Lunch Blossoms on H Street NE: If you find yourself in the H Street corridor during a weekday and hungry for lunch, there are many new options available, thanks to the Argonaut starting lunch service on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, among others. Here's a larger list. [H Street Great Street]

Easy Pour: The newest place in town to get table taps? Grand Central in Adams Morgan, which is offering Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald Porter, Avery White Rascal Belgian White, Bell’s Amber, and Flying Dog Raging Bitch IPA. [PoP]

In the Alley: As R.J. Cooper gets Rogue 24 ready for prime time, Tim Carman does a site visit and notes that at the current time, there's "nothing more than brick and concrete walls and a mud floor." [WaPo]

Spike Watch: Could reality television chef Spike Mendelsohn be eying locations in Crystal City? "An ARLnow spy spotted Mendelsohn and a man identified as his father dining at the Crystal City Chick-fil-A while chatting up the manager about foot traffic and sales." [ARLNow]

Photo of a shrimp dish at the Argonaut by Flickr user [F]oxymoron using an Attribution 2.0 Generic Creative Commons license

The non-descript doorway off an alley near Dupont Circle looks like a fallout shelter left over from the Cold War, and it isn’t always easy to find. But in its heyday, you knew you were on the way to Well Dressed Burrito if you followed the lunchtime trail of people carrying bright yellow bags out of the alley onto 19th Street NW, like signs leading pilgrims on the path of the faithful.

Twenty-five years ago, Well Dressed Burrito—a lunch-only Mexican carry-out crammed into space it has shared with the catering business of C.F. Folks, a tiny-but-mighty lunch counter across the street next to The Palm—promised something different, something new. There are still reminders of the old days. At the end of the counter is a blown-up placard with a Nov. 14, 1998, Washington Post letter to the editor from co-owner Peggy Fredricksen, taking issue with a minor point in a Post article that said the then-thriving local chain Burrito Brothers was D.C.’s first burrito place.

Burrito Brothers had opened up to much fanfare on Connecticut Avenue near Dupont Circle in 1989, attracting lines out the door. But Well Dressed Burrito had launched in October 1986. Fredricksen wrote that the “three-year head start gave us a demonstrable advantage.”

Back during the District’s early burrito frenzy, that may have been true. But is it still?

These days, specialty burritos are no longer an exotic import from California or the American Southwest. Burrito consumption has been streamlined and optimized by fine-tuned fast-food operations like Chipotle, Baja Fresh, and California Tortilla. More recently, non-chainy places emphasizing fresh ingredients, like Surfside and Taqueria Distrito Federal, have been winning over hearts and minds. (Including mine.)

This burrito evolution has overshadowed the early pioneers. Fragments of the once robust Burrito Brothers chain still exist around town—namely in a basement food court off I Street NW and a former Burrito Brothers franchise on Pennsylvania Avenue SE that now operates independently as Burrito Brothers of Capitol Hill. Simply by surviving longer, Well Dressed Burrito won the burrito war with Burrito Brothers—if one ever existed in the first place. But the terms of engagement have shifted.

Eating hand-fist-and-wrist-sized burritos stuffed with beans, cheese, meat, and chopped vegetables isn’t as simple as it once seemed. I’ve been enjoying Well Dressed Burrito lunches for about 10 years, loving its non-burrito daily grill specials in particular. But it may be time for Well Dressed to pay closer attention to its signature item—wrapped in a tortilla that stands out as chewier than most around town. When there’s enough grilled char on the burrito, it can be quite enjoyable. But more often than not, Well Dressed’s burrito wrapping comes out gummy, requiring a more aggressive, less enjoyable chowing-down approach, especially when the burrito inevitably cools off on the way back to the office.

Well Dressed’s daily burrito specials can be a double-edged sword. They often appeal to carnal indulgences, at least mine—spicy, cheesy beef; fried chicken tenders with a chili ranch dressing; marinated beef and pork with punchy, seasoned mayos or sour cream. The accents have a tendency to overpower, creating off-balance ingredient consistency inside.

It’s not easy to craft a burrito where the innards are evenly distributed. Well Dressed can churn out burritos with awkward pockets of contrasting flavors and textures. Since Well Dressed has a busy lunch crowd, it’s difficult to count on a perfectly wrapped and packaged burrito everytime—something Chipotle has been able to nail, somehow, as a high-volume national chain. (On a recent Well Dressed visit, one take-out marinated beef burrito boasted a large open wound of oozing black beans after the foil was peeled away. A disappointment for sure, but it goes with the territory.)

