Week Five: Cheese, Glorious Cheese!

Since I didn't have any plans for Monday after work, I decided it might be a nice day to return the library books I checked out a year ago when I actually lived in the District. They were, uh, a little overdue. By about a year.

*cough*

After that, I just wasn't ready to go home yet, and began wandering around F. St., right there between Metro Center and Gallery Place. I window shopped at H & M, peeked in at McCormick and Schmick's (but decided not to partake of their most excellent happy hour menu). Oh, and I discovered that I am considered a size Large at American Apparel. WTF?!? I'm a 0 at Ann Taylor! Boo! I shake my fist at you, American Apparel! *shakes fist!*

*stepping off soapbox*

I continued my wander down F St. NW, and discovered it: the Cowgirl Creamery Cheese shop. I went in. It smelled like cheese. How glorious.

The front part of the store is dedicated to cheese-y accouterments: artisan breads, "Cowgirl Creamery" cheese spreaders, and cheese grab-bags made up of the brand's most popular cheeses. Oh, and also jars of gourmet jam, crackers and chocolate. I carry a secret torch for good jam.

The back room is where the real goods are. A couple refrigerated self-serve cases offer pre-packaged feta, soft goat cheese, pecorino romano and ricotta., among other things. The real draw, though, is the gorgeous display of every kind of cheese I have never heard of (remember, I'm a foodie in training. I'm not there yet). Well, I've heard of manchego. To be honest, though, I was awfully wrapped up in the different kinds of butters available in the refrigerated case. I had no idea that there is such a thing called "cultured" butter, and that it is different from "regular" butter. Apparently, according to the educated staff, cultured butter has a tangier taste than regular butter. I will have to try that sometime.

I was a little too intimidated to get help from the staffed counter with the beautiful block-and-wheel-of-cheese displays, so I hemmed and hawed at the refrigerator case, finally choosing a small wedge of Pecorino Romano, a package of Camembert, and a Cowgirl Creamery cheese spreader for good measure. I also succumbed to the siren song of some blackberry preserves, which came in an octagonal jar with a little computer-printed label . These preserves are made of three ingredients: organic blackberries, pectin and sugar. I'm am giddy.

Sadly, Cowgirl Creamery was sold out of baguettes for the day, and Best Buns Bakery was closed by the time my Metro Bus meandered past it, so no baguette for me yet to go with the Camembert, but my goods are in the fridge waiting for me.

And I'm already planning my next trip to test out this new realm of cheese.


If you go:

Cowgirl Creamery
919 F St. NW
Washington, DC 20004

Week Four: Bond, The Willard, and Harry Potter

Let me tell you, I am a big Harry Potter fan and have been anticipating the release of the seventh book for quite some time. In fact, I pre-ordered it a few months ago, and for me, it was late because I even waited a few weeks after it was available for pre-order (big risk taker here, I know). To be honest, though, I've never been too interested in release parties. They seemed fun, but really not my thing. I just want to get to the store, get my book, get home, and get reading. With that in mind, I've gotten my last two Harry Potter books from the Borders at 14th and F St. NW, in downtown DC. Once the working day ends and the restaurants have closed, the part of the city near the Treasury and the White House becomes relatively quiet, and since the area isn't residential, the Harry Potter party is limited to people like me, who just want to stop by, get their book, and leave. Perfect.

I had Friday (relatively) planned-- I would test out the Willard's new restaurant, Cafe du Parc. As I knew a few of the concierges back from my days in the business, I would stop by their desk and reconnect for a few minutes. And if I got bored before midnight, I might even be persuaded to head over to Gifford's for some ice cream, or the Elephant and Castle for a Harp.

I went to Cafe du Parc. The bread there is the fantastic European kind with the hard, crunchy golden exterior and soft, white interior. The service is excellent as well. If there is anything that one can count on with the Willard and all of its associate ventures, it is the service. It is quick, it is friendly, and it is knowledgeable. I am told the Four Seasons has better service, but I'm not sure how much better you can get. I have a feeling that the differences there are in the most minute of details, and I am so not the splitting-hairs type.

The entree, I think, could have been better, but let me tell you what I did like about it. If you look at the picture, you'll see some roasted garlic and grilled eggplant. I really liked those. I don't know if I've ever had roasted garlic, but I've always known that garlic has a lot of sugar in it (anyone who has cooked with garlic at all, can see that). For this reason, I have no idea why I didn't think roasted garlic would be sweet, but it is--pleasantly so. The grilled eggplant was nice, too. As soon as it hit my mouth, I felt it practically melt on my tongue, my tension melting with it.

One thing I don't like about eating in restaurants is the fact that so many of them drastically over-salt their food. Cafe du Parc does not, even though with such a mild flavor, the eggplant seems perfect for some salt--and then a little more...and some more still. Instead, they grilled the eggplant with just a little bit of olive oil, allowing the flavor to shine through. Yummy.

I'm a little conflicted about the main part of the entree- the one that looks like a ribeye steak. The genius of it is that it's not really a ribeye steak. Ok, yes, I am one of those country bumpkins that gets all excited when my food is dressed up to look like something it's not. I giggled when I realized that the part of my entree that looked like meat was actually a mixture of greens. Not sure what these mystery vegetables were, but they were tasty, as was the hard-boiled quail's egg that was supposed to be the "bone" of the "ribeye", and which I was thoroughly certain I wasn't going to like (but tried anyway, and did like). The lighter section wrapped around the veggie-quail's egg masterpiece, however, was supposed to be the veal. I say "supposed to be" because, well, there wasn't a whole lot of veal there. Just fat. And I was kind of disappointed, because I wanted the veal.

