Mules Frites on the Hill

Eating mussels (not muscles; you only make that mistake once, I can assure you) is a strangely indulgent activity.

I had the great good fortune of having them at Belga Café last night. But when the waitress first put them down in front of me, I wondered why, exactly I had ordered them. There they were, piled in a steaming heap, their internal organs hanging limply from their open shells, bathed in garlic and wine and butter.

My first two beers at the Hawk-n-Dove, and the subsequent Duvel at Belga, got me to musing about what exactly I was about to eat. My thoughts left me reticent to shove the first peach-colored mollusk into my mouth. You see, I was at a loss as to what part of the mussel I was actually eating. Unlike crabs, where you know when you’re eating a leg or a claw or an eye stalk, or even beef, where you can at least identify which part of the cow you’re devouring: rib eye or rump or tongue, the mussel remains a mystery. The answer is, of course, that you eat all of the parts of a mussel: lips, brains, toenails, eye balls, and all. (I’m just speculating here, never having taken the time to really study a mussel.)

My reticence only lasted as long as it took me to tear the first mussel from its shell and raise it to my lips. I ate the entire vat, plus a few of my wife’s mussels as well, in a silent slurpy frenzy. The frites with mayo and a couple of Belgian ales later, and I couldn’t care less what parts of a mussel I ate, as long as I didn’t eat the shells. Although, truthfully, I probably wouldn’t have minded those very much, either.

DC Restaurant Week: Mmm...Bad Food

I told my wife we should participate in Restaurant Week. Not as diners, mind you. But by offering a prix fixes menu and setting up folding tables in our living room. Because, let me tell you, she’s a better cook than most chef’s in the city. Especially during Restaurant Week. (Let’s face it, most chefs participating this week are at the tops of their games.) That, along with the long waits and shoddy service, and I know we could do better than most!

Good food doesn’t have to be expensive, anyway. Sometimes it is. And sometimes you can spend 10 bucks on an entire Peruvian chicken (plus steak fries and slaw) and actually look forward to dying in a car accident on the way home, because you would be sure to die happy. Good food is good food. It’s just that so few people know what it is anymore, and assume that if you pay a lot for it, you’re getting it. So here’s a list of my favorite non-Restaurant Week food in DC:

Best Thai: The Old Siam on Capitol Hill. Not expensive, great service, incredible food, just simply a well-run place.

Best Italian: AV Ristorante Italiano, New York Ave and 6th Street NW. Serves wine in stemless water glasses, huge portions, unpretentious. They simply know what they’re doing.

Best hotdog: Ben’s Chili Bowl (of course)

Best Burger: Five Guys. Nothing more needs to be said.

Best Falafel: Amsterdam Falafelshop, Adams Morgan. Ditto.

Best fried pork, pupusas, and tamales: Tortilla Café at Eastern Market (not to be confused with Tortilla Coast, also on the Hill). They serve on Styrofoam plates here. I’d crawl over broken glass for the fried pork.

Best food, ever, anywhere, period: El Pollo Rico, North Kenmore Street, Arlington: I think they put crack in the chicken. I’m serious. Because there’s no way that chicken, steak fries, and coleslaw can be this good.