Burritos on Well Dressed’s regular menu, sadly, aren’t as exciting as I remember them from years ago. The flavor of marinated beef, pork, and chicken can be overpowered by beans and sour cream. I would love them more if tomatoes were more dominant, but that’s my personal preference. Others may prefer that mashed-up beany, sour creamy mess. I used to.

In today’s burrito culture, choice reigns supreme. But at Well Dressed, you can’t inspect your burrito’s construction underway like you can at Chipotle. That public assembly-line process wouldn’t fit in Well Dressed’s tiny space.

Well Dressed’s grilled fajita-style burritos, with onions and peppers but sans sour cream, should appeal to the better—healthier—angels of my nature, telling me to eat something less-dressed up. But a grilled salmon burrito I had recently again fell prey to its side elements. The salmon itself was bland, and the package was weighted down by black beans. (On other visits, salmon fared better as a non-burrito grill special.)

Unless it’s in a fish taco, it turns out that wrapping seafood in a tortilla is difficult to execute well. Surfside’s St. Barts burrito, with blackened fish, shredded lettuce, avocado, and pico de gallo, can create a soggy package with watered-down flavor. It’s a weak spot on the otherwise wonderful menu of the Glover Park burrito and taco place known for fresh ingredients. The salmon burrito at Well Dressed may underwhelm in the flavor department, but at least it stays together better.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been eating plenty of burritos to jog memories of my burrito-eating glory days, for better or worse. (After a few days of eating burritos for dinner or lunch back to back, my digestive tract wasn’t able to stomach a Burrito Ultimo from Baja Fresh last week. I’ll spare you the gory details.) What I’ve learned through this process is that my burrito attitude has shifted. Where I once loved a spicy, beany mash, I now prefer a burrito where only a couple of ingredients stand out.

Take Surfside’s Andros burrito, for instance, with grilled steak, grilled corn, tomatoes, yellow rice, and light cucumber dressing. It’s a simple package, where the juicy steak is the central element. I never feel corpulent after eating it. Similarly, a super-sized spinach burrito I had last week at the Burrito Brothers location in the International Square food court, filled with leafy greens and pico de gallo, was interesting for those same reasons on the balance of flavors.

Still, the counter clerk remarked, “Wow, that’s a big burrito.” It was, certainly. Just not as large as those at Well Dressed Burrito. In my recent burrito exploration around town, I’ve found Well Dressed’s burritos to be just too indulgent to digest, too massive to finish in one sitting. I’m full just thinking about it. Then again, for some burrito fans, a post-consumption food coma is something to relish with glee. Just be sure to take something to ease digestion.

Well Dressed Burrito, 1220 19th St. NW off the alley, (202) 293-0515

Burrito Brothers in International Square, 1825 I St. NW, (202) 887-8266

Burrito Brothers of Capitol Hill, 205 Pennsylvania Ave. SE, (202) 543-6835

Surfside, 2444 Wisconsin Ave. NW, (202) 337-000

Eatery tips? Food pursuits? Send suggestions to hungry@washingtoncitypaper.com.

Photos by Darrow Mongtomery

Attention food truck fans! Head on down to Franklin Square on Monday for lunch as a swarm of the city's beloved mobile food vendors will be gathering for a winter party of sorts. Think Curbside Cookoff, only smaller.

A food truck community organizer tells Young & Hungry that after a recent meeting among different truck businesses, which all maintain friendly relations, they thought it'd be nice to break up the monotony of winter with a mass lunch gathering. So eat up.

The weather for Monday? It's supposed to be partly sunny with temperatures in the 30s, which shouldn't be too bad for an outdoor food gathering.

Young & Hungry file photo

At least that was Furstenberg's current idea as to why G Street started so slowly.

Y&H asked for your thoughts on this theory, and you responded with all manner of opinions, some even related to the original theory.

Karly, obvious a good listener, wrote in:

I don't necessarily disagree with the statement that people don't want to think about their food during a stressful workday, but my one and only experience at G Street Food was stressful, regardless of the food I ate. It was busy, confusing, and the staff weren't helpful. Furstenberg admitted that the food he served was not your typical DC lunchtime fare, but the menu offered little to no explanation of what you were ordering or getting. It is sad that he left, I think the place has (had?) a lot of potential, but it just needed some time and some tweaks.

