Bistro Bis

What a week. It started with low country (on Monday, Valentine's Day) to high-dining on Friday at Bistro Bis. Then, to add an element of complexity to it, while drinking a Sonic limeade today and talking to my mom, I came up with a new theory on dining out: Roland Barthes' reader response theory may apply. Whatever, we'll get there later.

First, time for a montage from Georgia Brown's (I had three valentines who acquiesced to modeling their delicious gravy-covered "low country" southern cuisine):

So, last night I went to Bistro Bis, one of the higher ranked restaurants on the list at number 14. It's in the Hotel George, in a mostly swanky neighborhood (I saw a guy relieving himself in the neighboring alleyway when I left) on Capitol Hill. Back to the cerebral stuff, reader response criticism in literature posits that "the reader is an active agent who imparts 'real existence' to the work and completes its meaning through interpretation." I am going to reinterpret that theory in my own amateur criticism world to mean that my experience at a restaurant will depend on how I feel coming into the restaurant, how a restaurant makes me feel in return, particularly how the food and service impact my aesthetic engagement.

Phew. As always, it started innocently with a glass (quite full) of red wine and fresh bread and butter. I decided I don't like butter that looks like the icing borders on Wal-Mart cakes because it's just too cutesy: give me full cups of butter, Mickey Mouse-silhouette butter patties, or nothing.

When butter gets serious:

Like last week, I got a series of appetizers because they were much more interesting and innovative than the entrees. I started (ok, uninnovatively) with the beet salad with the Beet Salade au Citron, roasted heirloom beets with goat cheese, walnuts, orange slices, salade frisee, and citrus infused olive oil. It was beautiful and delicious, once I made a mess of it.

Next I had the quennelles, which I first had in Paris at Alain Ducasse's restaurant Aux Lyonnais (sigh). I didn't know what they were then but they were exquisite.

Can I show you a picture of my first quenelle? Thanks.

Oh oh oh, what about the one I had in Lyon, home of quennelles?

My pretentious point is that there is an element of complexity to the dish that you might be able to see: creamy sauce and a merginguey-yet-solid exterior and then what you can't see: a very smooth, delicate, but complex interior that's dumpling-ish yet still foamy and very fishy. (My smile in Lyon attests to my satisfaction.)

Unfortunately, it was all foam and not fishy (but with neat little crescent pastry on top), making it a pretty pale imitation of an obscure dish.

To conclude my series of mini entrees, I had the veal cheeks; the word "exquisite" kept running through my head as I ate them. The server boasted I didn't even need my knife; I took him at his word and cut all three of them with my fork. They, too, were served with a hint of citrus, carrots, and small cippolini onions.

The fancy literary theory applies here: I was in a bit of a sour mood when I arrived and the off-pace service, minimally interested waiter, and short skirted/red velveteen-suited 23-something couple to my left didn't help. When I realized the server neglected to serve me gougères that I saw a neighboring table receive and not relay the dessert items du jour, my smouldering rage got a bit hotter. Another table recommended I order the dessert du jour, which I asked about and got.

A pear tart is on the right, with caramel/vanilla ice cream on the left. It was unremarkable too, but I'm not sure if that was just because I was grumpy. Oops, I'm a not so objective food critic. Deep breath; I'll try again.