal venue for a burger, however, and Bursik has tried to make her mark on that barroom staple, by importing fresh brioche buns from Philadelphia’s LeBus bakery—at least until she can find a local producer who makes ones equally tasty. “We were looking at a local bakery just last week,” she says. “Unfortunately, I didn’t like their buns as much as the ones we’re getting now.”

If she’s looking for further inspiration, her former employer Frank Ruta’s joint is a good place to start. For all the fancy quail liver and coddled pheasant egg on the menu, Palena is also known as a place with a great burger. Albeit one with homemade buns and truffle cheese.

“Maybe one day I’ll make a burger as good as Frank’s,” Bursik says.

DC9, 1940 9th St. NW, (202) 483-5000

Photographs by Darrow Montgomery

Fried chicken with blueberry 'catsup' at America Eats Tavern

The New York Times checks in with esteemed D.C. chef José Andrés this week for a story about ketchup. Andrés is on a mission to bring back the wide variety that once characterized America's best known condiment. His barely one-month-old pop-up restaurant, America Eats Tavern, offers as many as eight different types of the dipping sauce, ranging from anchovy to mushroom, with recipes culled from archival cookbooks.

In the article, Andrés rails against the current "hegemony of the red, corn-syrup-sweetened product":

“Why, as a society, have we let this diversity go away?” Mr. Andrés lamented via cellphone from Spain — where, he said, it would be unthinkable to find just one version of a classic sauce like romesco. “Why would we go from a rainbow to black and white?”

Maybe that's because the watery ketchups of old simply aren't as tasty as Heinz 57.

Young & Hungry has sampled at least five of the sauces at America Eats, including a tart blueberry and a Jack Daniels-titled variety that lacked any discernible hint of bourbon. The best of the bunch: the tomato flavor. Just like Heinz, only with slightly more kick.

Read the full Y&H review of Andrés' America Eats Tavern here.

Photo by Chris Shott

On the Fritz's Nerves: If you ever want to agitate veteran Washington Post nightlife scribe Fritz Hahn at a bar like ChurchKey, occupy valuable bar real estate with empty drinks, tell the bartender "[n]o, we're good right now" when asked if you'd like another, and turn your back. Hahn might yell at you, but most likely, he'll just vent on Twitter. [@FritzHahn]

Rites of Spring: Lo and behold, it's that time of year when our local education and media company gets all crafty. [WaPo]

Chicken Switch: For those who patronize FedExField, please note that Popeye's is no longer the official chicken of the Washington Redskins. KFC is now the official poultry provider. [WCP/Cheap Seats]

Pity the Food Critic: It's hard to please Todd Kliman! About 60 percent of what he eats falls into "the not-great category." [Eater D.C.]

Feats of Strength: Egads! Kate Nerenberg tried "nearly 20" Whoopie pies to figure out which place in D.C. offers the best version. [Washingtonian]

Photo by Flickr user eflon using an Attribution 2.0 Generic Creative Commons license

In case you missed it last month, as Y&H did, chef Gillian Clark made an appearance on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, during which the General Store owner spilled the secrets to several of her best dishes, as if helpless against the spiky haired, bro-centric charms of Guy Fieri. She even gave the dude a demo on how to make her famous fried chicken, for which she received, in return, lots of air time and a vague sense that the host was trying to one-up her with his culinary knowledge.

The videos are finally available. Check 'em out.

Part two is after the jump. Clark reveals how she makes her mammoth Wagyu corn dogs.

The waitress at Hershey's in Gaithersburg informs me that the restaurant's famous fried chicken is not Maryland-style, no matter what the joint's address may be.

"Does that mean you deep fry your chicken?" I ask innocently.

"I can't even tell you that," she responds, quick as a whip.

The top-secret nature of Hershey's fried chicken doesn't exactly fit with the laid-back country vibe of this late 19th-century house that has served over the years as a general store, post office, and restaurant/watering hole. This is a place for neighborhood gossip over house wine and Keno, not for shadowy secrets protected like classified CIA documents. Hershey's seems more like a place where the chef would write out the recipe for you if asked.

Twenty-five minutes later, when my made-to-order four-piece dinner finally arrives, I understand all the secrecy. This is top-flight fried chicken, the coating crisp without relying on bread crumbs, panko, or corn flakes. The meat is exquisitely moist, even in the thickest section of the breast; this may be the result of brining but it's definitely the sign of a fry cook who knows how to keep a steady and proper oil temperature.

