A review of Kinship and a quiet night in my kitch

Last night, Tom and I went to a work event at Kinship, a marvelous new contemporary American restaurant in DC's Shaw neighborhood. Opened by Eric Ziebold (former chef of CityZen) and his wife and partner, Célia Laurent, Kinship is a relatively small (just 55 seats) place on 7th St NW with an unassuming exterior and a minimalist but very warm interior.

Last night's menu was set but still a terrific way to first experience Kinship. Frankly, I enjoyed the lack of decision-making. I enjoyed simply being fed by people who seemed to care deeply about the food they prepared and served.

Passed hors d'oeuvres included mushroom fritters with a sunchoke reduction, lobster profiteroles, tuna atop a fried chanterelle, and duck loin. A beautiful sparkling rosé complemented and enlivened each bite, although a zippy Sancerre, a smooth red, and an open bar were also up for grabs.

Isn't this butter pleasing? I love the serving plates too. 

My favorite dish of the evening was our first course once seated: grilled okra and baby corn atop chilled summer succotash, cilantro vinaigrette, and red pepper sorbet.

Yep, that is straight up red pepper sorbet.

I ADORE okra, succotash of any stripe, cilantro and red peppers so felt good about this from the moment I first saw it. But oh wow, each bite was nearly blissful. The sorbet could have so easily derailed the whole thing, but it didn't. It was so bright and herbaceous and cool- a lovely compliment in both taste and color to the rest of the plate.

Next up was a pan-seared redfish with shrimp and bell pepper jambalaya and Old Bay emulsion which was lighter than air, and finally, a dry-aged ribeye with mustard-braised spinach, Gruyère steamed pudding and a sauce Dijonnaise. 

People, the mustard-braised greens were TO.DIE.FOR. Do you hear me? TO.DIE.FOR. 

With all that goodness we drank a Burgundian white, the 2013 Alain Gras, Saint-Romain, as well as a 2011 Spottswoode Cab from St. Helena. I adored the white, admit to hardly paying attention to the Cab (egads!) as speeches and toasts were ramping up at this point and had to leave to relieve our sitter just prior to the serving of whipped chocolate nougat with whipped crème fraîche, espresso caramel, cacao nibs and chocolate sorbet. What a tragedy to miss that.

I did have a lovely cappuccino and tried to buy this cup and saucer from Kinship, but to no avail.

The service was impeccable, the ambience lovely and welcoming- think Scandinavian rustic-chic meets peonies and a hide rug in a library. I look forward to returning soon!

***

Tonight, after I tucked the kids in, I decided I did not have the stomach to stand watching the RNC and so took to my kitchen, perhaps inspired by last night and the fact that T left town today and so I could go vegetarian with no sad face carnivore peeping over my shoulder.

I'd bought some stunning, plump Turkish figs today (which then prompted the purchase of some creamy blue cheese and visions of caramelized onions and a tart) and, while rummaging through my freezer this afternoon, found some puff pastry squares I'd bought at that fab Persian market the boys and I discovered in April.

I also had some beautiful chioggia beets, and as they happen to love blue cheese too, I tossed them in the oven to roast. Long story short because now I see that it's getting very late and I'm tired and teaching in the morning, tartlets. 

STUNNING roasted and peeled chioggia beets

Aren't they darling and tempting? I ate four. And those beets. G'night!

Through the Wine Glass: a review of The Red Hen

A few days ago, Tom's parents invited the boys to spend the night so that they could take them to Luray Caverns the next day. As today is Columbus Day and there's no school, it was decided that we'd bring them over yesterday evening after Jack's baseball game.

Tom and I were tired after a busy weekend but decided that since we had a rare evening off and no babysitter on the clock, we'd pick a restaurant, no matter the distance, get dressed and go.

"The Red Hen," we declared, and way downtown to Bloomingdale we drove. Literally. We drove to 1st St and live near 50th. We had no idea if they'd have room for us, and indeed when I asked, a table was a two-hour wait. On a Sunday. This is testament to The Red Hen's popularity.

