Washington, DC, is an interesting food city. There’s tourist food, what we think of as lobbyist food, some really interesting ethnic food, and Big Name Chef food. But where do the locals hang out?
We discovered Palena via David Rosengarten when he wrote about great hamburgers. Palena technically is a Big Name Chef spot, because Frank Ruta, the chef-owner, used to cook at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and pastry chef Ann Amernick is a James Beard Award-winner who also cooked there. It’s a fairly small place opposite the Cleveland Park Metro stop on the Red Line, handy for DuPont Circle hotels. The back room is the restaurant; the front, including the bar and some sidewalk tables, is referred to as the café. The restaurant takes reservations; the café, where we ate, does not, but we waited less than five minutes.
The restaurant and the cafe have different menus, but in the less-expensive café, one can order from either. (The restaurant is prix-fixe by the number of courses chosen, so individual dishes lack prices. Annoying and potentially intimidating.)
We were particularly interested because we were traveling with our Viking granddaughter, who’s not quite so adventurous as we, and the cafe at Palena promised good things for all of us. It surely delivered just that.
The single item we tried from the (larger) restaurant menu was a clear soup of asparagus and morels with a bit of skate wing. It’s always shocking to be reminded just how much flavor can be packed into a crystal-clear broth and this was an exquisite example, every mouthful giving a little quiver of delight. The tariff for the large bowl of soup, by the way, was $15.
The burger that Rosengarten wrote of comes on a housemade bun, the meat slightly smaller than a tennis ball. The cheese is imported from Italy, the mayo seasoned with Parmesan and garlic. It was good, but only a cardiologist would call it heart-stopping — since we’re regularly exposed to the art of Jack Parker’s crew at O’Connell’s we’re damned fussy about burgers. It was moist and fairly meaty but the cheese was so subtle it seemed to add nothing, and the mayo was apparent only on the second half of the burger.
On the other hand, there were the fries. Yes, excellent French fried potatoes, to be sure— but wait, there’s more! Ridged nuggets with holes in the middle, looking like big bolts, were made of dauphine potatoes. Ethereal onion rings murmured of love to the unsuspecting and the jaded alike. The crowning touch was a few cartwheels of lemon slices, battered and fried like the onion rings. Sound odd? Tasted fabulous, even according to the Norwegian. (Photo taken, obviously, mid-scarfing.)
She also scarfed down a green salad scattered with hazelnuts and pinon nuts, and was pleased with her introduction to a hazelnut oil dressing. That was followed by a quarter of a roasted organic chicken, which we Americans considered as good as any roast chicken we’ve had in France. French chickens, though, seldom are massaged with a little hit of jerk spicing. Their loss.
A large slab of pate en croute was made of veal, guinea hen and foie grass. We found out the following evening that it’s a dish our Washington wino comrades recommend to anyone they send there. It was mellow, the flavors blending happily into each other. Instead of cornichons, pickled ramps stepped up (and on) to the plate. Ramps, a wild onion found in Appalachia, can be pretty zippy, and these certainly were. The mellow side was represented by white asparagus, also pickled.
Of the desserts, two were stars. A tart filled with lemon-lime curd and generously drizzled with caramel looked pretty mundane but tasted wow, the sharp tanginess and the rich buttery sweetness swirling together. Strawberry sorbet arrived surrounded by rhubarb in its own juices, a cloud of lavender-laced creme fraiche snuggled alongside. Lavender, like rosemary, can be overwhelming, but here it was in fabulous control, turning the dish into something remarkable.
The wine list is a very good one, and we saw a group trooping into the restaurant with the telltale signs of a large group of folks bringing wine to share or show off to friends — clearly a vinophile-friendly house. We succumbed, however, to two of the inviting house cocktails, a gimlet (basically lime juice and gin), punched up with a little mint, and a fragolini, sparkling wine mixed with the juice from local strawberries, a combination that deserves, if not immortality, at least a little immorality.
Service started out a tad brusque but efficient in the height of a usually-quiet Tuesday that was swarmed by walk-in customers on a lovely evening. By the time we left, though, brusque had turned to polished, even a little warm.
Next time we’ll try the prix-fixe in the restaurant. If, that is, we can also get an order of those fries.
Palena
3529 Connecticut Ave., NW, Washington, D.C.
202-537-9250
Credit cards: All major
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Entrees: $12-$15