Crash and Learn

Infiltrating the Area’s Most Exclusive Dining Ventures

By Warren Rojas

Although sneaking around is all in a day’s work for food critics, we decided to up the ante significantly for this issue by peeling back the curtain on some of the most closely-guarded dining opportunities around.

From shining a light on congressional dining (we performed a check-and-balance on the seat of power that is The Members’ Dining Room) to mixing things up at the late-night cocktail haven known as PX (quite possibly the only bar I’ve ever left feeling genuinely smarter), we lay bare all the epicurean secrets we witnessed and provide tips for conducting your own “investigations.”

Confrerie de la Chaine des Rotisseurs
www.chaineus.org
Average entree: Over $31 ($$$$).

“THIS is smelling the roses,” my lunch companion shares while reveling in yet another awe-inspiring epicurean indulgence.

Welcome to the pleasures of breaking bread alongside the always inquisitive gullets—the Chaine des Rotisseurs.

The gourmet dining society first came into existence as a social outlet for medieval goose roasters. The organization went mainstream in the 1950s and now boasts members in over 70 countries and over 150 chapters in the United States.

Local Chaine chapters include Washington, D.C., Northern Virginia (Peripherique “Beltway”) and Richmond, with a potential Winchester arm in the works.

In his “real” life, D.C. Bailli (regional leader) Paul S. Haar is an immigration law specialist who helps hospitality purveyors smooth over personnel problems. Within the Chaine, he gets to nurture the gourmet passions he cultivated while studying overseas.

“We educate people and give them amazing, off-menu meals,” he says of the invite-only organization.

Francois Dionot, founder of L’Academie de Cuisine and D.C. Chaine board member, concurs, estimating that the Chaine’s ability to secure multicourse extravaganzas and extraordinary wine pairings unattainable by the average diner is its greatest asset.

“La Chaine has been a vehicle to go to places where you can have an absolutely incredible dinner … which, on your own you could never get,” he argues.

According to Haar, it’s the combination of the Chaine’s prestige—“there’s a lot of gourmet groups,” he concedes, “but this one’s been around for 800 years”—and its members’ culinary savvy that restaurants really respond to.

“It’s a fun group of people. No attitudes,” Haar counsels.

And part of the fun appears to involve exploring the worldwide network of participating Chaine restaurants.

“As soon as you identify yourself, you know what your experience is going to be,” Richmond chapter member Richard Farrell says of the “rock star” attention showered upon seasoned Chaine travelers.

“Suddenly you’re a VIP,” Frits Huntjens, Richmond Bailli and chef/founder of 1 North Belmont Restaurant, says of the thrill of visiting in-the-know restaurants that appreciate the culinary acumen shared by Chaine members.

Other Chaine members chime in with tales of the exceptional treatment they’ve received during their extensive travels—a straight-from-the-sea fish course whilst vacationing in Hawaii, a hastily arranged private terrace seating in the Bahamas, on-the-fly tasting menus enjoyed in the south of France—after spotting the tell-tale blue plate displayed by Chaine restaurants.

Chaine benefits appear to be just as worthwhile here at home.

During a recent lunch at the Inn at Little Washington, chef Patrick O’Connell welcomed Chaine members into his inner sanctum.

Guests were invited to wander through the kitchen (O’Connell parked himself at the entrance, making sure to shake hands and pose for pictures with every interested party) and explore the award-winning property while staff circulated with bubbling flutes of non-vintage Haton & Fils brut (a stunning sparkler) and ornate nibbles (a miniature risotto ball revealed red wine-charged grains stirred with finely diced mushrooms, while the “world’s smallest baked potato” produced a marble-sized spud loaded with craime fraiche, bacon and diced scallions).

A fascinating arrangement of bigeye tuna bolstered by hunks of tart mango, luscious avocado, zesty red pepper flakes, tangy yuzu sorbet and crunchified shallots took tuna tartare in delicious new directions.

Braised veal cheeks (tender to a fault) and crawfish tails (as fluffy as they were flavorful) arrived anointed in seductive truffle oil (the most luxurious of lubricants).

Bubble tea burst onto the gourmet circuit courtesy of an inky sweet passion fruit and local blueberries elixir punctuated by the always-festive tapioca balls.

“Truffles for lunch. London tomorrow,” Farrell teased a buddy during the Inn lunch.

“It’s an ugly life,” the globe-trotting gourmand shot back. “But somebody’s got to live it.”

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The Members’ Dining Room
U.S. Capitol, H-118; 202-225-6300; www.clerk.house.gov/art_history/art_artifacts/DiningRoomsite/index.htm
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for breakfast and lunch, Monday through Friday.

If the hallowed halls of Congress are indeed home to all those unsavory political analogies—I love the “drunken sailors” bit, think “pork-barrel spending” is culturally irrelevant at this point but largely agree with the disheartening aftereffects of intently observing the law-making process (sausage making is an absolute treat compared to suffering through weeklong budget committee markups)—The Members’ Dining Room remains a sanctuary where civility and discretion still reign supreme.

