Your Destination Guide to Washington DC

On September 24, 2010, Washington D.C. once again experienced a literary explosion as the tenth annual National Book Festival returned to the National Mall. The day was jam packed with a roster of activities including author readings, book signings and story telling. Read More →

The next orange line train was scheduled to arrive at Court House at 9:18; that would have been cutting it way too close to arrive at Foggy Bottom and then walk to the IMF building at 1924 Pennsylvania Avenue to make our 9:30 reservation at Founding Farmers. We decided to take a cab. I had never been to the restaurant before, but my friend's description was enough to tell me that we had better not arrive late; I didn't want to take any chances of missing this place. Who would? Come on, a restaurant that is dedicated to buying the freshest, most natural ingredients solely from family farms, that prepares the food from scratch and does not force you to beg the IMF for a loan to afford it – are we in the same DC I have come to know and love?

As soon as I opened the imposing, intricately decorated solid wood doors, the interior was vastly different than I expected considering its location at the foot of the European banking industry's savior. It felt more like a ranch in Amarillo, Texas. With the lighting dimmed, the ambience was perfectly contrasted between the big city bustle on the exterior and the graciously welcoming décor inside. Our table felt like one my grandfather had built with his own hands. Inadvertently I flashed back to a relaxing family Fourth of July picnic in Northern Michigan.

I was promptly jolted back to reality by our well groomed waiter. You could tell he was relatively new because when reciting the specials, he seemed to go to that place in obscurity that somehow jogs memories. His service was great, though; the only reason I know about that mesmerizing location on a ceiling or wall is because I have been there many a time. As a matter of fact, I was only seconds from visiting that place after I had been given the menu. Prior to that instant, I didn't know it was possible to get lost selecting foods and beverages.

Our party of four was literally silent for several minutes after the menus were delivered. I can't speak for them, but I genuinely had fun just looking at the offerings. The drink menu was especially pleasing; the cleverly named cocktails included historical descriptions to put you in the mood to take down whatever comprised the adult beverage. Here's an example:

"The Stork Club: With the repeal of prohibition, the Stork Club was opened in 1929 by former 'bootlegger' Sherman Billingsley. Let's raise our hands in celebration, cheers! (Plymouth Gin, Cointreau noir, lime juice, orange juice and a dash of Angostura Bitters)"

We ultimately lamed out and went with two glasses of white wine and two Sierra Nevada drafts. However, we made up for our tame drink selections with a spectacular appetizer decision: the Bacon Lollis. Yes, it's just what it sounds like – thick bacon, coated with a cinnamon and brown sugar glaze, served on skewers. Let's see Willy Wonka beat that.

Feeling satisfied, but still gluttonous for more flavor, I was eyeing three different meals: Lobster Macaroni and Cheese, Southern Pan Fried Chicken (served with waffles, macaroni and cheese and the vegetable du jour) and the Slow-Simmered Sirloin Chili. Typically at restaurants, I make an impromptu meal decision at the last second; my lifetime batting average is probably about .800. Tonight it was 1.00. I went with the Chili because I Jedi-Mindtricked the two opposite of me to go with the Mac and Cheese (I wasn't completely on my game, she didn't get it with the lobster) and the Pan Fried Chicken. Inspired by the communal atmosphere, we shared with one another. I wouldn't do it any differently if I could. By the way, fried chicken and syrup laden waffles really do make a phenomenal combination.

Even though I was already doing my best Santa Claus Gut impression, our astute waiter handed the dessert menu to my wife. As soon as she received it, I knew I had to make room for whatever she selected. For a minute I think she found herself lost in a corner of the wall; she returned suggesting the donut holes that come with chocolate, caramel and strawberry dipping sauces. Possibly because no one was physically capable of verbal communication, the order went to the kitchen without any protest. In a few minutes, out popped the freshest donuts I have ever eaten. They were so crispy and powdery, so scrumptious that they didn't really need the sauces; but my- oh-my were they good with them, too. If it were socially acceptable, or if I were alone, I would have eaten the remaining sauces out of their dishes like a cat.

Simultaneous to our meal's commencement, a man to our left who had been working on a piece of cake the size of a brick threw his white napkin over his empty dish. When his server asked how everything was, he responded monotonously, "I'm stuffed". If I could have spoken, I would have said the same thing.

As we crossed through the dense doorway into the amenable night air, I satisfactorily noted that I had gained more weight in my belly than I had lost in my wallet. One chardonnay, two Sierra Nevadas, one pot roast entrée, one chili entrée and one donut hole dessert (we took the dessert, they took the appetizer), tax and a 20% tip deducted only $70 from my account. Was it worth it? Yes. I'll meet you at Founding Farmers in fifteen minutes and reminisce over some Bacon Lollis.