35. Westend Bistro
Westend Bistro is a great restaurant, as long as you don’t plan on ordering any food. The decor is swanky but approachable, the wait staff is stellar and the big picture window is unbeatable when it comes to people watching. The food, however, is forgettable at some times and just bad at others. Though the restaurant was packed on this particular Saturday night, I have to assume that many of the patrons were there to be in the presence of a restaurant plucked from nothingness by the great Eric Ripert. But I’m guessing (and hoping) that Monsieur Ripert has never set foot in that kitchen. Le Bernadin this is not, and while Central is the bistro to Michel Richard’s Citronelle; Westend shares no commonalities with the Mecca of fish and perfect French technique to our North.
Perhaps I’m being a touch harsh; there are dishes on the menu that are definitely tasty. But first, you have to get lucky with the menu. It took my parents and I longer than normal to pick out our meals—not because there were too many great dishes to choose from, but because nothing really jumped off the page. One thing that did, however, was the “molten” goat cheese salad, which my mom (that lucky dog) snatched up. It amounted to what seemed like deep fried balls of goat cheese (nothing wrong with that, eh?) served over a bed of lettuce, beets and mangoes. While goat cheese and beets are not exactly ground breaking flavor combinations, the addition of the mango was a real delight. My dad had the fried calamari, which I gave points to for not being fried fried but still crispy. But in the end it was just fried calamari with tartar sauce. Good but not great, fine but probably not worth the awkward reach across the table maneuver I pulled to sample off his plate. I went with the Washingtonian-sanctioned tuna carpaccio, which looked very cool (a little like thin crust pizza), but unfortunately tasted like the opposite of pizza. And what is the opposite of cheesy gooey goodness? Nothing. The tuna tasted like nothing. Had I not been a little grossed out by its gelatinous texture, I wouldn’t have even known it was in my mouth. As I’ve heard Eric Ripert say many ‘a time on Top Chef, it was lacking acidity in a serious way. Give me lemon juice or give me death!
The main courses fared much the same way. My mom was once again the smarty-pants with the choice pick. She actually ordered the soft-shell crab appetizer, which the waiter offered to turn in to an entree (adding an extra crab) when she ordered. It was obvious that someone who knew what they were doing cooked these crabs—the outside was crispy without being fried in breadcrumbs and egg and flour and more breadcrumbs. My dad had the roast chicken (prepare for at least a 30 minute wait time on this one, though they did warn us ahead of time). The portion was giant, and while he wasn’t blown away with the dish, I thought it was moist and juicy and flavorful. I prefer my roast chicken brined when I’m spending money to have someone else cook it for me, and unfortunately the Riper-ians didn’t include this as part of their prep work. Nonetheless, I would be pretty thrilled if any chicken I roasted came out the way this one did. Last and definitely least, I ordered the salmon served with fava beans and peas in a miso broth. So remember how I said that the tuna carpaccio was tasteless? That was a flavorpalooza compared to my salmon. It was cooked quite rare and so I assumed (since Eric Ripert loves this stuff on Top Chef) that it was sous vide. Come to find out it was actually poached, which I wish they’d specified on the menu since I think poaching a protein gives it the flavor and texture of shaving cream.
About halfway through our meal a manager-looking gal came by and asked if our food was okay, and when I gave the come ci/come ca face she immediately took my salmon off the bill. It makes the sting of bad salmon better, but any restaurant that makes a habit of having the manager come to all the tables and ask if anything needs to be compted has a serious problem. And when the waiter came to take away my plate and noticed that I had only eaten a quarter of my fish, he said that he was sorry I didn’t like it, and that the chef has been getting a lot of complaints it since it came on the menu. Here’s an idea: take it off the menu!
Methinks I went in to this meal with too high expectations. Westend does have (here comes a food analogy!) all the ingredients to make a up a great special occasion meal, but alas, the food is not worthy. There was one thing that we ordered that got raves from everyone at the table—the mac and cheese for two. Yes, it pretty much tasted like extra creamy white cheddar Kraft mac and cheese, but there ain’t nothing wrong with that blue box. So here are my instructions if you and your empty belly venture to the Ritz—sit at the bar and order the mac and cheese for two. It’s like the milkshake with two straws of the new millennium.