Mike, on the other hand, wasn't buying any theory other than the one that postulates this: G Street sucks. Writes Mike:

I think that if you check Yelp's reviews of the place, you will note the consistent comments on the average food and exorbitant prices. Any other theory is just bullshit.

[Y&H Note: Mike is correct about the constant complaints on Yelp about price, but a number of folks also mention how much they like the food at G Street. This is classic blogger-commentary subterfuge from Mike: Ignore the material that doesn't suit your argument.]

Both Ron and Jim wrote in to express their admiration for G Street and to support the idea of stretching one's palate at lunch. Writes Ron:

I really liked G St and was amazed how slow the place was. Perhaps it was lack of publicity, a somewhat sleepy location? I like trying new stuff for lunch, I've become a fan of bulgogi after trying it off the cart at 14th and L and I had my first bahn mi at G St (I can't believe I'm 46 and can say that)

Jim was even more effusive for G Street:

I have been eating at G Street Food every week since it opened –usually two or three times per week precisely BECAUSE it allows me to stretch the limits of my palate. After working in downtown offices for 30 years, why would I want to go somewhere where my choices are the usual tuna or deli-meat sandwiches? Even the chinese buffets introduced in the 90's are now "old hat." The success of Breadline (for almost 15 years) and G Street Food must be due at least in part to being unpredictable.  While you can get a real carved turkey or egg salad sandwich, if thats what you really want, when you enter you never know if you might end up with something completely
different that you love–like a Vietnamese pancake with shrimp, a spicy lamb pizza, an oyster po-boy, or peanut soup.  Even his new takes on the sloppy joe and meatball sandwich are worthwhile because of the step up in quality ingredients.  D.C. is one of the few cities where this can succeed–you wouldnt try it in Pittsburgh.  The truth is, its expensive, and office workers are notoriously cheap–they pay $6.50 for Sysco chicken-cube sandwich at Cosi, or $5.99 for a Mcdonald's meal deal, but
then balk at paying an extra $1.50 for food that is truly top quality.

You can also read the comments from the original blog post here.

Just a week after it was closed for 19 violations of the D.C. food code, Breadline was back in business today. To the naked eye, the sandwich shop didn't look so different from its "excessive live fruit fly" phase. I did notice meticulous, hand-written expiration dates on the lemonade drinks and that the bread rack behind the cash register was gone, an apparent victim of a D.C. Health Department inspector who thought consumers might contaminate the loaves. But almost everything else looked the same.

I don't mean to imply that Breadline remains as dirty as when the inspector tagged it as a menace to society. What I do mean to say is that I (and probably you) wouldn't know a health hazard if it bit me (or you) on the ass — at least not from the serving line at this downtown sandwich shop. Could I have known that food was stored at the wrong temperature? Or that there was excessive grease under the hood? Or that dough was rising on the walk-in floor? Or that Breadline was operating without a restaurant license?

Nope, I couldn't.

What I do know is that Breadline has aggressively tackled the problems in the days since the Health Department pointed them out. The restaurant managers have scrubbed the place clean, to the point that it not only passed re-inspection but it also impressed Breadline founder Mark Furstenberg, a man not known for an easy compliment.

Where am I going with this? I'm saying that if you liked Breadline in the past, when it was apparently a haven for the city's fruit fly population, then you should like it now, when it's as clean as an operating room. Health inspections are designed to protect you from harm, not harm a business — though that's sometimes the unfortunate consequence.

When I stopped by for lunch, I noticed that the patio was packed with patrons, but inside, a good number of tables were empty. As I paid for my salami and cheese sandwich, lemonade, and chips, I asked the cashier how Breadline was faring on its first day back. She said it was "better than expected."

I was going to leave it at that but just couldn't. So I asked her if that meant business was down from pre-inspection times. The cashier smiled and nodded.

As I was about to leave, I stopped and looked at the pastry display case and noticed it was virtually empty. A manager-looking guy asked if he could help me and then promptly directed me to a housemade whoopie pie, which I purchased. I asked him how business was, and he, as you might expect, was more optimistic. He said it was "good."

But as he handed me my whoopie pie, he said something that said everything: "Thanks for coming in."

He said in a way that made me feel as if I were a brave pilgrim venturing into untamed lands.

