Vit Goel Tofu and BBQ

I'm happy to say that I've resumed dining at restaurants whose names I can't pronounce.  Conveniently, this one, Vit Goel Tofu and BBQ also goes by Lighthouse Tofu. Whether I can replicate Korean intonation or even understand what I'm eating (we'll get to that later), doesn't matter: tlunch was delicious and worthy of inclusion on the Cheap Eats Top 100.

After a hard morning of enjoying a nice latte and reading, I tried to gin up an appetite buying kitchen supplies and shoes (thankfully I bought more kitchen supplies than shoes, however). I headed south on a never-traversed part of Columbia Pike and ended up among the twisty-turny roads of Annandale, which I'm bound to frequent in the near future (Annandale is home to many Korean restaurants on the top 100). 

Vit Goel Tofu is tucked behind a Burger King and beside a golf store. Before entering, I was instructed to not leave valuables in my car (I assume that only means nine irons?). I snagged a seat and was pleasantly surprised with a concise menu with pictures and most especially, a limited amount of choices (it does make things so much easier, particularly when you have little idea what you're doing).

Before I even had a chance to peruse the 19-item menu (which still took a few sips to get through), I had a piping cup of tea before me. This was the only time my table had less than five plates on it at a time.

I started with the pork and kimchi pancake, I think, the best thing I had. Chewy, flavorful, and Korean diner-y (it looked like a flat omelet from a greasy spoon), it was exquisite. Before this gloriousness was set before me, an array of panchan (Korean appetizers) was set down. I was too eager to eat to photograph them with any reverence, but in the half-viewable plate on the left was a vegetable (I asked two people what it was, but I don't think it translates), bean sprouts to its right, kimchi cucumbers below, kimchi, and a cool tomato cabbage soup (like a thinner gazpacho).

At stage right was a small bowl of rice and (above) the container it was cooked in. The crunchy, stuck-on rice in the larger bowl was loosened with cool tea and was meant to be saved for the end of the meal (in which I indulged).

The decor was charming, not just because each table was obviously numerically labeled (with a large sticker in the corner), or because of the Korean-character wallpaper (which I selfishly am using to prove I was there), but because it's a local place. What looked to be a newly engaged-young man was there with his fiancee, who was translating for her Korean parents. A Chinese-American son and mother sat beside me and he explained they come frequently for the soup in winter (she ensured to wrap up every dish she could). Large parties of friends and families filled the dining room, occupying the time and attention of who must be the busiest busboy ever (imagine about 15 plates per table and at least 50 tables?).

By the time my entree arrived, I had 13 plates of food on mine. Pictures didn't seem to do my mushroom tofu soup justice, either. I challenge Minibar to give me something worth taping.