Joints that Jump After Dark

Restos where nightfall brings new life

Article by Warren Rojas / Photographs by Jonathan Timmes

Some restaurants are so much more than the food they serve or the drinks they pour. Their greatest contribution, in fact, is best measured by the excitement they generate and the communities they foster.

Here are a handful of nocturnal retreats that thumb their noses at shut eye-seekers and fervently embrace others who do the same.

Tiffany Tavern
1116 King St., Alexandria; 703-836-8844; www.tiffanytavern.com.
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for dinner and late-night dining, Monday through Saturday.

To hear Tiffany Tavern owner Nancy Herman tell it, their ascendancy from neighborhood retreat to iconic bluegrass haven is more of a happy coincidence than part of any grand design.

“The playing of bluegrass was not a consequence of my [late] husband being an expert or anything,” she says, adding that although she doesn’t necessarily seek out the high-energy tunes in her personal life, “bluegrass is a fun music to listen to live.” Judging by the standing room-only status of her bar/lounge area come weekend nights, I’d say local music lovers would agree.

Herman just celebrated her 30th anniversary as proprietor of the Tiffany Tavern this past March, yet she still sounds surprised by the deep-seated affection shared by customers who darken her door, year after year. “We do tend to get families of regulars,” Herman says of her multigenerational following. In fact, she knows of at least one couple—both of whom are squarely in their 80s—who rarely miss a weekend show. “They stay up later than the young kids,” she says of the front-and-centered octogenarians.

Such devotion seems appropriate here, particularly since the abundance of stained glass windows and multihued lampshades bestow a cathedral-like solemnity to the restaurant. The rear dining room is all exposed brick and funhouse floors (whole room slants to the right), while the main bar remains the dominion of the disciples of a-pickin’ and a-strummin’ (furiously fingered fiddles, banjoes and acoustic guitars fill the air most nights).

The menu doesn’t stray too far from classic Americana, sticking to burgers, steaks and myriad seafood offerings.

One exception is the overly generous Greek salad, a nod to her husband’s Mediterranean roots, which summons coarsely chopped lettuce littered with crumbled feta, sliced cucumbers, tomato, black olives and deliciously briny anchovies (Opa!).

Blocks of feta, however, fail to even register in a Greek-style burger bogged down by a mountain of sauteed mushrooms and cucumber slices (was hoping for pickled zing; got mildly refreshing tang). The so-called Canadian burger proved to be the sleeper hit, blanketing the seared burger patty with twin rounds of savory Canadian ham, melted cheddar and a battery of strategically deployed condiments.

Stick with grilled vs. battered seafood options, as the latter typically results in “it came from the fryer” horror shows of over-breaded clumps of nondescript marine life entombed in the equivalent of a cornmeal sarcophagus (seafoodiness: squandered).

Beef fares much better, as indicated by a tried and true chopped-sirloin platter. The cooked-to-order steak comes as rare as you can handle—think: mushroom-topped tartare—the bloody juices and woodsy gravy comingling beneath the mass of mouthwatering meat.

Karaoke Idol
7151 Lee Highway, Falls Church; 703-533-0024; www.karaokeidol.us
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch, dinner and late-night dining, Tuesday through Sunday.

I’m no fan of karaoke.

But given the going-for-broke-like gusto lounge owners Sonny and Merly Gidda have applied to outfitting their subterranean singing club, I can honestly say there’s something downright mesmerizing about watching amateurs warble through yesteryear’s hits at Karaoke Idol.

Their fully glammed-up stage shamelessly exploits every tawdry design scheme imaginable, from the twinkling tinsel backdrop to the giant projection screen replete with melting-from-view, color-changing lyrics.

The wildly diverse crowd follows suit, ranging from a vertically challenged Asian gent who raised the roof with a booming Neil Diamond cover to the camouflage-sporting Caucasian armed with a CD case full of classic country—his every performance punctuated by a victory lap around the room, high-fiving everyone in attendance—to the gaggle of giggly ladies who couldn’t help but shake what their mommas gave them as they waited patiently for a chance to light up the mic.

What’s that? You don’t think they have any songs to fit your particular vocal-belting oeuvre?

Fat chance.

The Gidda’s “Songbook 2.0”—a jaw-dropping binder that must surely rival deposed Redskins coach Al Saunders’ ill-fated 700-plus-page playbook—lists, quite literally, hundreds of tunes and artists from across the musical spectrum (50 Cent, Las Ketchup, The Platters, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Shakira, Bloodhound Gang and U2, among others).

Your English still a little rusty? The song list also features page after page of Filipino, Latin and Japanese standards/pop hits.

Choices abound on the regular menu as well.

Appetizers range from banal (fried mozzarella, jalapeno poppers) to deliciously bold (white-fish meatballs soaked through with vinaigrette and soy sauce, bean curd sauteed with pork ear). Heartier options include a slew of homemade soups (chicken-rice-egg, sour pork with vegetables, milkfish with vegetables), plenty of pork-rich recipes (tocino, longganisa, papaitan) and assorted seafood offerings (shrimp, tilapia, Asian mackerel).

