DC NORTH

Fogo de Wow

A New Washington Steak House, the Old Brazilian Cowboy Way

by: Alex MacLennan

As the daylight stretches longer and the sun rests warmer on our skin, our minds turn to leafy green salads, bright slivers of cucumber, the bright-popping inhale of a strong G&T. But we can also be lulled into images of warm, southern waters, coastal relaxation, trips to exotic locales. Or Father’s Day next month, and the great American grill. Thankfully, Fogo de Chão meets all of these fantasies, and more.

Fogo de Chão is a steak house based on the Brazilian concept of churrasco – a cowboy cooking tradition that pairs large cuts of meat, simple seasonings, and a slow grilling process over open flame. The small chain prides itself on honoring that long history, and on the quality and flavor of their unique way of serving meat. And, oh, the meat. Grilled garlic-coated sirloin, crisply charred pork ribs, glistening bacon-wrapped filet mignon, roasted top sirloin, parmesan-crusted pork loin, seared and marinated bottom sirloin….

All in the arms of Fogo’s fleet of gauchos (Brazilian “cowboys”) who circle the room like benevolent angels of certified Angus beef.

But first, you’ve got to get in the door. Entering Fogo de Chão is a bit like stepping into a popular restaurant, a bit like embarking on a very enthusiastic cruise, and a bit like stepping into the Circus. It’s a scene, for sure. The small bar (the entrance is actually on 11th, if you want to appear in-the-know), boasts stone-tiled floors, dark wood cocktail tables, clean lines, and a small fireplace, establishing the restaurant’s comforting mix of warmth and streamlined, almost geometric style. On a Friday night the place was filled with business types toasting happy hour, tourists in sweats and shorts, sexy twenty-somethings in fitted shirts and distressed jeans, and large families presided over by stern, bald dads. Thankfully, the blessedly gigantic, chilled, and nuanced Kettle One dirty martini and a perfectly mixed Bombay Safire and Tonic make it clear that classiness prevails.

And then there are these short, handsome men swirling about the place in blue shirts, colored neck-scarves, wide, rivet-tight belts and pleated black gaucho pants billowing into tall black books. They race around carrying towering swords of beef or pork or lamb, eager to serve. Seriously, Fogo de Chão is all attentive service and grand gestures – white table cloths, heavy silverware, riverine stone accents, and two massive kettle-shaped lanterns the color of dusty sunset hanging in the sweep of a massive curved staircase. There are no curlicues or fripperies here. The only delicate thing about the place is the tiny, genteel silver tongs you are encouraged to use to ‘catch’ your serving as your gaucho shaves off another gorgeous piece of meat.

After the immediate delivery of a bowl of piping cheese rolls – a criminally savory mixture of two yucca flours and parmesan – your server fills you in on how Fogo works. (Each diner controls their own pace: Flip your coaster to green and the gauchos offer you a serving of meat. Turn it to red and they pass you by.) She also warns you about how quickly the gaucho chefs will arrive, and points you to a glossy brochure that details Fogo’s history, philosophy, and twelve signature cuts of meat.

But first, to the salad bar. Prosciutto, Italian salami, and a great, hulking wheel of chip-your-own Reggiano Parmigiano bookend the buffet, with glistening red and yellow peppers, broccoli florets, pale endive canoes, lovingly marinated artichoke hearts, obscenely large asparagus spears, shining globes of fresh mozzarella, and purple beets dazzling in their abundant beds. A chicken, celery, and raisin salad is fresh and lightly dressed; there are seasoned sun-dried tomatoes; you can try a crisply sweet apple, celery, and raisin salad as well. Oh yes, there’s salad too – with a variety of dressings, olive oils, and vinegars to finalize your palette.

But be careful not to fill up, because when it’s on, it’s on. The minute your card flips from red to green, those kicky gauchos swoop in on you with unnerving intent. A swirl of gaucho-cowboys, a dancing parade of meat. The sheer amount is amazing – you have to be very focused on what you are eating, on what is coming next, on whether your card shows green or red. It’s great, great fun – and a tad stressful. For a while, you just focus on eating. And then you take time to unwind. The wine list certainly helps; it’s as impressive as the service and bountiful food. Reds are the obvious order of the day, and – while the restaurant’s two wine walls attest to the variety of choices, any strong, warm vintage will do.