Then there are the salt levels, which some might consider high enough to require a side order of blood pressure medication. I consider it proof that Hershey's kitchen still clings to an earlier era of good taste, not to our current one, which has sacrificed flavor for health, on the questionable assumption that "bad" food alone may shorten our lives.

The saltiness, the crispiness, the moistness, the utter deliciousness. This is chicken that deserves mention with the best around, whether Gillian Clark's at the General Store or Adrienne Carter's at the Hitching Post.

When I express my deep satisfaction to the waitress, she seems to instantly warm up to our table. She even shares a small, presumably treasonous secret: The chicken coating mix comes from Chicago, of all places, made by a company that prepares it exclusively for the restaurant.

Apocryphal? I don't care. Any chicken this good needs an equally good story of origin.

If you haven't noticed, Y&H has been obsessed with fried chicken lately, Maryland and otherwise. I think it's because fried chicken is the one dish that, above all others,  can inspire fear, loathing, and adoration. In the wrong hands, it can be a tasteless hunk of bird meat, simultaneously oily and dry.

But when handled by a skilled practitioner, fried chicken is one of those rare plates that brings both country folk and urban dweller to the table, each searching for new superlatives to capture that perfect, well-seasoned balance of crispy skin to moist flesh.

In this video, the Lee Bros. give us some insight into their ideal fried chicken, courtesy of Charles Gabriel, chef and owner of Rack & Soul in New York City.

Later today,  I'll point you to an unusual outlet for superb fried chicken, a Maryland pub that time has forgot.

The Maryland fried chicken at Crisfield Seafood Restaurant in Silver Spring

One of the online menus I found for Tommy Marcos' Ledo Restaurant noted that the Adelphi institution serves "Authentic Maryland Fried Chicken." I called to confirm that the place still offers the dish and was met with...momentary silence.

After a beat or two, the woman on the other end of the line finally said, sure, they could make it for me. The cooks would just need to make a quick run to the Shoppers Warehouse next door to buy chicken.

If I was impressed with Ledo's willingness to stretch its kitchen — the current menu, after all, does not offer Maryland fried chicken, authentic or otherwise — I was even more impressed with the bird in front of me. It was crispy, salty, moist, and savory. Why it's not on the full-time menu remains a mystery to me.

I asked our waitress if this version was considered authentic Maryland fried chicken. She checked with the kitchen, which confirmed that it was. I then asked the waitress if she knew the characteristics of authentic Maryland fried chicken. She didn't have a clue, and by the look on her face, I didn't have the heart to send her back into the kitchen for more answers.

I was left thinking the Baltimore City Paper must be right on some level: Maryland fried chicken is little more than crispy legs, thighs, and breasts prepared with birds raised in the Free State. It's sort of our Kentucky Fried Chicken, minus the secret recipe but with fresher birds.

"What made Maryland Chicken special was being local — you couldn't get chicken fresher," a source told BCP in 2001. "We could often offer overnight service. If the bird was killed today, you'd have it in your store tomorrow, if not sooner."

I have to admit that I find this locally sourced bird definition wholly unsatisfying, particularly because the Delmarva poultry industry is impossibly large and powerful and destructive. This is not a source to be proud of. The local-source definition also runs counter to a number of cookbooks, including the Harvest of American Cooking, a 1956 collection of stories and recipes by Mary Margaret McBride, who writes:

"Chicken Maryland was probably born in the kitchen of the 1600's, when the hot corn bread came from the oven at the exact moment that the floured, salted, peppered and fried golden-brown chicken was ready. And so the two were put together and another southern classic was created. The corn bread must be made with white cornmeal, sliced in half and the fried chicken placed on top, the boat of rich cream gravy alongside."

Michael Landrum, the man behind the Ray's empire, used to serve a Maryland fried chicken at Ray's the Classics in Silver Spring. The item is long gone, but Landrum's memory of it remains.

"What distinguishes it is that it's done in a cast-iron skillet," Landrum says, "and it's not submerged in oil." Instead, Landrum says the chicken is dredged in seasoned AP flour only (no egg dip) and then pan-fried with the bird submerged two-thirds deep in oil.

I tell Landrum about the many different variations of Maryland fried chicken that I've run across, and he says something that rings true: "Every family that's from Maryland has their own recipe."

In other words, Maryland fried chicken is sort of like ragu alla bolognesein Emilia-Romagna: The dish can vary  from household to household, but they're all authentic.

This is where you come in, Y&H Nation: What's your definition of Maryland fried chicken? And where are your favorite places to get it? E-mail me with your stories and recipes and restaurant suggestions. We'll get to the bottom of this yet!

