by Warren Rojas
I was sitting in a smoke-filled room at the Golden Nugget Hotel in Old Las Vegas, pounding out the last in a series of sobering dispatches from the anti-tax movement trenches when the fateful call came in.
Aspiring publisher Sang Yang was looking to round out a team to help launch his dream lifestyle monthly, and he bravely (foolishly?) offered to bring me aboard as the founding restaurant critic.
Up until that point, I had only dabbled in food writing. My contribution to the gustatory debates of the day consisted of sporadically firing off unsolicited observations about the most intriguing things that had passed through my lips in my wanderings across the DMV to a few mildly bemused folks at the Washington City Paper.
Yang was insistent about the need to put Northern Virginia on the map. And I was intoxicated by the opportunity to properly sink my teeth into our eclectic dining scene.
Neither of us knew what the hell we were getting into.
With just three months to go until the inaugural issue was expected to hit newsstands our skeleton crew raced to define our regional identity.
Mind you, the world was a very different place then.
Tom Sarris’ Orleans House was the last best hope for grabbing a bite in Rosslyn once night fell. Old Dominion Brewing Company pretty much had the local beer market cornered. Wegmans was just gaining a toehold in the area. And the only people patronizing food trucks were time-crunched construction workers used to wolfing down generic shrink-wrapped sandwiches and dirty-water dogs.
Save for the truly epicurious—the food-obsessed souls willing to trek to Tysons Corner in rush-hour traffic to feast upon the seductive flourishes (lusty foie gras, sumptuous lobster, ethereal truffles) Fabio Trabocchi would shower upon the Maestro faithful, or those who sought out dreamweaver Jonathan Krinn at 2941 knowing they’d be rewarded with a banquet of artisan breads, exotic proteins (lion, anyone?) and crowd-pleasing cones of cotton candy—most of the high-end dining traffic flowed almost exclusively into the District.
Serious gourmets were judged by the heft of their wine tab at Citronelle (R.I.P.), whether they’d ever scored a seat in front of the open kitchen at CityZen (ditto) and according to the depth of their participation in Roberto Donna’s side projects (figuring out the Galileo Grill schedule: rockstar; dining inside the Laboratorio: legendary).
But the tide was already turning.
Bistro Bis alumnus Cathal Armstrong was turning heads at Restaurant Eve in Alexandria with his own brand of experimental cuisine.
Tracy O’Grady, a protege of dining impresario Bob Kinkead, walked down the aisle at her debut restaurant, Willow, and then continued right into the kitchen to begin cooking for the hundreds of wedding guests on hand for the soft opening.
Neighborhood Restaurant Group founder Michael Babin had poured his resources into establishing a staggeringly well-sourced beer haven dubbed Rustico—forebear to his now full-fledged brewery, Bluejacket.
And though it would be years before Secret Service agents would begin shepherding foreign dignitaries his way for a taste of burger ecstasy, Ray’s the Steaks founder Michael Landrum had already put carnivores on notice that they deserved better than what the cost-prohibitive chain meat palaces had to offer.
Over time, several industry heavies decided to try their luck on this side of the Potomac with mixed results. Chefs Jamie Leeds, Geoff Tracy and Morou Outtara received warm welcomes for sharing the likes of Hank’s Oyster Bar, Chef Geoff’s and the short-lived Farrah Olivia (since resurrected as a restaurant-within-a-restaurant at Kora), respectively, whereas Michel Richard struck out with Michel, Donna failed to impress at Bebo, and R.J. Cooper somehow drained the lifeblood from critically acclaimed Gypsy Soul.
Some of those rather spectacular flameouts boiled down to simple economics: Too much overhead + not enough covers = lights out. Others might have appeared sustainable at the time of conception but proved horribly outdated by the time the doors actually opened.
Sure, Northern Virginians enjoy a little flash when they step out for a meal. But it’s been my experience that what winds up on the plate is much more important than any moniker scrawled across the entryway.
Sublime food. Thoughtful service. Stirring environments.
These are the hallmarks of a treasured dining experience.
And it’s what we’ve become accustomed to as local powerhouses—think: the seasonally inspired The Restaurant at Patowmack Farm, whimsical Maple Ave Restaurant and tony Trummer’s on Main—continue to crop up within our ever-widening borders.
The composition of said indulgences may vary. (I, for one, suspect locavorism is here to stay.) And the presentation may differ—enough already with the small plates; more family-style dining, please!—depending on where one elects to pull up a chair.
But the direction of our collective dining future is clear: absolutely delicious.
( January 2016 )