Hill Rag

D.C. Dining

Out in the Open

by: Sandra Beasley

When it comes to spending an evening outside, the usual rubrics for judging a bar go, well, out the window. Have you managed to find a place where the sun is warming your skin, but not blinding your eyes? Perfect. Great dining, drinks, service? Bonus, but nonessential.

That is how a place like the Sky Terrace, on top of the Hotel Washington ( 515 15th Street NW ) , becomes a DC institution. The Terrace bears all the telltale marks of a hotel bar: $6 Sam Adams, Glen Ellen wines, garnishes consisting of undernourished olives and bloated maraschino cherries. The tinny sounds of Sade do little to drown out the busboys hurling your used silverware into a plastic bin as they roll down the narrow aisles.

But visit in late spring, after they have lifted the acetate window panels. Make sure to arrive as the sun begins to set; order the popular cheese and fruit platter—strawberries, apples, swiss cheese, crackers straight from the Pepperidge Farm sheath—or the ham, olives and greens antipasto, something that sustains an hour of grazing. Then take in the panorama of downtown, unobstructed by security barriers or everyday politics. Spy the ghost geometry of L’Enfant’s grid. Strike up conversation with the table next to you—in my case, a Russian artist and his L.A. gallery representative, flown in for commissioned murals in a new convention center. One advantage of hotel bars: a worldly clientele. Let them buy you martinis. After the Russian admires the silvered stylings and mansard roof of the Old Executive Office Building , point out that little white house right next to it. The one that looks like a dollhouse with a dome. Explain that it is also well known about town.

This is the true rooftop experience.

Not that good food and the open air need be mutually exclusive. Since a menu revitalization three years ago, Perry’s ( 1811 Columbia Road NW) has bolstered its fine sushi counter by offering an exotic menu featuring items such as ostrich, foie gras, and saffroned root vegetables, all in an elegant rooftop setting. For those looking for less elegance and more raucous charm, drop by for one of the now-legendary Sunday morning Drag Queen brunches. Prices are steep. Service can be slow. But where else in town can you have salmon roe and sake, served on a white tablecloth, and miso soup cooled by April breezes?

Gazuza

Gazuza ( 1629 Connecticut Avenue NW ) fires a competitive volley with the recent addition of spicy tuna and cucumber rolls to their happy hour menu. Sipping a mojito muddled with mint, throttled with ice, but blessedly free of sour mix, I could almost channel Perry’s peaceful air for half the cost. That is, until the unfurling of Gazuza’s mechanical patio cover let loose such a squeal of metal that a nearby table of government interns dove for cover. Fear of dive-bombing aircraft does not make for relaxation.

Local 16

The most exciting rooftop culinary scene is Local 16, founded on the ethic of small Mediterranean plates that use fresh, regional food. A satisfying a la carte experience might include the lamb or salmon filet, each drizzled in olive oil and lemon. Best to order them rare, as the searer has a bit of a heavy hand. Faring perfectly on the grill are the piperyes—red, yellow and orange peppers in a balsamic marinade. Rounding out this Greek surf & turf would be hortarika. Field greens sautéed with scallions, garlic and dill, the well-portioned bowl teeters at the salinated brink with the addition of crumbled feta on top; a tear of the crusty, complimentary bread, swiped in more olive oil, helps balance the rich palate.

The trick of Local 16 is not what to eat, but when. In fading daylight the rooftop reveals an identity in flux: the sophisticated menu is undermined by a bar bedecked in tiki wicker, accompanied by the tinny sound of classic rock. Palm fronds recently added along the roof edge do nothing to block the wail of sirens from the fire station across the street. The dissonance is odd, as the interior is the height of bohemian chic—gold velvet, a mahogany winding staircase, antique mirrors—and as night falls, the atmosphere does firm up considerably. Weathered wood comes alive with the hustle of twenty- and thirty-somethings, an upscale incarnation of the usual eclectic U Street denizens; house DJs spin a mix of European lounge and electronica, with punk favorites thrown in. But wait too long for dinner and the crowd’s energy supersaturates the deck: dining tables ring the perimeter of the open bar area, so you might end up feeling like the fence around a herd of drunken cattle_cattle with exceptionally stylish white handbags.

The Reef

The owners of The Reef ( 2446 18 th Street NW ) had a better strategy. Their rooftop is divided into a tabled area and stools free-floating around the island bar, so both sets of patrons can sidle up to the rail view down 18 th Street. Where design succeeded, details leave something to be desired. Blue plastic cups with ridged edges scream “beach recyclable,” and the Pepto-peach paint job screams “hiding years of dirt.” But The Reef takes the prize for best music hands down—Johnny Cash, live, perhaps in prison—the only record encountered during all my adventures which truly overcame the ambiance, i.e. honking, of the street below. Note to bar owners: radio just doesn’t cut it. The Reef offers a variety of draft beers and the Belgian Sunrise, a house special of White Allagash over Kasteel St. Louis Framboise. A crisp summer alternative to the Snakebite, even this hardened porter fan enjoyed the rise of raspberry lambic at the end of a tall glass of a light, hoppy Belgian brew.