The main dining area is split in two: The Petinaud room, named after one of the longest-serving restaurant workers, is available to congressmen and their guests, while the Bennett room, named after statesman Charles E. Bennett (D-Fl.), remains a lawmakers-only retreat. While local steakhouses consistently vie for meaningless “power spot” awards, it’s within these four walls that the behind-the-scenes drama of actual legislating plays out on a daily basis.

It’s here that flustered solons hunker down to talk strategy (“So, how do we get this done?” one lawmaker begs his colleagues. “Well, RAHM said …” another quickly interjects), practice their finely tuned good cop/bad cop routines (Lobbyist: “So, whaddya think?” Member: “I’d love to get invol—” Congressional aide: “We’ll need to check the schedule”), brainstorm their way out of career-ending pitfalls (“To me the goal is to limit the damage,” one member informs a sympathetic ear as an ill-fated environmental project begins to kick up dust) and firm up their personal mythology (a la the member who held a crowd of wide-eyed schoolchildren spellbound with his yarn about staring down Libyan strongman Muammar Qaddafi ages ago).

Vest-clad servers are naturally deferential, swooping in to take food orders, clear plates and otherwise keep the good cheer flowing (dutifully pausing to chat up members like old friends).

The kitchen is run by Restaurant Associates. The hospitality giant operates all the food-service operations on the Hill, as well as local dining hot spots like The Source (a joint venture with restaurateur Wolfgang Puck) and the restaurant at the National Museum of the American Indian. According to a Restaurant Associates spokesperson, The Members’ Dining Room serves roughly 550 patrons each week, or approximately 22,000 guests each year.

While navy bean soup remains a staple (rumor has it the ham-and-bean brew has been served every day since 1904; see sidebar), the menu also includes modern flourishes like rotating tasting menus celebrating sustainability-minded specials and state-specific specialties. Virginia offerings have included peanut soup, fried oysters and shaved country ham and watermelon salad.

A double-cut pork chop (I’ve certainly seen bigger, but not for the pittance charged our elected leaders) is showered in Vidalia onion gravy and handsomely dressed with fresh ground pepper (simple prep, terrific execution). Vanilla-spiked sweet potato puree (enhanced sweet parries well with the peppery meat) and a complementary array of brussel sprouts, squash, onions and zucchini (a cornucopia of garden tastes) completes the harvest medley.

Roast chicken goes luxe via a free-range bird sporting about a half inch of finely diced cremini mushrooms tucked beneath its glistening skin, while an entrancing saffron-tomato sauce provides a savory bump to its flavorfully bankrupt escort (deep red salve bails out dull mashed potatoes). A pot roast special reveals twin slices of semi-fatty meat (ring of glossy flab rims the slow-simmered beef) that taste much better than they look, but everything else (steamed vegetables) is straight cafeteria food. Luckily, that meal is saved by some of the finest lemonade (sour zing gets chased away by ensuing swallows of sugary goodness) I’ve had in a long time.

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PX
728 King St., Alexandria; 703-299-8384; www.eamonnsdublinchipper.com
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for dinner and late-night dining, Wednesday through Saturday.

A modern speakeasy hidden in plain sight (just look for the Jolly Roger wafting above King Street or the curious blue light beckoning on South Columbus Street), PX turns the simple act of drinking into art appreciation—with a twist.

The second-story hideaway serves as the cocktail gem in Cathal and Meshelle Armstrong’s culinary crown (they also operate Eamonn’s, The Majestic and Restaurant Eve). Eve sommelier Todd Thrasher is the head mischief maker here, but he draws support from a skeleton crew including general manager (and de facto chef) Clinton Terry and fellow barkeeps Sebastian Bie and Jayson Smith.

All the name dropping in the world won’t help you once the 32 seats inside are filled (they typically do three seatings on weekend nights). But Thrasher says staff makes every effort to keep the just under a dozen bar stools and Velvet room perches first come, first served, while the so-called Blue room (featuring reconfigurable banquettes and floating ledges stocked with antique bar ware) can be claimed via online reservations. Those lucky enough to score a seat at the bar are greeted by stacks of homemade infusions (cherry, grapefruit, mint, preserved lime, maple pepper), hard-sought solids (pastel-colored salts, basil flowers, pickled sage, violet dust) and exotic spirits galore (Licor Cuarenta y Tres is a Spanish concoction that smells lethal, but tickles the palate with vanilla and anis).

“When you think of a bar, it’s really the original chef’s table. Everyone can see exactly what you’re doing,” Thrasher posits. “There’s no hiding.” He strives to keep around two dozen drinks on the cocktail carte at any given time—stressing that most of his seasonally-inspired libations face a very limited shelf life. “Basically, what I try to do is never repeat,” Thrasher states. “If it comes off, it never returns.”

That, however, does not preclude variations of well-received creations from enjoying encore performances (he notes that an updated BLT could reappear any day now). Meanwhile, he says that Eamonn’s Cocktail and Gin and ‘Tonic’ have been menu staples since day one.

According to Thrasher, drinks can originate at either Eve or PX. But he suggests that he tends to experiment more at Eve. The results are often brilliantly intoxicating.