Along the main, two-tier stainless-steel counter in the kitchen, cooks worked in an assembly-line fashion. Dishes started at one end: Cooks would add one thing or another (roasted potato slices, coleslaw) to a plate already loaded down with two entrees — an eight-ounce burger and a chicken sandwich — until the plate reached the end of the counter, where servers would pick it up for a trip to the dining room.

The servers were practically circus performers. With red cloth napkins draped across their left arms, waiters stacked four hot plates — that's right four — on their appendage, carrying a fifth in their right hand.  Carrying five plates at a time, the wait staff had all 225 students, coaches, friends, and hangers-on served within 20 minutes of sitting down. "It's managed chaos," one waitress told me in the kitchen, "but it all works."

Out in the sunny Atrium, under a fake palm tree, coach Urban Meyer and Heisman-winning quarterback Tim Tebow both sported suits for the special occasion, which was actually not this meal at the Ebbitt. They were in town for an appearance at the White House, where President Obama would honor them for winning the national college football championship. Tebow is a surprisingly massive dude, much wider than you'd expect. He looks more like a fullback than a quarterback. His blue, pin-striped three-piece suit hung loosely on his large frame.

Tebow, Meyer, and the rest of the team chowed on their lunch. They chowed in the Atrium, they chowed in the bar, and they chowed anywhere else the Ebbitt could place them. (The teams didn't, however, chow in the main dining room, which was reserved for regular customers.) Despite the double-entree meal, some complained about the lack of food. "A few were saying, 'Is this all we get to eat today?'," said server Alex Schamis.

By 12:15 p.m. — a mere 45 minutes after arriving — the U of F contingent was filing out the door. Yours truly, sporting an Old Ebbitt Grill chef's coat, stood at attention as the players walked to their buses idling at the curb. I asked several how they liked their meals. They were polite boys. To a man, they all said it was excellent.

"The burger was particularly good," said one large specimen of a human being.

He said that despite the fact his burger was cooked medium well. In fact, all the burgers were cooked medium well, said chef Robert McGowan. With 225 patties to deal with, grillman Robert Plowden, a 33-year veteran of the Ebbitt, just didn't have time to cook each to order.

Besides, as McGowan pointed out to me, these are college students. They're used to fast-food burgers, which almost by definition are cooked to death.

It's no easy task.

The first thing the managers had to do was pare down the menu dramatically — to exactly two items. Those hulking footballers will have to choose between chicken or burgers, which, when you think about the general eating habits of college students, is no choice at all. Looks like the grill cooks will be flipping a crap load of burgers today.

The entree choices are based on the kitchen's ability to cook the proteins slightly ahead of time, says Gaffney, and hold them until all the plates are ready to hit the dining room at once. This explains why those athletes aren't getting any fries for lunch, either.

There's just no way to deep fry enough cut potatoes for 225 people and have all those starchy sticks be crisp and fresh.

Looks like coleslaw all around for those big boys and girls.

Many of you, I suspect, will be too busy with Thanksgiving preparations today to jump into the car and fetch lunch. But for those who still need a mid-day break while pushing around papers and hiding your facebook page from the boss, I have something you might like: a make-our-own Reuben at Jackson's Roasting and Carving Co. in Arlington, where they cure their own brisket.

The woman behind the counter at Jackson's tells me that people call her the Green Giant, and once you spend just a few minutes with her, you can understand why. She's a towering young woman with a passion for local, sustainable ingredients. She can tell you the source of just about everything at Jackson's, from 'kraut to cheese, and she's just an employee, not the owner Stefanie Reiser, who named the place after her Jack Russell terrier. You could say I'm a sucker for these kind of women.

I'm also a sucker for the way that the Green Giant makes a Reuben. She tells me the brisket, these thick slices of rosy red meat, has been braised in beer earlier in the morning. She places a generous pile of the corned beef onto my rye bread and tops it with sauerkraut (not made in-house, but it may be in the future, she says) and Thousand Island dressing. The Green Giant then grills the thing on a panini press to add those dark ruts that I so love on a sandwich.

My Reuben is so warm and gooey and meaty. I'm quite pleased with how tender the brisket is. My only real quibble is with the 'kraut, which is quite sour; it tends to dominate the other flavors, but some quick surgery on the sammie, a little sauer-ectomy, and everything is just fine.

Jackson's Roasting and Carving Co., 933 N. Quincy St., Arlington. (703) 312-1073.