Fried pork ruffles conjure crunchy pig (buttery as roast pork belly) enrobed by a wiggly, bacon-esque wrapper. A side of white vinegar completes the inexorably rich ride, slicing through the fat-filled fritter with its cleansing tang.

Adobo-rubbed pork—each nugget of slow-simmered swine saturated with cumin and pepper—and softened potatoes swim in a bay-spiked sauce that is damn near impossible to resist. (Could. Not. Get. Enough. Of. It.)

A classic menudo brought, you guessed it, narrowly sliced pork fully immersed in a tomato broth bolstered by sweet peas, diced potatoes and carrots. (A great starter dish for those who might be wary of the notoriously pork-intensive Filipino diet).

According to Merly, the cuisine could blossom even further. That is, if they follow through with their plans to flip a now-dormant buffet line into a standalone sports bar/tiki lounge a little later this summer.

Waters Edge
13188 Marina Way, Woodbridge; 703-494-5000; www.watersedgeoccoquan.com.
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch, dinner and late-night dining daily.

Gazing upon the lolling Occoquan from Waters Edge’s spacious deck can call to mind those lazy river rides popularized by water parks.

The atmosphere inside the sprawling dining/entertainment complex, however, is rarely that sedate.

Manager Ron Lipscomb says the new owners have been making all kinds of nips and tucks (broader menu offerings, sweeping renovations, updated events calendar) to the one-time Oasis on the Occoquan since taking possession of the place in February 2008. And Lipscomb suggests they’re not done yet (plans for an upper-deck expansion remain fluid).

“It’s very peaceful down on the river … [but also] a fun and inviting atmosphere,” Lipscomb says of the overall vibe management has strived to nurture over the past few years.

Still, peace and quiet seem to be in pretty short supply, given the wide-ranging welcome mat Waters Edge rolls out for nocturnal visitors.

A newish happy-hour buffet—offered from 4-7 p.m. on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursday and Fridays—keeps the after-work crowd happy with gratis nibbles that run the gamut from quesadillas to meatballs to tacos to crabs. “People have really taken a liking to it,” Lipscomb says of the near-nightly snack spread.

Come nightfall, the restaurant experiments with all manner of potentially crowd-pleasing activities, from poker nights to a sporadic “best legs” competitions—“It hasn’t taken off yet,” Lipscomb says of the gam appreciation show currently slotted for Tuesday nights—to DJs spinning whatever rapper is currently abusing Auto-Tune.

Lipscomb said management gambled on some more elaborate seafood dishes during the winter, but soon discovered that their core constituency could not be swayed from their first loves: crabs and burgers.

“Crabs generate a lot of excitement,” Lipscomb says, noting that as the mercury rises, locals tend to quickly come down with pickin’ fever.

Standard seafood offerings include she-crab soup, fisherman’s stew, chipotle barbecue salmon and whole Maryland rockfish; while daily specials of Monte Cristo-style cod (it’s really just a cheese-covered filet) and shrimp scampi help round out the marine munchies.

A basket brimming with deep-fried shrimp brushed with a zesty-sweet, Thai chili sauce is a share-worthy snack none of my companions could refuse. The well-spiced shrimp become even more magnetic after a squirt of fresh lime.

Jumbo-lump crab cakes unite pulled crab, egg, onion and breadcrumbs, all flanked by a so-so remoulade (adds a hint of spice).

A Cuban sandwich summons shredded pork (slow-cooked till requisitely tender), melted Swiss and tangy pickles packed into a plenty crusty loaf.

The lobster mac and cheese displays plenty of room for improvement, given that the kitchen seemingly drowns gemelli and most likely claw meat (not bad, but definitely not mouthwatering hunks of succulent of tail meat, either) in a rudimentary cheese sauce.

Then again, the dizzying array of beer specials (discount drafts, imports and bottles from 3-7 p.m. during the work week; rotating $1 beers every other Thursday) and comely servers (if I didn’t know better, I’d swear the house uniform was fishnet stockings, booty shorts and belly shirts) make the uneven cooking that much easier to take.

Jammin’ Java
227 Maple Ave. E., Vienna; 703-255-1566; www.jamminjava.com.
Average entree: Under $12 ($). Open for breakfast, lunch and dinner daily, late-night dining Tuesday through Sunday.

On any given night at Jammin’ Java, it really is all about the music.

That doesn’t mean co-owner Jonathan Brindley and his siblings haven’t put SOME thought into the food.

The nearly decade-old live entertainment showcase hosts national artists, local bands, kids’ acts and just about any other kind of performer who can (hopefully) carry a tune, seven nights a week. Add in their all-ages, all-the-time policy, and you’ve got a recipe for all-inclusiveness that draws thrash metal-loving teens determined to exorcise their demons by hysterically flailing in front of the main stage one night and tot-swinging moms happily bouncing up and down to the alphabet song mere hours later.

“Our business is different because any [given]night can be busy because of the artists,” Brindley says of the performer-driven attendance. “The crowd is wildly different every night.”