As to the meat:

Fraldinha, or bottom filet, sizzles onto your plate, its sea salt, pepper, and white wine crust giving it an almost fajita-like texture and flavor – savory and yet hinting of sweet smoke. “Like the moistest, most beautifully marinated fajita,” one friend said. There’s the spicy, garlic rich, and bursting-with-juice-and-flavor pork sausage Linguiça, a lightly flavored parmesan pork called Lombo, and the not-on-the-menu special Rib Eye: a devilishly thick cut of steak like you only used to get at Christmas or Easter. And while many servings are manageably portioned, your gaucho man-of-the-moment will also slice your cut of choice – from rare to well – from the larger roasts. Once again, Father’s Day anyone?

The hank of boneless Costela (beef ribs), was heavenly. Impossibly tender, richly flavorful beef with a crisp outer layer and deep rewardingly solid beef taste. In contrast, the crisply charred Costela de Porco are served on the bone and marinated in a garlic, white wine, and salt. Pork ribs of great quality, roasted in their own juices, perfectly done. A similar marinade blesses the almost unbearably moist Cordeiro, or lamb chop, with its gentle, almost grassy flavor and crunchy coating. Makes you want to rip in and suck the marrow free.

In all seriousness, the sheer abundance can be a bit stressful. Or flirtatious, as one friend pointed out. All that flipping of her stop ‘n go coaster – all that hiding and exposing – was almost exciting. “I felt like a tease,” she said. “And I liked that very much.” It’s an Oh My God look at THAT, have you tried the…It MELTS in your mouth kind of night.

But then you see – and smell - the mouthwatering Filet Mignon wrapped in a thickly sizzling slice of bacon. Oh, the crackle and sizzle of the gamey, ripe bacon, the meltingly tender purple-red filet. Dangerous stuff, but what a pleasurable sin. (There’s a bacon wrapped chicken, marinated in beer, sea salt, and paprika, that bursts with flavor as well.)

And then Joâo Ongaratto, a twenty-year veteran of the company, insists that you must try Fogo’s signature Picanha, or, as the gauchos offer it “garlic meat.” Oh lawdy, this is the stuff!! While the majority of the meats are simply seasoned – sea salt alone or one of the refined mixtures above – the picanha’s aggressive flavor crackles as its garlic, salt and olive oil crust mingle with the stunning juices and savory heft of prime sirloin. Unbelievable stuff.

Or how about the robust, top-cut sirloin Alcatra, with its ribbon curl of drizzling fat and dense –slightly tougher – meat. The Alcatra is flavorful, sizzlingly… no. So… tenderly…? Hmmm. Dripping clear juice and robust… and…. gosh. What’s left to say? That I never reached for salt or pepper? Not even once?

And that’s one of Fogo de Chão’s great challenges: this meat and that cut, that roast, this filet. It is all so good and yet a bit overwhelming. A bit – ok, not those studding bacon-wrapped filets – the same. Yet this is ultimately one of Fogo de Chão’s greatest strengths as well. This is not an experience founded on a thousand different interpretations, or the unexpected pairing of game and apricot and licorice. Fogo’s philosophy is simple: top-quality meat, simple seasonings that heighten the grilled flavors, and expert preparation. Still, after your fourth, or eighth, or eleventh (I was hungry!) cut, it can become a bit of an overwhelming swirl.

So we sadly declined the drink tray loaded with Sambuca, Grand Marnier, Port, and Grappa (“to help you digest,” Ongaratto explained) offered by a garrulous dark-haired man. Our brief guilt didn’t last: he cajoled the table next to us into a towering round of Godiva-flush chocolate martinis to finish out their night. And we did share the signature Papaya Cream dessert, a sweet, smooth blend of fresh fruit and vanilla ice cream. The dessert arrives in a goblet on a cocoa-dusted plate and is finished, tableside, with a small pour of Crème de Cassis – a black currant flavored liqueur – that gives each dulcet spoonful a ringing, crisp touch. It’s almost sweet enough to make you consider one more filet.

So have fun with it – flirt, cajole, dance with your green and red card, wink at the gaucho as he leaves, crestfallen, a massive skewer of pork sausages in hand. That night, we walked home in a light drizzle, thankful for the spring and beneficence of our lives, stretching our stomachs, and pulling breath back into our lungs. Fogo de Chão is an extravaganza that offers delirious rewards.

INFO:

Name:          Fogo de Chão
Address:       1101 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20004
Phone:         202-347-4668
Web:            www.fogodechao.com
Hours:
Lunch: Monday – Friday, 11:30-2:30pm
Dinner: Monday – Thursday, 5pm-10pm; Friday 5pm-10:30pm; Saturday 4:30pm-10:30pm; and Sunday, 4pm-9:30pm

Alex MacLennan is a writer, editor, and teacher in Washington, D.C. His debut novel, “The Zookeeper,” is in bookstores now.


