This week was Restaurant Week in DC. Fancy-pants restaurants all over this city set a fixed price on their lunch and dinner menus - $20.09 and $35.09, respectively. Seems like a lot, but at these places, that's a deal.
So after work on Thursday, my co-worker friends and I went to our second happy hour in a row (crazy, I know) and made reservations at a restaurant called Vidalia. Described by its website as "original American with a subtle Southern influence", a more apt description for me was "over-your-head foodie ingredients with a few farm animals thrown in as guideposts for the uninformed like me". But before I get into the food, I'll describe the decor.
Vidalia is subterranean. The front door immediately leads to plush carpeted stairs that wind down to the nether-regions of an office building. It's a good thing there isn't a Vidalia in Houghton or Minneapolis - they would need steam cleaning for their carpets daily during slushy winter months. But Houghton it is decidedly not. The greeter, excuse me, maitre d', graciously asked us if he could take our coats (he did) and asked if we had reservations. Well, he asked if we had reservations first, I guess it wouldn't make sense if he just took our coats, no prior questions necessary. As he, or rather the coat-taker person, took our coats (3 on 1 hanger - they're good like that) I noticed that below the podium glass, there were trays of knickknacks. The usual toothpicks, business cards, and other accoutrement were there, but the thing that got me was a small white tray of reading glasses. I know for sure Applebee's doesn't have this option. But I'm not sure why Vidalia has it, either. It's not like the menus had very tiny font - and you would think the patrons would either be of good sight, good taste, or equipped with bifocals of their own that they wouldn't need complementary reading glasses, but what do I know?
As we walked to our table (prime location, I might add), I noticed that most diners were 1. a lot older than us (think mid-30s at the youngest) and 2. a lot richer. Oh well, I had on my best-looking work clothes, so maybe I didn't stick out too much. I checked out the bathroom (too much beer at happy hour) right away and thought it splendid that the stall had its own sink. The thought that some may forgo this option for the other sinks crossed my mind as I undid the latch of the stall, but oh well, bacteria is good for you sometimes. The waiter had a very strong accent, and it was very loud, so I did a lot of smiling and nodding to his suave suggestions. Usually a good tactic.
The menus, as I alluded to earlier, were full of foreign sounding ingredients coupled with farm animal names (i.e. suckling pig galantine). I got the pig for the first course and the goat for the second. They were really good - except for the fact that I coudld've eaten all of the food served to me in about 2 minutes at home. I guess the adage - quality not quantity - is somewhat of a set-in-stone law at these places. You're supposed to taste the food, not inhale it. Well, I'm an inhaler. But I nursed my goat for all it was worth and it was really good.
The nicest thing that happened to me that night was that my co-workers took pity on me for being a poor intern and bought my dinner. I owe them so much - and they made sure to remind me of that! But I am really grateful to them for letting me see into the world I may someday (hopefully never) inhabit. I'll take good bar food over fancy-pants food any day.
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