The menu is equally egalitarian, offering up sandwiches, snacks and salads easy enough to scarf down between sets as they are for time-crunched professionals to scoop up on their way back to the office.

“Chili is sort of our signature thing,” Brindley says of their gourmet calling card. The restaurant fields four varieties of the stuff, including: spicy pork and tomatillo (the most popular, according to Brindley), black bean and chicken, three-bean “ballpark” and a vegetarian option. Management further beefed up the menu earlier this year by bringing in genuine Sabrett dogs—“They’re like the New York street vendor dogs,” Brindley says of the famous franks—to be loaded up with a variety of heavy-duty toppings (cole slaw, Russian dressing, chili, sauerkraut).

Stewed pork and zesty tomatilloes prove to be terrific buddies, spreading their complementary spice across a brew of rice red onions, black beans (peek through the ruddy stew) and shredded cheddar cheese.

The melange of kidney, black and white beans in the “ballpark” chili is tops, but the cinnamon-spiked steak treks into far sweeter ground than normal, even for a Cincinnati-style chili. The diced onions, however, help reel the bowl back into savory territory.

Coarsely chopped chicken breast, dressed to the nines in mayo and cracked black pepper and partnered with half moons of crunchy celery and tart red grape halves, proved irresistible. And the surrounding baguette—firm crust, cottony interior—sealed the deal for me.

A sauerkraut- and melted Swiss-covered link looked a little skimpy beneath all the fixings. But that classic beef flavor came through the canopy of Russian dressing and celery salt (nice touch) unperturbed.

Refreshments flow at all hours, ranging from custom coffees and teas to homemade smoothies (banana, mango, strawberry, lemonade) to craft-brewed drafts (Blue Moon Belgian white, Dogfish Head 60 minute IPA, Newcastle brown ale).

Freddie’s Beach Bar
555 23rd St. S., Arlington; 703-685-0555; www.freddiesbeachbar.com
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch Friday and Saturday, dinner and late-night dining daily, brunch Sunday.

Whether the champagne’s a-popping (Sunday brunch) or the karaoke machine’s a-rocking (Tuesday, Thursday and Friday), it’s a safe bet you’ll find something to lift your spirits at the Technicolor funhouse that is Freddie’s.

Owner Freddie Lutz has dedicated the past nine years to cultivating his club’s all-inclusive vibe, wryly stating, “We’re very straight-friendly.”

Manager Ray Martin couldn’t agree more. And he gives plenty of the credit to the diversity-seeking crowds that assemble within the four, flamboyantly decorated walls.

“Everybody gets along. That’s the magic of Freddie’s,” Martin says, adding, “It’s like the gay Cheers.”

Straight. Gay. Other.

All are welcome at this kitsch-filled wonderland—a John Waters’ wet dream boasting walls reinforced with pink, white and purple doll house furniture, bookshelves besieged by armies of vintage Barbie dolls, Japanese lanterns that cast a pastel sheen in every possible direction, a pink feather boa-framed bar and disco balls galore.

And I suspect even the most stone-faced visitor would have to crack a smile at the tongue-deeply-in-cheek warning posted behind the bar: “Don’t piss off the fairies.”

For my money—and since you’re reading this, I guess yours, too—it doesn’t get much better than a rousing round of drag bingo. Co-hosts Regina Jovet Adams, she of Divine-like proportions (complemented by some phenomenal falsies), and Ophelia Bottoms, a blaxploitation refugee with a big, beautiful ‘fro (‘natch), weave spirited song and dance perfromances, filthy jokes and risque anecdotes into their unabashedly adult number calling.

Everyone is invited to chant “Sit your ass down!” to shame false/premature Bingo! winners. “My favorite – O 69,” Regina purrs when a certain, provocative sphere comes tumbling out—ensuring no one will mistake this experience for another night at the local firehouse/church rectory.

Prizes range from off-the-wall collectibles (collectible Barbies, day-glo SpongeBob SquarePants watches) to random DVDs.

There’s no additional charge to play bingo—as long as you spend at least $10 on food and drink, which is certainly easy enough to do.

The so-called Buffalo pork shanks (a crowd favorite, according to Martin) reveal ultra juicy, bone-in slabs of eat-with-your-hands-friendly swine tossed in a respectable hot sauce (peppery wash conveys a compelling, but non-lethal, burn).

A nuttier-than-thou poultry dish summons almond-studded chicken breast, deep-fried till crispy and surrounded by vinaigrette-splashed greens (groovy).

One companion could not keep her hands off the specialty beef cakes—ahem—hamburgers the kitchen lives to load up with your choice of fresh toppings.

“This is the best burger I’ve had in a long time,” my guest gushed as she wrapped her lips around the beef-and-double-cheesed creation paraded before her.

Homemade sweets are no second-class citizens, either.

The ultimate banana xango turned out to be an apple turnover-fruit burrito hybrid flush with warm banana cream (more fruity and frothy/creamy than tapioca rich) and a fried pastry shell rolled in cinnamon sugar.

(May 2010)