Pride.

Spent Saturday afternoon in Fairmount Park, listening to mid-90s hip hop, bocce-ing, and dodging poison ivy. Also noted with some concern that my wiffle ball skills are on the decline. Will have to get to the wiffle batting cages.

On the long and frustrating road back down to Maryland, I spent an unreasonable amount of time waiting in line on a highway in order to pay Delaware a few bucks for the pleasure of using that highway. I'm not given to wanton profanity, but fuck you Delaware. And I can look forward to that crap again next weekend. Only Delaware can make me look forward to driving in New Jersey.

To cheer myself up I stopped off in Towson at Ocean Pride (quality suicide food logo there) and picked up some pals.



I originally thought this pic would be appetizing, but it may be a little too macro.





Some Philadelphian cargo made its way down as well.









The Pharcyde -- Passin' Me By

Blurry chossom festival.

The cherry blossoms are out in D.C., which means, among other things, the weather's OK enough for me to walk to a bar in Logan Circle. Churchkey (1337 14th St NW, elite former site of Hamburger Mary's) has been open for awhile, and all reviews of it might as well close with "You know who would really dig this place? Pete." It's got a long and ever-changing beer list, a dark but inviting bar, gussied-up hamburgers, and helpful but unobsequious staff. On the page of my moleskine listing criteria for excellent neighborhood bar, these all appear. On the back of that page is a list of criteria that prevent bars from being good is "hell of far away from a metro stop," "crowded even on weeknights," and "pretentious (crowd)." Churchkey, I'd heard, was pushing it on all three. You can't entirely blame the bar for its patrons, of course. Hey, I like some Phish songs.

Photography lesson 1: Take photos with adequate light. Lesson 2: Sober.

So a dude and I walked in the other night after work. We sampled a couple cask ales--the Paradox Smokehead, a beer aged in scotch barrels that was like liquid peat smoke, and Allagash Black, which I've had before but which benefited from the cask ale treatment. The warmer temperature opened up the roast notes in the Belgian-style stout. Borderline fragrant. I also tried the brat burger--made from ground beef, pork, and veal; served with sauerkraut--which was delicious but will be a rare indulgence for me at $16. You can drink and eat there for less, though. Several menu items are under $10 and a handful of draft beers are $5 (the best bargain cask ale was from Oliver's in Baltimore and was $6, although sample pours can be had for less). Our server was informed, patient, and busy. Speakers played Pitchfork-friendly indie rock (I heard the Pains). We tried other beers, too; the menu is organized less by esoteric style than by taste--crisp, roast, hops. A pint of Victory Prima Pils reminded me that it's my favorite beers--drinkable in any season, never too heavy or too light.

As the time passed and the sun set, the light through the floor-to-ceiling front windows dimmed. The crowd got more crowded, and people hovered over our bar table as I signed the check. The positives definitely outweigh the negatives at Churchkey, at least in the early evening. Will return, but I may eat a handful of pretzels beforehand so I'm not tempted to order another $16 burger.

I ***=== DC.

I did several ill-advised things yesterday.

1. I went to a museum in DC that charges for admission.
2. I ate at a restaurant on Valentine’s Day.
3. I attempted to meet up with diverse groups of friends who all had other things going on.
4. I went to Rocket Bar.
5. I did all of this when I was low on cash.

Any one item on this list can mean a miserable evening. I could’ve felt ripped off by the Newseum, considering the treasures that are available at all the government-sponsored museums in the area. I might’ve had to wait for a table in a sea of people trying desperately to prove they’re in love. I could’ve gotten in a fight over a shuffleboard table (it’s happened before). I could have missed connections and not seen the folks I intended to. I certainly could’ve overdrafted my bank account.

Somehow, all the following is true. The Newseum is full up of challenging and informative artifacts and exhibits well worth the $20 charge; we got a table at St. Ex as soon as we walked in; we discovered that Bar Pilar has a Saturday happy hour of which we were glad to take advantage; we got the last table at The Saloon; and Rocket Bar’s dbag clientele was so dbaggily smiley and genial (this part’s a little fuzzy, I admit) that I didn’t let the Dave-and-Buster’s-y awfulness of the place get to me. We slipped seamlessly in and out of our friends’ various Valentine’s plans. We even caught the Metro at all the right times. It was the kind of lucky evening that made our out-of-town visitors jealous at DC’s variety of nightlife and safe, clean public transit. This doesn’t happen too often, so I’m going to bask in today’s hangover.

A few recommendations that came out of all this:
-The fried green tomato BLT at St. Ex (BLFGT?)
-Happy hour at Pilar ($3 Tecates and Yuenglings)
-The red velvet cupcake at Pilar (I know, cupcakes are all up in your face these days)
-Rocket Bar’s policy of swiping your card (not taking it) for a tab, and not needing you to close it out (they just charge the card and add 18% gratuity) should be universal. It ensures a reasonable tip and that I won’t lose my card at a bar I dislike.

Royale With Cheese

Much like Pulp Fiction was the high point of Samuel L. Jackson's career--you could argue for his part in the opening of Eddie Murphy's Raw, but let's be serious--a recent meal at Ray's the Classics in Silver Spring may have been the high point of my hamburger eating... career.

I can walk to Ray's, but I don't get there often because of, you know, money. Ray's is expensive, but not unreasonable--the restaurant offers a $24 three-course prix fix in the bar, and the steaks and chops are cheaper than at most steakhouses. I go every once in awhile--in the words of George Brett, I'm good twice a year for that. But the news that Ray's owner Michael Landrum would serve his "Butcher Burger," famous from his Arlington burger joint Ray's Hell Burger, nearly made me pull a George Brett. By which I mean I nearly tried to kill homeplate ump Tim McClelland.

For $8 (not much more than a Five Guys burger), Ray's the Classics patrons can get a truly excellent meat sandwich made from house-ground beef, cooked to order--Ray's will do rarer than medium--with several "options"--au poivre or "diablo" (with a chipotle sauce) among others. Sides are the same creamed spinach and mashed potatos Ray's serves in the dining room. Wash it down with a Silver-Spring-based (if not brewed) Hook and Ladder beer. Total cost for two, including tax and 20% tip, is about $35.

Landrum's Arlington customers get more of a burger joint ambiance and some different menu options, but they also get to wait in line and fight over tables. It's generally not hard to get a table in the bar at Ray's the Classics. The lounge itself doesn't have a lot of personality--I personally prefer the comfortable dank of nearby Quarry House--and no TVs, which follows the no frills theme of Ray's. A burger at Ray's is about the burger, just as a steak dinner at any of Landrum's restaurants is about the steak.

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of mediocre $10 hamburgers. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak to awesome steakburgers and beer."