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Fogo de Wow
A New Washington Steak House, the Old Brazilian Cowboy Way
by: Alex MacLennan
As the daylight stretches longer and the sun rests warmer on our skin, our minds turn to leafy green salads, bright slivers of cucumber, the bright-popping inhale of a strong G&T. But we can also be lulled into images of warm, southern waters, coastal relaxation, trips to exotic locales. Or Father’s Day next month, and the great American grill. Thankfully, Fogo de Chão meets all of these fantasies, and more. Fogo de Chão is a steak house based on the Brazilian concept of churrasco – a cowboy cooking tradition that pairs large cuts of meat, simple seasonings, and a slow grilling process over open flame. The small chain prides itself on honoring that long history, and on the quality and flavor of their unique way of serving meat. And, oh, the meat. Grilled garlic-coated sirloin, crisply charred pork ribs, glistening bacon-wrapped filet mignon, roasted top sirloin, parmesan-crusted pork loin, seared and marinated bottom sirloin…. All in the arms of Fogo’s fleet of gauchos (Brazilian “cowboys”) who circle the room like benevolent angels of certified Angus beef. But first, you’ve got to get in the door. Entering Fogo de Chão is a bit like stepping into a popular restaurant, a bit like embarking on a very enthusiastic cruise, and a bit like stepping into the Circus. It’s a scene, for sure. The small bar (the entrance is actually on 11th, if you want to appear in-the-know), boasts stone-tiled floors, dark wood cocktail tables, clean lines, and a small fireplace, establishing the restaurant’s comforting mix of warmth and streamlined, almost geometric style. On a Friday night the place was filled with business types toasting happy hour, tourists in sweats and shorts, sexy twenty-somethings in fitted shirts and distressed jeans, and large families presided over by stern, bald dads. Thankfully, the blessedly gigantic, chilled, and nuanced Kettle One dirty martini and a perfectly mixed Bombay Safire and Tonic make it clear that classiness prevails. And then there are these short, handsome men swirling about the place in blue shirts, colored neck-scarves, wide, rivet-tight belts and pleated black gaucho pants billowing into tall black books. They race around carrying towering swords of beef or pork or lamb, eager to serve. Seriously, Fogo de Chão is all attentive service and grand gestures – white table cloths, heavy silverware, riverine stone accents, and two massive kettle-shaped lanterns the color of dusty sunset hanging in the sweep of a massive curved staircase. There are no curlicues or fripperies here. The only delicate thing about the place is the tiny, genteel silver tongs you are encouraged to use to ‘catch’ your serving as your gaucho shaves off another gorgeous piece of meat. After the immediate delivery of a bowl of piping cheese rolls – a criminally savory mixture of two yucca flours and parmesan – your server fills you in on how Fogo works. (Each diner controls their own pace: Flip your coaster to green and the gauchos offer you a serving of meat. Turn it to red and they pass you by.) She also warns you about how quickly the gaucho chefs will arrive, and points you to a glossy brochure that details Fogo’s history, philosophy, and twelve signature cuts of meat. But first, to the salad bar. Prosciutto, Italian salami, and a great, hulking wheel of chip-your-own Reggiano Parmigiano bookend the buffet, with glistening red and yellow peppers, broccoli florets, pale endive canoes, lovingly marinated artichoke hearts, obscenely large asparagus spears, shining globes of fresh mozzarella, and purple beets dazzling in their abundant beds. A chicken, celery, and raisin salad is fresh and lightly dressed; there are seasoned sun-dried tomatoes; you can try a crisply sweet apple, celery, and raisin salad as well. Oh yes, there’s salad too – with a variety of dressings, olive oils, and vinegars to finalize your palette. But be careful not to fill up, because when it’s on, it’s on. The minute your card flips from red to green, those kicky gauchos swoop in on you with unnerving intent. A swirl of gaucho-cowboys, a dancing parade of meat. The sheer amount is amazing – you have to be very focused on what you are eating, on what is coming next, on whether your card shows green or red. It’s great, great fun – and a tad stressful. For a while, you just focus on eating. And then you take time to unwind. The wine list certainly helps; it’s as impressive as the service and bountiful food. Reds are the obvious order of the day, and – while the restaurant’s two wine walls attest to the variety of choices, any strong, warm vintage will do. As to the meat: Fraldinha, or bottom filet, sizzles onto your plate, its sea salt, pepper, and