Fiola

I found a keeper in the way these things are supposed to work. Tonight, I attended a tornado relief fundraiser on Capitol Hill. It was very DC--the nametags, the shallow gazes at chest-level, the congressmen announcing their bills in the same way guys with big muscles talk about their extensive chest workout that day, and the unfulfilling quantities of food around dinner time. (Nevertheless, there were Oklahoma-shaped cookies I wasn't quick enough to eat, but did photograph.)

I wore a new (silk) dress today, and when I left (hungry), of course it got rained on. Post-fundraiser, I walked back to my car and after briefly celebrating not having a parking ticket (it used to be inevitable I got one about every two months), realized I had to use the little silk-dress-girl-wearing-room. I did a quick search on OpenTable to determine what was nearby and settled on Fiola (for reviews about the food, but expecting it to have a ladies' room too), an accidentally brilliant choice (see a later paragraph) and one that was remarkably close. Here's the dress when dry:

 

An exquisite restaurant, I am starting to believe, is one that coaxes you into liking it when you expect not to fully. It's Italian--Italian can be good, but it can also be Olive Garden good: gill-stuffing, unpolished good. It can also be snooty good (like here, where I will never go again). It can also be a restaurant, like any other, that humbly, subtly impresses with attention, charm, and hospitality. You can see where this is going.

From the above, you could probably guess that priority number one upon sitting down was the ladies' room. As a (relevant) aside, my favorite scene in a movie (quite possibly of all time) is the clip below, where Michael Corleone confirms a very fateful decision in an unlikely place.

So, imagine my delight when faced with an equally dramatic chain: if you pull one of these in an Italian restaurant, who knows what could happen next.

Needless to say, it was the stuff less of Pacino movies and more of Disney films: the table next to me discussed mission trips and I had a glass of prosecco, on the house and to tempt my palate. Since I was eating circa 9pm, it wasn't obvious to me that everyone got one of these, so I savored my pretend preferred status.

The beautiful thing about fine dining in DC is that it's equal opportunity: a fancy place can be miserable, as well as the inverse. Fiola is rustic: it's loud and there's a prominent rock-studded wall before the kitchen. But, it's warm. It's certainly fancy--the guy next to me had movie-style-wavy-blonde hair and was from California and there was plenty of lobster and truffles to be had--but it's responsibly and comfortably sophisticated. DC dining can also surprise: for the first time since the Source--one of my top 100 favorites--I went in expecting empty gastronomy and found rich culinary hospitality and exceptionally fine yet humble service.

I started with the veal tonneto, a special tonight. It's apparently quite famous (like, as a dish), but I get a pass since I'm amateur: it was cold, sliced veal (which had been cooked rare) atop a tuna emulsion (like a handmade tuna mayonnaise) and topped with seared tuna. And with sliced summer squash and tomatoes. I usually read a book or let myself play with my phone while I eat, but for the first time in a while, I just continued to admire my meal, attempting to craft the perfect bite each time.

 

Since this is no ordinary food blog, I can say that finding a good restaurant is like having a good date. The veal arrived and I had only half a sip of prosecco left, i.e., no wine with dinner. In my world, this is like a date saying he has two secret families living in North and South Dakota respectively (that's more for dramatic effect, but you know what I mean). But, for half a second, I was very disappointed. However, in a manner perfectly timed, the wine guy/sommelier/manager came up with a delicious glass of perfectly-paired wine for my antipasto about 10 seconds after it was delivered. It's sort of like that moment Lloyd Dobler tells Diane Court to avoid the broken glass: the perfect action at the perfect time.

Dinner was mediocre--chevre (goat cheese) ravioli with roasted corn and a parmesan foam--but I guess I don't like corn except on tacos. Admittedly, I can't blame Fiola for that. But it was beautiful.

I think what sold me on the dish was the fried zucchini blossom: it's one of those must-always-order items. It was perfectly crisp and not too greasy, with the fresh taste of summer and vacations in Italy.

 

My waiter even charmingly ended our night like a good date: he hoped I had a good time and would see me again. He was lovely, unobtrusive, and didn't ask any awkward questions, by which I mean he left me entirely alone when I was talking with Sonia on the phone, about whom we will hear in subsequent amateur blogger episodes (Fiola's sister restaurant, Casa Luca, is opening soon).

I had two delicious white chocolate macarons for dessert (they tasted like they were frozen and de-frosted, but it was a first date, after all).

 

Then I stopped by the ladies' room on my way out. Sonny would be proud: I came out of the bathroom holding more than a to-go box in my hand. Ok, that's the sommelier's hand, but I have a wine recommendation too.