But theirs is a sizeable bar, and as T and I rather prefer sitting at the bar anyway, we settled in to wait after scoping out several duos who appeared to be winding down.

view, through my wine glass, of part of The Red Hen's kitchen

I ordered an unusual Trebbiano blend, an Italian white, and T his preferred, a saison-style beer, and just as we settled in to each other, relaxing under the weightlessness of no schedule and no children for 18 hours, two bar stools were vacated and we moved in.

The menu is full of hearty fare that incorporates a wide array of seasonal veggies, artisanal meats, seafood and cheese in unique ways. In short, I loved the offerings. 

We started with the Roasted Beet & Goat Cheese Bruschetta with Capers, Mint & Toasted Pistachios as well as a plate of Charred Octopus with Sweet Potato Hummus, Braised Beans ‘alla Romesco,’ Shaved Fennel & Frisee. 

roasted beet and goat cheese bruschetta with pistachios

The bruschetta was lovely, and I enjoyed not only the small dice of the roasted beets but also the micro greens and pistachios. If the capers were there, I couldn't find them. And that's OK because I'm not totally sure how those would pair with the nuts. Food for thought.

charred octopus with sweet potato hummus and frisee

The octopus was assertively charred (which makes me swoon) but still tender which is a tough line to tow, but I can't say that I loved the sweet potato hummus and black beans with it. The shaved fennel and frisee were perfect accompaniments though, and I was happy they were there in generous fashion. Tom liked this dish more than I did and was unfazed by the beans.

We both felt our entree choices and second round drink choices hit things out of the park. I was hungry and felt decidedly carnivorous, so once the delightful male bartender assured me that  pig had lived a happy life, I chose the Mezze Rigatoni with Fennel Sausage Ragu & Pecorino Romano. 

People, I would pay good money of another bowl of this right now. I shared several of the sizeable (too-large in my opinion) fennel sausage chunks with Tom who gratefully and quickly devoured each boulder, but when he tried to take more pasta, I nearly sliced his hand off.

"Step away from my perfect mezze rigatoni man!" 

The sauce...oh, I weep for the fact that it's gone. It was rich and complex and creamy but not too creamy and tomatoey but in just the right way. And that snow shower of coarsely grated pecorino? Mamma mia!! As if I needed more pleasure, I ordered a glass of Montepulciano which was the perfect pairing.

T chose the Caramelized Scallops with Autumn Squash Chowder, Mussels, Smoky Bacon, Fregola, Basil & Breadcrumbs and was equally thrilled. I try over and over again to enjoy scallops, but I simply do not. That said, that stuff the scallops were nestled on?? Fantastic! I love fregola (a Sardinian pasta similar to pearled couscous), and this "chowder" is an excellent way to use it. It was bacony and squashy and the basil gave it just enough sweet brightness.

one of the best desserts I've ever had!

Tom has sworn off sugar since July which has mostly worked in my favor, but last night I really wanted to share dessert with him and he obliged. We chose the unbelievably spectacular Sugar Cream Tart with Toasted Pecan Crust, Honey Gelato & Candied Pecans, and after the first bite, I was sorry he'd agreed to split it with me.

Naturally.

I cannot even tell y'all A) how good sugar cream tarts are and B) how quickly today I researched a recipe and bought all the ingredients to make it. It's like a sweet cream custard that tastes as if it's been slightly bruleed and then set atop a crust (and in this case the toasted pecan element was epically good) and served with caramel and an ethereal cloud of honey gelato. 

I actually did want a second piece.

Other than one of the female bartenders who was not terribly helpful in giving us a sense of anything and asserted that 500ml was much more than 16 ounces (when in fact it's 16.9 ounces) thus making T even more sure that he did not want to splurge on the very expensive 500ml beer he was eyeing, everyone was friendly, the ambiance is warm and bouncy and intimate, and the food was really excellent.

Five stars to The Red Hen. Thanks for a wonderful evening.

Boulud Sud: a review

You might know that I have a long-standing, mostly-love affair with New York City. My parents regularly took my sister and me there during our childhoods (lucky us), I lived on the Upper East Side for three years in the early aughts, and I have hauled ass back there as often as I could since.