The so-called Smoker’s Delight rolls together honeycomb bits, honey syrup, aged bourbon and tobacco syrup—the bar stocks Marlboro Reds, Newport’s, Romeo y Julieta’s, clove cigarettes and other fruit-spiked leaves for on-the-spot steeping; the doctored bourbon oozes mellow, while the tobacco sticks you in the back of the throat (surprise spice).

A Strawberry Rhubarb Smash delivers a hand-carved ice block—meticulously trimmed to just slide into the glass—doused in liquefied garden spoils (stiff, refreshing and nowhere near as overly sweet as the core ingredients would have you believe) and garnished with basil flowers (reedy buds are pretty, fragrant) and a lone basil leaf (emerald herb lies triumphantly atop its shimmering ice throne).

I strongly recommend the Detox be renamed Guaranteed Relapse, as I could unrepentantly sip this tart-spicy cavalcade all day (loved that the roasted lemon, grapefruit and habanero all hit you at different times; some times it was a citrus kick up right front, others the rolling heat took control).

Other potent potables include: a beet medley (irrepressible sweetness), and a Moscow mule with plenty of kick (powered by homemade ginger ale forged from fresh ginger and Serrano peppers).

Sustenance arrives in the form of assorted paninis (smoked but still very tender salmon arrives pressed with peppery capers; a vegetarian number pairs juicy tomatoes with wholesome avocado and zesty pesto) or fish and chips from downstairs.

Napkins, however, seem to be a rare commodity (tsk, tsk).

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Virginia Portuguese Community Center
9509 Lee Ave. W., Manassas; 703-330-2136; www.vapcc.com
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for brunch Sunday.

Newcomers to the Virginia Portuguese Community Center’s regular Sunday luncheon tend to mill around in the main foyer, straining their necks in search of a familiar face to latch onto in the tightly knit crowd.

Seasoned vets waste no such time, descending directly to the smoky lounge below, where European libations and 24/7 sports programming remain the primary targets of weekend worship.

From the outside, the VPCC looks like a typical VFW or other fraternal meeting hall—save, of course, for the Portuguese flag proudly flapping alongside the Stars and Stripes out front.

The club has remained almost perfectly hidden from prying eyes since its relocation to Manassas in 1993 (the group was originally founded in 1987 just down the road in Dumfries). But a spate of landscape-shifting housing projects now makes it plainly visible to anyone buzzing along Route 28.

Lunch-goers assemble every Sunday at 1 p.m. for a buffet spread featuring at least a half dozen hot entrees, soup, salad, crusty bread and satellite dessert arrangement. Picture never-ending piles of homemade flan (airy but rich), frozen tiramisu (surprisingly boozy) and a bounty of fresh fruit (melons, grapes, assorted citrus).

VPCC vice president Benjamin Alves says the club has been hosting the Sunday luncheon since around 1995.

But the collegial atmosphere conjured by the communal sit-down—imagine a gymnasium overrun by 100 of your siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, closest neighbors and church friends—seems to transcend time. Meanwhile, the flesh-and-blood realization of all those “it takes a village” speeches politicians bloviate about every election season unfolded before me as I observed a mob of brunch-weary children receiving doting hugs and playful scoldings from family and surrogate parents alike.

Alves says the luncheon tends to revolve around traditional Portuguese cuisine, listing rotisserie chicken (tasty, but quite commonplace compared with the local Peruvian output) as a staple, while home-style favorites like cabrito (baby goat) and codfish dishes rotate regularly. VPCC chef Manuel Fernandes tends to the menu every Sunday, but often welcomes member volunteers back into his industrial kitchen. According to Alves, the buffet offerings naturally swell on holiday weekends (additional hot entrees, more elaborate desserts), while specialty dinners (my host left me drooling like an idiot as he described the carnivorous orgy that is the annual pig roast) are usually reserved for Saturday evenings. And while the downstairs lounge remains a members-only affair—a welcoming lair for those who crave Super Bock beer (a light, refreshing lager), brandy-spiked espressos and brusque exchanges about regional/national/international soccer standings—Alves notes that the brunch buffet ($15 per person) is, in fact, open to the general public.

A portion of roast pork with home fries is splendid, the glistening nuggets of tender, garlic-spiked swine providing the soft to the browned potatoes’ crunchy (wholly satisfying and absolutely filling).

Fluffy codfish, or bacalao, is dredged in egg and sprinkled with flour before hitting the pan and later blanketed in sauteed onions (massive hunks of batter-fried fish taste first of butter, then of velvety meat and lastly of the barely-there breading).

The alluring feijoda summons a meaty stew anchored by pliant pork belly (slow-cooked to near perfection), sweetish blood sausage, smoked ham (big, woody flavor), robust cabbage (greens-charged broth tastes like it would be a meal in and of itself) and dissolving kidney beans. “The only reason I don’t like coming here,” another host interjected while surveying the towering plates already amassed in front of him, “it’s too much food.”

De acordo.

Be warned: The VPCC brunch goes on hiatus from July through August since most members return home for the summer.

(September 2009)