A Mano
A basement little brother to Bin 36, A Mano retooled earlier this year after a burst pipe shut it down for over a month. Its menu and wine list are vast and wide-ranging, in fact potentially unnavigable, but with careful selection you can build a great meal. An assortment of six salumi for $28 is a sweet deal that affords the chance to sample the likes of mole sausage and culatello, the soft, buttery nucleus of a ham cured prosciutto style. Most recent restaurants of A Mano’s ilk haven’t dared open their doors without firing up a wood-burning pizza oven, with mixed results, but here it’s executed with facility to produce a slightly puffy crust. The reworked, more streamlined menu retains favorites like garganelli with braised boar and raisins and ravioli di ribollita, stuffed with white beans, black kale, and Tuscan bread. A similar combination turns up in “Mud and Grass”—black kale, chickpeas, and white truffle—one of six rustic sides. Under no circumstances skip the house-made gelati, which include both common flavors and curveballs like gingersnap, mascarpone, and an incredibly rich and fruity olive oil version. On Christmas the restaurant is offering a traditional Italian five-course feast of the seven fishes from 5 to 9 PM; it’s $65. —Mike Sula
Just off the handsomely ornamented marble lobby of the Hotel Burnham, this dramatic room has oversize windows on two sides; floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains, massive baroque chandeliers and wall sconces, and crimson-and-black walls give it a regal yet comfortable air. Chef Heather Terhune’s menu is mostly American: grilled rib eye, chicken breast with sour cream mashed potatoes, and maple-grilled Iowa pork chops with chunky applesauce for dinner; burgers, grilled cheese, and a pulled-pork sandwich at lunch. Breakfast sticks to the basics: omelets, oatmeal, waffles, and the like. For the holidays there’s afternoon tea service in addition to lunch and dinner; kids get house-made lollipops to take home. The wine list is adequate if limited, but the cocktails are excellent. —Laura Levy Shatkin
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AMERICAN, CONTEMPORARY/REGIONAL | DINNER: TUESDAY-SATURDAY | CLOSED SUNDAY, MONDAY | RESERVATIONS RECOMMENDED
In taking the reins at Avenues at the Peninsula, Curtis Duffy was handed a job that’s two, maybe three times as difficult as that of his predecessor, who only had to convince the world that he could make magic in an institutional hotel dining room. Duffy had to follow Graham Elliot Bowles’s formidable act, and do it in a market that’s far more competitive than when Avenues first drew the national spotlight. As Grant Achatz’s right-hand man at Alinea, Duffy was an important soldier in the city’s post-Trotter’s/Tru/Trio surge to prominence, but his selection suggests a conservative continuity that doesn’t do him any favors either. About that dining room: it acts like fog, its only virtue the view of NoMi’s Chihuly chandeliers across the street. It’s so stodgy I had trouble focusing on the first few courses out of more than a dozen we tried from the prix fixe menu. But gradually Duffy got my attention, anchoring the familiar powders, granules, bubbles, and froths in concert with unprocessed ingredients like baby greens and tiny blossoms. By course number four—a spoonful of Dungeness crab claw with macerated cherry—I was in his thrall, and wowed over and over again as the rest of the courses, each with a dizzying array of elements, arrived. Before dessert a devastating piece of grilled Wagyu with smoked coconut and basil puree simply destroyed me. When it was over we were exhausted but awed, and not too worried about Duffy or the huge bill. That came the next morning like a hangover. On Christmas Eve there’s a five-course chef’s tasting menu plus jazz and carolers; it’s $110. —Mike Sula
Paul Fehribach, former chef at Schubas’ Harmony Grill, has taken the space long home to trapped-in-amber Augie’s diner and turned it into an airy, minimalist dining room distinguished by floor-to-ceiling windows and wrought-iron chandeliers. Like those chandeliers, the menu gives a little wave to the French Quarter. The cocktail list is full of daiquiris, hurricanes, and nicely balanced Sazeracs—including one with absinthe—and the menu includes crawfish-boudin croquettes and a rich and smoky gumbo with chicken and andouille. I didn’t try the sandwiches but I wish I had: at a neighboring table a sizable Tallgrass beef burger with fontina and aioli was provoking groans of happiness. And the fresh, clean flavors of a simple house salad got my friend to sit up and take notice. All in all Big Jones seems to be striving to fuse the accoutrements of upscale dining with the down-home soul of country cooking. When it works, the results are stellar, both sophisticated and bone-deep satisfying. On Christmas Eve there’s a $40 four-course prix fixe menu modeled on the reveillon dinners traditional in New Orleans; offerings include goose gumbo, oyster stew, and coconut-cream Italian wedding cake. —Martha Bayne
Prior to his eight-year reign at One SixtyBlue, the Parisian-born Martial Noguier had two significant experiences as a turnaround artist, breathing new life into D.C.’s moribund Citronelle in the mid-90s and then at our own legendary Pump Room beginning in 1998. If anyone could elevate Cafe des Architectes’ delivery and raise its profile it should’ve been Noguier. So why, my table collectively wondered, was our meal so uneven, baffling, one-note entrees bracketed by solid appetizers and stellar desserts and cocktails? The chief culprit among those main plates was an old friend from One SixtyBlue—Michael Jordan’s favorite—a 14-ounce prime Delmonico steak with shallot marmalade, accompanied by a potato gratin. At $38 this piece of cow shouldn’t have been as chewy and rangy as it was, nor should the gratin have been as tepid and gelid. Also disappointing: mushy diver scallops with a pair of tasteless frenched chicken wings, and wild striped bass with shredded, glazed veal cheeks. Noguier is a noted devotee of the Green City Market, but aside from the apple foam and chestnut puree that came with the bass, nothing we tried happened to advertise any of the familiar farm brands that show up on menus all over the city. Maybe we should have stuck with the many dishes that were so branded, but then again, the local-sustainable stamp didn’t show up on the simple, solid mushroom veloute, creamy and earthy; or the port-marinated foie gras torchon—with pineapple chutney, no less; or the texturally multidimenional hamachi carpaccio with artichoke puree. Each of those little plates was perfectly satisfying, though none was anything more. The bright and shining stars were desserts by pastry chef Suzanne Imaz, whom Noguier brought along from One SixtyBlue—a pear-ginger creme brulee with almond phyllo and a chocolate dome with a pistachio cream center—and cocktails in the adjoining bar, mixed by an enthusiastic bartender who showed independence despite having to work with a silly cocktail menu that divides drinks into the categories “his” and “hers.” On Christmas Eve a four-course dinner featuring tenderloin or guinea hen and concluding with a traditional buche de Noel is $55. —Mike Sula