Madam’s Organ

Local 16 may have a lock on The Scene, but it doesn’t have a lock on the locals. Just across the street from The Reef, the ground floor of Madam’s Organ ( 2461 18 th Street NW ) oozes rock, blues, and sweat on most nights. Climb past the stage pit and find the pool tables; climb past the clatter of cue sticks and find the roof deck, really a wood shack that perches on top of Madam’s bosom. No major drink deals, unless you’re a redhead—then you get Rolling Rock at half price, anytime, and you can perch on the picnic table as you sip it.

A bare bulb encased in storm-safe yellow plastic is about as fancy as the lighting gets on the roof at Madam’s Organ. At the 18 th Street Lounge ( 1212 18 th Street NW ), on the other hand, bona fide chandeliers are strung over wire criss-crossing the patio. The 18 th Street Lounge has a well-couched interior, a top-shelf array of scotches and vodkas, and a vibe not unlike Local 16. Recently celebrating a tenth birthday in conjunction with the ESL record label, the Lounge does raise the bar on musical cred by being co-owned by Eric Hilton and Rob Garz, aka the pioneer mixers known as Thievery Corporation. Does any of this permeate the rooftop deck, or does the cool factor dissipate in the open air? Hard to say—the crowd on a given day might be businessmen in their forties, lawyers posing as beatniks, or international pilgrims of the DJ scene. All I can offer is the memory of those chandeliers swinging in the gusts the day Isabelle was to strike. Who wouldn’t be in awe of the audacity of those “true” hurricane lanterns, crystals and all?

Marty’s

Just as Southwest dominates the waterfront, Northwest has the monopoly on rooftop dining. But one welcome outlier is Marty’s ( 527 8 th Street SE ) on Capitol Hill. A recently expanded but unassuming sports bar, the shotgun-styled deck offers mellow deck furniture in shades of aging white—a surprisingly popular option amongst even the most chic spots—and a pleasantly insulated view past the Shakespeare Theater rehearsal space. Marty’s offers the perfect casual forum for a Guinness, a burger, and talk of the latest game after a long work day.

Of course, many places in the city tuck a little open air where you least expect it—the dance floor at Five complete with hammocks; the open roof of Tom Tom’s, just past the Atari and Nintendo gamesets. Ultimately everyone has their own sense of what is crucial to a rooftop experience. But just in case you think I’ve forgotten about Lauriol Plaza : when I first moved into the Dupont neighborhood I noticed right off the bat the plate glass windows, the young crowd. I thought Wow, that is one happening gym. It took two months to recognize the bustle as treadmills of a social rather than aerobic nature.

So admittedly the margarita pitcher’s a decent deal, the chips fresh-fried and generous. But give me the stale corn crunch and watery picante of the Washington Terrace any day. Because we’re talking rooftops, and I demand the possibility of wind in my hair and a view beyond blue tarp. The world may not be my oyster, but for just a moment or two—ten floors up, squinting as the sun sets over our city—the Washington Monument is the stirrer in my martini.


