(December 2007)

By Warren Rojas

Food: 9.2 Ambiance: 8.6 Service: 8.4

Should visiting foodies ever question our area’s culinary chops, shuttle them directly to Farrah Olivia and let Morou Ouattara propel them into gastronomic oblivion.

One bite into most dishes, people marvel at the unexpected flavor combinations. By the third bite, they’re left wondering why nobody put such wonderful tastes together before. Then again, not every restaurant can lay claim to a West African-born, sensory-bending tactician like Ouattara.

The streamlined main dining room is all about transparency and charm, employing little else than ample sunlight and scattered snapshots of the restaurant’s sprightly namesake to set the mood. The deceptively short menu—curt descriptions sometimes fail to adequately express the sum of the typically exotic parts—can give first-time guests pause, but many servers are conversant enough in the head-scratching cuisine to steer novices toward at least seemingly familiar territory.

Gourmet breads arrive with fascinating spreads like bok choy pesto (thick, herby fun) and horseradish ricotta (lumpy, spicy goodness). An amuse of seared rabbit and espresso-charged potato soup kick-starts the appetite. Strips of flash-seared escolar are escorted by a hill of red wine powder and pickled plum (thrilling). Ham and eggs go gourmet in a sandwich featuring truffled ham, sauteed mushrooms, a fried quail egg and rich cheddar sauce (a lunch triumph). Cured quail is all tender breast meat and crispy drumsticks splashed with seductive chorizo oil.

Best New Spice Sensation

(March 2007)

By Warren Rojas

On first blush, the Farrah Olivia menu could easily be mistaken for a mad scientist's grocery list: berbere oil, powdered bacon, honeyed cabbage. But the seemingly exotic becomes strikingly straightforward in the hands of chef Morou Ouattara, a culinary wizard determined to broaden your tastes while simultaneously blowing your mind.

Resurfacing after a brief stint at D.C.'s scandal-plagued Signatures (good food, bad rep), Ouattara seems reinvigorated. No longer bound by an all-expense-account clientele, he is now free to tease diners with magical creations reflecting his West African heritage.

Velvety sourdough flan is flanked by grilled sardines, a hill of pulverized bacon and romaine leaves spritzed with Caesar dressing (a Cirque du Soleil-worthy balancing act). Roast pork awash in a curiously strong chocolate-merlot sauce is joined by a fatty cube of Tandoori pork belly (awesome). A savory casserole of tender eggplant, tomato confit, cheddar gratinée and tiny brioche squares nestled in a pool of Greek yogurt sends you sailing through the Mediterranean. Seared scallops atop truffled grits blow traditional brunch offerings out of the water; the creamy grains imbued with a smoky character accentuated by diced scallions and bits of country ham. Ornate chocolate and innovative fruit desserts abound, but don't overlook the rotating slate of artisanal cheeses (often accompanied by extras like macerated grapes, squiggles of honey, toast sticks and homemade caramel brittle).

In fact, the only real complaint is that the restroom is parked in the highest traffic area possible-wedged between the servers' station and the entrance to the kitchen.