Perhaps this was planned - perhaps the chef needed to increase the fat content of the "ribeye" to keep something from getting too dry. I'm not sure, but when the waitress came over to check on me, she insisted that everything on the plate could be eaten and exhorted me to eat the "veal" that was really fat. I ate a few more bites, just to be polite but really, there are better uses for the calories...

...such as the chocolate mousse topped with fresh raspberries that I had for dessert, for example. Yum. The mousse was dense, the flavor was rich, and the raspberries were at their peak. I was a happy camper with this mousse. Sadly, it was so rich, and I was so full from my dinner, that I was only able to finish half of it (though I polished off all of the raspberries). Ah well, better luck next time.

This is where my evening went off the track I had planned for it: during my meal, unknown to me, my friend Bond called and left a message inviting me to meet up with him and one member of his merry band of cads and scoundrels at Bourbon in Glover Park. I decided then that Harry Potter would just have to wait until Saturday and headed to the concierge desk to get an exact address for Bourbon, as well as hopefully shoot the breeze with the concierge on duty.

As luck would have it, an acquaintance of mine was working the desk, and we proceeded to chat for the next 45 minutes or so about restaurants and places to live, venues, activities, mutual friends and, of course, gossip about the Washington, DC hospitality scene. My Concierge Friend not only vetted my current list of restaurants, bars and venues, but even added a few to it, for which I am grateful (though my list is now so large I am unsure that I will ever see even half the spots I have on it). We exchanged email addresses, promised to keep in touch, and I really hope we do. I loved getting his insight and would love to check out some new restaurants with him.

Bourbon was as it has always been for me - very laid back and, for the most part, uncrowded. I love that. This is not a place that I would go to wearing, say, a tank top and cut-offs, but in my Friday office casual wear (a nice pair of jeans, camisole and a blazer) I felt quite comfortable. We told stories, Bond tried to get me drunk on wine, and his cadly friend hit on the cocktail waitress. Bond and I took a cab back to his Dupont Circle condo and chatted some more before I crashed on his couch. I have a distinct feeling that Bond (being who he is) had...other plans...for us for the evening...but that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

And the next day, in the haze of a red wine hangover, I took the metro to Metro Center, got a coffee at the Caribou near there, headed over to Borders to pick up my book, and then went home. Delicious.

If you go:

Cafe du Parc
1401 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
Washington, DC 20004

Willard Intercontinental Washington
1401 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
Washington, DC 20004

Bourbon - Glover Park
2348 Wisconsin Ave. NW
Washington, DC 20007

Week Three: Lingerie Success!

Let me be very honest here...my reason for finding an upscale lingerie shop was not just to get underwear for The Planner in honor of her upcoming wedding. No, it was more selfish than that--I desperately needed to be fitted for a bra.

Every since I began training for longer-distance races - 10Ks and longer--I've been putting in anywhere from 9 - 16 miles per week, on average. Consequently, I have shrunk - I've gone from a size 4 two years go to a size 0 now. And as far as bra size? Well, until last Monday I could only guess.

I don't mind being smaller so long as I remain healthy, but the change in size has made shopping for clothing...inconvenient at best and impossible at worst. There are now large segments of the women's clothing retail industry that have absolutely nothing for me, and with bras, the situation is dire. The ubiquitous Victoria's Secret has decided that I do not exist, and I now must either go to an independent shop or purchase my bras online (department stores supposedly have my size, but I've yet to see it). Because of the trial and error involved in finding bras, I decided to try find an independent shop. Of course, the one nearest me is no longer in business, and the one I sent Marathoner to is all the way out in Fairfax, so I decided to see if there was one closer to work -- and there was. This is how I discovered Coup de Foudre last Monday.

Coup de Foudre is a specialty lingerie store that has the same ambiance (pink carpeting, feminine wallpaper, classical music) that Victoria's Secret had before it decided to go all modern. Much, much more relaxing than Victoria's Secret - especially as there is a greater chance I'll find something that fits!

I got to the store shortly after work on Monday, and after adding my info to the guest book, I asked if I needed an appointment to be measured that day. The very French sales lady said she would be happy to measure me, led me to the dressing room, and got out her tape. I quickly learned that I was at least a band size and a cup size smaller than when I had been last measured, and that the bra I was wearing (one of my own) was most definitely the wrong size. And then the fun part began.

The door to my dressing room was soon covered in bras of every type and color: demi, full cup, balconet, silk, lace, brown, white, blue. There was even a swimsuit in the bunch that fit well, but gave me scary cleavage. I tried on everything--at least 15 bras, possibly more-- and every time I tried on a new bra, the French sales lady came in, adjusted it, inspected the fit, and told me what to look for. For all my bravado, I tend to be a very private person, so having that much scrutiny directed at my chest by a complete stranger was a little unnerving. The sales lady was very professional, however, so the discomfort was short. Through the trial and error in the dressing room, I discovered what kinds of bras worked well for me, and soon gained the ability to spot a dud the moment I put it on.

In the end, I spent an ungodly amount of money on two bras that fit like they were made for me. Oh yes, and I picked up a gift for The Planner, which was not nearly so ungodly expensive (but still very very cute!). With that, I left Coup de Foudre and headed over to Macy's to purchase The Planner's silverware from her wedding registry. A Macy's is a Macy's is a Macy's, so I'll save us all some time and say that my experience there was typical (not bad, not great).

If you go:
Coup de Foudre
1001 Pennsylvania Ave., NW (*actually at the corner of 11th and E St. NW)
Washington, DC 20004

Macy's (if you must)
1201 G. St., NW
Washington, DC 20005