The unfortunate fact is that I wasn't what you'd call a big eater when I lived there, so other than a few spectacular meals at gems like Chanterelle (now closed; sob), I missed out on a lot in NY's culinary world. A different story for a different time.

Since leaving in '03, I have most definitely made up for lost time, eating my way around the city as often as I can. From the Greenmarket to any Danny Meyer treasure, I make sure not to waste any of the three squares + snacks I get each day. 

One of my favorite truths about New York is that if you just start walking, you will come across something spectacular. Could be a performance, a beautiful sight, a proposal...anything really. Last Friday, after a full day immersed in the BlogHer conference (and a late night on Thursday), I was totally beat. I got a ludicrously overpriced glass of wine from the hotel bar, brought it to my room and put on my pajamas. 

"But, wait, dummy. Remember where you are!" I murmured. Chastened, I threw on some clothes, took the elevator down and walked out into the bustling night. 

New York in July can be as muggy as Louisiana, and that's not a compliment. But last Friday was one of those perfect evenings in which humidity and sweat are nothing more than ideas, and I walked and walked with a gentle breeze on my arm. 

As I approached Columbus Circle, I veered left to head north on Broadway. Past 61st St, the Empire Hotel sign loomed large just ahead, and I was jolted back to the first time I stayed there: on a recruiting trip for the University of Chicago. I can't remember why I chose the Empire, but it likely had something to do with Priceline or Hotwire, but I remember checking in and feeling awfully grown up and professional. Was I 23? 24? A lifetime ago.

If you know that part of New York, you know that the Empire looks out over Lincoln Center, a triangle park apparently named Dante (who ever knew? not me) and a strip of restaurants -Cafe Fiorello, The Smith, and Bar Boulud and Boulud Sud.

I wasn't terribly hungry, but hello. Daniel Boulud people. So I stopped. And irritated the shit out of the hostess when I switched my decision to sit outside versus in -"I've already set you a place at the bar."- and smiled winningly and ignored her peevishness and sat down so happily at a table directly abutting the rail dividing sidewalk and dining area. Perfect.

Perhaps because she was irritated, or perhaps because Boulud Sud was busy, or perhaps anything, but while someone quickly left menus on my table, it took nearly twenty minutes for anyone to return. I didn't much care because New York is the best people-watching outside of New Orleans, but I finally made myself known and ordered a beautiful glass of Benoni Pinot Noir. Of the gods!

Then, before Mr. Wine could leave, I ordered the Crispy Artichokes alla Romana with Nipatella (an Italian herb) Aioli and the Heirloom Tomato Panzanella with Burrata, Stone Fruit and Pesto.

If anyone is going to do fried artichokes right in America, I surmised, Daniel Boulud is a good bet. I was not mistaken.

These babies tasted as if they'd been plucked from Italian soil that morning which, as I find American 'chokes horribly depressing, left me speechlessly thrilled. The batter was light, the fry was perfect with nary a spot of grease in sight, and the aioli was bright and tangy just as it should be.

I was happy that my salad came concurrently because it was lovely to go between bites of each. The burrata was an enormous blob with a wonderfully firm exterior and lusciously jiggly interior. Some burrata just oozes like melting ice cream; it might taste good but you need a spoon and it's awfully unattractive. This one held together just enough; I needed my knife but only slightly.

Though I have paired both tomatoes and peaches with burrata, I've never combined all three. Why not? What have I been waiting for? I am now all the wiser. The peaches and cherries were at the peak of ripeness, and the tomatoes are what you hope for when you pay up for heirlooms (but all too rarely get).

The only erroneous element was the sliced caper berries whose briny tang was too dissonant for my taste. Fortunately there weren't too many, but when I replicate this salad at home, I won't add them at all. 

The pesto was gorgeous and added depth, the pine nuts a tremendous textural treat and the bread cubes were neither overbearing nor cut too large. I appreciated the latter especially because it gets my goad when I cut the top of my mouth on crusty edges.

I wished I'd had room to order much more for the menu was a huge bowl of candy available for the taking, but next time. Next time.