Baum + Whiteman has been a restaurant consulting group since the '70s. The dudes know a few things about the hospitality biz, so when the company releases its annual food and dining trends for the coming year, restaurateurs tend to listen. (Or razz B+W for predicting "tongue" meat would become huge.)

Restaurateurs may want to hide under the covers after reading the No. 1 predicted trend for 2010: New priorities for beaten-up consumers.  Check out this strong language:

Too many restaurant and hotel execs are grappling with pre-recession consumer issues, while people today are expressing entirely new – and more complex — sets of concerns. These concerns might tamp down consumer spending for another five years – and are difficult for hotel and restaurant professionals to deal with. Why? Because what worries people today no longer reflects abstract and idealistic pre-recession issues. Now people are focusing inward. Their concerns are personal, emotional and ethical. For example:

NEXT YEAR’S HOT BUTTONS

Economic survival

Reassurance

Intimacy & friendship

Feeding my knowledge

Feeding my emotions

Artisan, hand-made

Neighborhood, local

Authentic, real

Comfort & safety

Hotel and restaurant people who make a big deal about powering  their trucks with used frying fat, or switching to green detergent, or printing menus on recycled paper may be addressing the wrong issues. Millions of people are in danger of losing their homes and unemployment is still rising; people are plain scared … and they’re looking for a “safe harbor.” So hotels and restaurants should be luring these hunkered down consumers from their psychological storm cellars by (and we’re being metaphoric here) replicating the “campfire experience” – building emotional ties and connecting to communities. They need to audit their businesses based on the hot-buttons listed above … because, we believe, these issues will remain on the table for years to come.

Many of Baum + Whiteman's other predicted trends follow on that opening theme of consumer fear and survival, including how restaurants can cater to the emotions that surround those fears. In other words, the prognosticators say, look for more sharable small plates, more upscale comfort foods, more offal meat, and more fried chicken. Y&H can live with that.

You can read the full list here in PDF form.

Note: Busboys & Poets owner Andy Shallal is taking an Iron Chef approach to hiring the chef for his forthcoming Eatonville, a Southern-oriented restaurant that pays homage to Zora Neale Hurston. This is the first in a series of blog posts chronicling the competition. This series will not announce the winner; it will be revealed later in the City Paper.

Six cooks have gathered at CulineAerie, the new cooking school near Thomas Circle, to see if they can earn the top prize in Andy Shallal's unusual hiring competition: the executive chef gig at Eatonville, a job that comes with a $75,000 a year salary. The candidates have been whittled down from the more than 200 who originally applied, and before this session is over, these half-dozen will be further downsized to four.

Their task for this second phase of the competition? Prepare fried chicken and a Southern-minded sandwich, plus sides.

The chefs have had a couple of days to plan and prep for this phase, and you can tell by the many different approaches they take. The sandwich challenge inspires a wide range of dishes, from a Dr. Pepper Braised Beef Sandwich to a Honey BBQ Meatloaf Sandwich to a Double Decker Pimento Cheese Sandwich (with fried green tomatoes and pickled okra).

The other challenge, however, proves trickier: Fried chicken, after all, is fried chicken. There are only so many ways you can mess with the dish, perhaps with a brine or a buttermilk dip or with Panko crumbs and cornflakes in your batter. The competing chefs try all of these tricks.

And still it's not enough to truly impress the judges.

Shallal says that some of the fried birds on display aren't any better than the wings, legs, and breasts found at Popeyes. "At a restaurant (like Eatonville)," Shallal says to the chefs before dropping the axe, "if we can't do at least as good or better (than Popeyes), we shouldn't do it."

One of the judges goes even further to dis these chickens. "Nobody stood out for me," E. Ethelbert Miller, a literary activist and editor of Poet Lore magazine, tells the chefs. "I still expected more, but maybe that was just me."

(Miller went even further in his comments during the judges' private discussions. "I'm an African-American," he said. "I've been eating chicken all my life...I didn't taste any chicken that I wanted to go back and eat some more.")

Perhaps you think this doesn't bode well for a chef of a Southern-oriented restaurant? But just when it seems like all the chefs are unqualified to fry bird parts at Eatonville, Shallal acknowledges the obvious: The chefs were working in a foreign kitchen, and everyone was having trouble maintaining oil temperatures.

If Shallal isn't totally letting them off the hook, he's at least telling the chefs not to fret so much over their mediocre birds. There are mitigating circumstances.

In fact, you could say that mitigating circumstances are the theme of this phase of the competition. Instead of telling two chefs to pack their knives and go, Shallal and the rest of the judges axe only one. The five others will compete all over again tomorrow, in phase three of the contest.