white wine crust giving it an almost fajita-like texture and flavor – savory and yet hinting of sweet smoke. “Like the moistest, most beautifully marinated fajita,” one friend said. There’s the spicy, garlic rich, and bursting-with-juice-and-flavor pork sausage Linguiça, a lightly flavored parmesan pork called Lombo, and the not-on-the-menu special Rib Eye: a devilishly thick cut of steak like you only used to get at Christmas or Easter. And while many servings are manageably portioned, your gaucho man-of-the-moment will also slice your cut of choice – from rare to well – from the larger roasts. Once again, Father’s Day anyone? The hank of boneless Costela (beef ribs), was heavenly. Impossibly tender, richly flavorful beef with a crisp outer layer and deep rewardingly solid beef taste. In contrast, the crisply charred Costela de Porco are served on the bone and marinated in a garlic, white wine, and salt. Pork ribs of great quality, roasted in their own juices, perfectly done. A similar marinade blesses the almost unbearably moist Cordeiro, or lamb chop, with its gentle, almost grassy flavor and crunchy coating. Makes you want to rip in and suck the marrow free. In all seriousness, the sheer abundance can be a bit stressful. Or flirtatious, as one friend pointed out. All that flipping of her stop ‘n go coaster – all that hiding and exposing – was almost exciting. “I felt like a tease,” she said. “And I liked that very much.” It’s an Oh My God look at THAT, have you tried the…It MELTS in your mouth kind of night. But then you see – and smell - the mouthwatering Filet Mignon wrapped in a thickly sizzling slice of bacon. Oh, the crackle and sizzle of the gamey, ripe bacon, the meltingly tender purple-red filet. Dangerous stuff, but what a pleasurable sin. (There’s a bacon wrapped chicken, marinated in beer, sea salt, and paprika, that bursts with flavor as well.) And then Joâo Ongaratto, a twenty-year veteran of the company, insists that you must try Fogo’s signature Picanha, or, as the gauchos offer it “garlic meat.” Oh lawdy, this is the stuff!! While the majority of the meats are simply seasoned – sea salt alone or one of the refined mixtures above – the picanha’s aggressive flavor crackles as its garlic, salt and olive oil crust mingle with the stunning juices and savory heft of prime sirloin. Unbelievable stuff. Or how about the robust, top-cut sirloin Alcatra, with its ribbon curl of drizzling fat and dense –slightly tougher – meat. The Alcatra is flavorful, sizzlingly… no. So… tenderly…? Hmmm. Dripping clear juice and robust… and…. gosh. What’s left to say? That I never reached for salt or pepper? Not even once? And that’s one of Fogo de Chão’s great challenges: this meat and that cut, that roast, this filet. It is all so good and yet a bit overwhelming. A bit – ok, not those studding bacon-wrapped filets – the same. Yet this is ultimately one of Fogo de Chão’s greatest strengths as well. This is not an experience founded on a thousand different interpretations, or the unexpected pairing of game and apricot and licorice. Fogo’s philosophy is simple: top-quality meat, simple seasonings that heighten the grilled flavors, and expert preparation. Still, after your fourth, or eighth, or eleventh (I was hungry!) cut, it can become a bit of an overwhelming swirl. So we sadly declined the drink tray loaded with Sambuca, Grand Marnier, Port, and Grappa (“to help you digest,” Ongaratto explained) offered by a garrulous dark-haired man. Our brief guilt didn’t last: he cajoled the table next to us into a towering round of Godiva-flush chocolate martinis to finish out their night. And we did share the signature Papaya Cream dessert, a sweet, smooth blend of fresh fruit and vanilla ice cream. The dessert arrives in a goblet on a cocoa-dusted plate and is finished, tableside, with a small pour of Crème de Cassis – a black currant flavored liqueur – that gives each dulcet spoonful a ringing, crisp touch. It’s almost sweet enough to make you consider one more filet. So have fun with it – flirt, cajole, dance with your green and red card, wink at the gaucho as he leaves, crestfallen, a massive skewer of pork sausages in hand. That night, we walked home in a light drizzle, thankful for the spring and beneficence of our lives, stretching our stomachs, and pulling breath back into our lungs. Fogo de Chão is an extravaganza that offers delirious rewards. INFO: Name: Fogo de Chão Address: 1101 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20004 Phone: 202-347-4668 Web: www.fogodechao.com Hours: Lunch: Monday – Friday, 11:30-2:30pm Dinner: Monday – Thursday, 5pm-10pm; Friday 5pm-10:30pm; Saturday 4:30pm-10:30pm; and Sunday, 4pm-9:30pm Alex MacLennan is a writer, editor, and teacher in Washington, D.C. His debut novel, “The Zookeeper,” is in bookstores now.