Welcome to Talk to Tom, the dining-advice column that aims to point you toward good meals, steer you from the dross and solve your pressing restaurant queries. Look for a fresh Q&A every Thursday in this space.
Questions and comments can be submitted to TalkToTom@notus.com. Submissions may be edited for length and clarity.
Help me refresh my restaurant rotation. What’s good (but casual) these days?
“Good” and “casual” apply to the new La Merna in Dupont Circle — as does “tough to book.” On Friday night, I watched a steady stream of would-be customers politely turned away at the door of the 50-seat storefront.
Trending
That’s what happens when a couple of Chicago talents — chef Bradley Shorten and his wife, Meg Schmitt, a cheesemaker — come to town and open a place that features tavern-style pizza in a room that looks as if it had been airlifted from the Midwest. Faux pheasants, wood panelling, burgundy-colored banquettes and a small custom-made bar were inspired by the dive bars, supper clubs and old-school Italian restaurants familiar to the couple back home.
If you’re new to the genre, tavern-style pizza is defined by a thin, cracker-y crust that’s always cut in a grid pattern, squares being easier to eat off a cocktail napkin, which is how early tavern-style pies were dispatched in bars, bowling alleys and elsewhere. The subtle sour note in the base comes from curing, says Shorten. “By the time [the crust] gets to you, it’s a week old.”
Depending upon where you eat the pizza, the tomato sauce can be sweet or spicy. La Merna’s sauce reflects the zesty variety served on Chicago’s North Side, says Shorten, who gets a “good forearm workout” from the sausage he mixes by hand.
The cheerful service places you in the Midwest, too. “We ask [hires] to make everybody feel like a regular,” says Schmitt, who makes the pasta for the restaurant, which is named for her grandmother’s best friend and neighbor. “My favorite person in the world,” adds Schmitt. A painting of the late inspiration graces the first-come, first-serve bar, the source of some top-shelf drinks.
Reservations open 30 days out, at midnight. The best time to drop by is when the doors open at 5 p.m. or late at night, say the couple, who are just getting started. A quarter of their ideas, including (yes!) late-night burgers, have yet to go on the menu. Right now, in addition to the signature pies, I’m partial to the mile-high Italian chopped salad and floppy ravioli plumped with ricotta, draped with tangy tomato sauce and scattered with crispy bread crumbs spiked with ’nduja.
When you’re looking at a menu for the first time, what captures your attention?
Lots of things!
I appreciate a list that’s concise, which certainly fits the times now. Don’t give me dozens of options. It’s the uncommon kitchen that can produce a lot successfully. Generally speaking, eight or so appetizers and as many main course options suggest a chef has done some editing — and thinking, and paring — for a diner by putting forth their best work.
I also commend a menu that provides enough of a description to give patrons a sense of what the dish will taste like. I’m not asking for a complete recipe, mind you, just more than three or four words, as I’ve seen in some contemporary restaurants.
A menu with some personality draws me in, too. If a dish has someone’s name attached to it, odds are it will be worth your time. A Mexican dish on a French menu? It might be there because a Mexican cook made it for the pre-shift “family meal” in the restaurant and his colleagues thought it worth a wider audience. In recent years, the demand for nonalcoholic drinks is up, so I keep a look out for interesting zero-proof selections.
Finally, and most personally, I’m a sucker for dishes that I would likely never make at home (Peking duck, suckling pig, Dover sole) and those that flag in their makeup any of the following: anchovies, almonds, butterscotch, goat cheese, lemon, thyme and meringue. (Love me a classic île flottante, or “floating island.”)
I’m looking for a solid restaurant with a view in the city.
Look no further than Limani, the dashing, three-floor Greek oasis whose picture windows capture boats, water and more at The Wharf in SW D.C. The airy white interior with accents of blue makes me feel cooler just walking in, and I appreciate the consistency of the cooking. When opening executive chef Lonnie Zoeller died unexpectedly last year, his sous chef, Antonio Contreras, ably slipped into his place in the kitchen.
A meal this month reminded me of my first visit to Limani. Fried in a kettle of olive oil, the signature stack of thin, hand-cut eggplant and zucchini arrives glossy but greaseless — also hot, crisp and cooled with a dip of tzatziki. (Move over, potato chips.) Bite into the supple grilled squid and out rushes a river of tangy cheese. Loup de mer is cooked head-on, then simply brightened with capers and lemon. A trio of lamb chops is as succulent as I remember, too, and don’t be surprised when a server in a white jacket delivers a gratis gift to the table. (My party received a strawberry pavlova to share.)
“Our way to show Greek hospitality is to send something out for free,” says general manager Michael Deery. He says there’s a word for it: philoxenia, translated as “love of strangers.” The welcoming approach extends to meal deals, including three courses for $39 at lunch.
Limani originated on Long Island and begat branches in Manhattan, Charlotte as well as D.C. The last spreads comfort and sunshine across more than 16,000 square feet and can seat more than 600 people. It’s a big place with a big heart.
What do you think of servers who use “you guys” as a greeting at the table?
No bother if it’s me and some other men in, say, a bar or someplace relaxed.
But I know, because readers have complained to me repeatedly over the years, that a lot of people object to the overly familiar, too-casual patter. “You guys” overlooks women in the mix. It can also sound unprofessional to some ears (vintage ears, in particular), especially in upscale settings.
The better-for-everyone approach is to avoid calling anyone anything. Ditch the pronouns. It’s hard to argue with “Welcome, and thanks for joining us.”
Author
