A line leading out of a little storefront at high noon or a busy parking lot might find me joining the ranks. If I smell something enticing coming out of a mom and pop, my tendency is to investigate the source of the aromas. Whenever I’m out of town and I’ve had a good meal, I ask the staff where else I should eat before I leave — never “What’s best?,” which too often lands you someplace fancy, but often, “Where do you dine on your off hours during the week?,” which feels more personal.
Other times when people ask me where I get my tips, I respond by pointing at them: Readers and others are among my best sources. Thanks to my discerning friend Todd, I discovered a Japanese oasis above a Thai retreat in Washington. Another reader was worried that a rave of a vegetarian Vietnamese restaurant in Northern Virginia might bring in crowds, but he thought I needed to know about the newcomer anyway. And a proud mentor of a rising star in the exurbs let me know the young chef was ready for prime time at a restaurant of his own.
My point is, the majority of this month’s favorite places to eat are suggestions from readers, whom I’d like to thank for looking out for their fellow diners. It takes a village.
Bangkok native Jenistar Ruksirisopha says she’s been a Japan fan since she first visited the country as a 10-year-old. “To be honest, if I could only eat one food for the rest of my life,” it would be Japanese, says the owner of the second-story restaurant whose name combines the Japanese word for treasure with its location on 14th St.
As she prepared to open two and a half years ago, however, her mother’s warning nagged her: As a Thai native, “no one’s going to believe you,” the budding restaurateur recalls being told. The daughter’s response was to hire a chef from what she considers the No. 1 Japanese draw in D.C., the sublime Sushi Nakazawa behind the Waldorf Astoria hotel.
Visit Takara 14 — and you should — and you’ll spot Johnny Yi behind a slim sushi counter. Like his employer, he’s not Japanese. The Maryland native’s parents are from Korea. Does it matter? Like the owner, he’s ever present in a restaurant I’m always happy to find myself in, which is precisely how Ruksirisopha wants customers to feel after they climb the steep stairs to the 30-seat dining room.
“Forget about being serious,” she says. The design helps. Cheery pink blossoms frame the front picture window and canary-yellow banquettes run along the sides of the walls, hung with illuminated branches. The setting is a fetching backdrop to a surprisingly long a la carte menu whose small-plate highlights include juicy pork belly and kabocha squash gyoza and tuna tartare — red with gochujang and fruity with apple — scooped up with nubby tempura seaweed chips. Did I mention the $5 beers, $7 drinks and $21 bottles of house wine at happy hour? Or the fact a server insisted on running to a neighboring restaurant to fetch mezcal after a customer requested a mezcal negroni? No wonder so many customers treat the space as a date night.
The food romances us, too, especially the well-priced omakase, or “chef’s choice.” A recent parade of dishes delivered one hit after another. One moment, we’re spooning into tofu whipped with radish, dashi and sake, a creamy base for blow-torched salmon glistening with orange roe. The next, we are scarfing folds of dewy hamachi wrapped around thread-thin fried potatoes, the soft and the crunch tied together with a hint of…
This article was originally published by a www.washingtonpost.com . Read the Original article here. .