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D.C. Dining
Out in the Open
by: Sandra Beasley
When it comes to spending an evening outside, the usual rubrics for judging a bar go, well, out the window. Have you managed to find a place where the sun is warming your skin, but not blinding your eyes? Perfect. Great dining, drinks, service? Bonus, but nonessential. That is how a place like the Sky Terrace, on top of the Hotel Washington ( 515 15th Street NW ) , becomes a DC institution. The Terrace bears all the telltale marks of a hotel bar: $6 Sam Adams, Glen Ellen wines, garnishes consisting of undernourished olives and bloated maraschino cherries. The tinny sounds of Sade do little to drown out the busboys hurling your used silverware into a plastic bin as they roll down the narrow aisles. But visit in late spring, after they have lifted the acetate window panels. Make sure to arrive as the sun begins to set; order the popular cheese and fruit platter—strawberries, apples, swiss cheese, crackers straight from the Pepperidge Farm sheath—or the ham, olives and greens antipasto, something that sustains an hour of grazing. Then take in the panorama of downtown, unobstructed by security barriers or everyday politics. Spy the ghost geometry of L’Enfant’s grid. Strike up conversation with the table next to you—in my case, a Russian artist and his L.A. gallery representative, flown in for commissioned murals in a new convention center. One advantage of hotel bars: a worldly clientele. Let them buy you martinis. After the Russian admires the silvered stylings and mansard roof of the Old Executive Office Building , point out that little white house right next to it. The one that looks like a dollhouse with a dome. Explain that it is also well known about town. This is the true rooftop experience. Not that good food and the open air need be mutually exclusive. Since a menu revitalization three years ago, Perry’s ( 1811 Columbia Road NW) has bolstered its fine sushi counter by offering an exotic menu featuring items such as ostrich, foie gras, and saffroned root vegetables, all in an elegant rooftop setting. For those looking for less elegance and more raucous charm, drop by for one of the now-legendary Sunday morning Drag Queen brunches. Prices are steep. Service can be slow. But where else in town can you have salmon roe and sake, served on a white tablecloth, and miso soup cooled by April breezes? Gazuza Gazuza ( 1629 Connecticut Avenue NW ) fires a competitive volley with the recent addition of spicy tuna and cucumber rolls to their happy hour menu. Sipping a mojito muddled with mint, throttled with ice, but blessedly free of sour mix, I could almost channel Perry’s peaceful air for half the cost. That is, until the unfurling of Gazuza’s mechanical patio cover let loose such a squeal of metal that a nearby table of government interns dove for cover. Fear of dive-bombing aircraft does not make for relaxation. Local 16 The most exciting rooftop culinary scene is Local 16, founded on the ethic of small Mediterranean plates that use fresh, regional food. A satisfying a la carte experience might include the lamb or salmon filet, each drizzled in olive oil and lemon. Best to order them rare, as the searer has a bit of a heavy hand. Faring perfectly on the grill are the piperyes—red, yellow and orange peppers in a balsamic marinade. Rounding out this Greek surf & turf would be hortarika. Field greens sautéed with scallions, garlic and dill, the well-portioned bowl teeters at the salinated brink with the addition of crumbled feta on top; a tear of the crusty, complimentary bread, swiped in more olive oil, helps balance the rich palate. The trick of Local 16 is not what to eat, but when. In fading daylight the rooftop reveals an identity in flux: the sophisticated menu is undermined by a bar bedecked in tiki wicker, accompanied by the tinny sound of classic rock. Palm fronds recently added along the roof edge do nothing to block the wail of sirens from the fire station across the street. The dissonance is odd, as the interior is the height of bohemian chic—gold velvet, a mahogany winding staircase, antique mirrors—and as night falls, the atmosphere does firm up considerably. Weathered wood comes alive with the hustle of twenty- and thirty-somethings, an upscale incarnation of the usual eclectic U Street denizens; house DJs spin a mix of European lounge and electronica, with punk favorites thrown in. But wait too long for dinner and the crowd’s energy supersaturates the deck: dining tables ring the perimeter of the open bar area, so you might end up feeling like the fence around a herd of drunken cattle_cattle with exceptionally stylish white handbags. The Reef The owners of The Reef ( 2446 18 th Street NW ) had a better strategy. Their rooftop is divided into a tabled area and stools free-floating around the island bar, so both sets of patrons can sidle up to the rail view down 18 th Street. Where design succeeded, details leave something to be desired. Blue plastic cups with ridged edges scream “beach recyclable,” and the Pepto-peach paint job screams “hiding years of dirt.” But The Reef takes the prize for best music hands down—Johnny Cash, live, perhaps in prison—the only record encountered during all my adventures which truly overcame the ambiance, i.e. honking, of the street below. Note to bar owners: radio just doesn’t cut it. The Reef offers a variety of draft beers and the Belgian Sunrise, a house special of White Allagash over Kasteel St. Louis Framboise. A crisp summer alternative to the Snakebite, even this hardened porter fan enjoyed the rise of raspberry lambic at the end of a tall glass of a light, hoppy Belgian brew. Madam’s Organ Local 16 may have a lock on The Scene, but it doesn’t have a lock on the locals. Just across the street from The Reef, the ground floor of Madam’s Organ ( 2461 18 th Street NW ) oozes rock, blues, and sweat on most nights. Climb past the stage pit and find the pool tables; climb past the clatter of cue sticks and find the roof deck, really a wood shack that perches on top of Madam’s bosom. No major drink deals, unless you’re a redhead—then you get Rolling Rock at half price, anytime, and you can perch on the picnic table as you sip it. A bare bulb encased in storm-safe yellow plastic is about as fancy as the lighting gets on the roof at Madam’s Organ. At the 18 th Street Lounge ( 1212 18 th Street NW ), on the other hand, bona fide chandeliers are strung over wire criss-crossing the patio. The 18 th Street Lounge has a well-couched interior, a top-shelf array of scotches and vodkas, and a vibe not unlike Local 16. Recently celebrating a tenth birthday in conjunction with the ESL record label, the Lounge does raise the bar on musical cred by being co-owned by Eric Hilton and Rob Garz, aka the pioneer mixers known as Thievery Corporation. Does any of this permeate the rooftop deck, or does the cool factor dissipate in the open air? Hard to say—the crowd on a given day might be businessmen in their forties, lawyers posing as beatniks, or international pilgrims of the DJ scene. All I can offer is the memory of those chandeliers swinging in the gusts the day Isabelle was to strike. Who wouldn’t be in awe of the audacity of those “true” hurricane lanterns, crystals and all? Marty’s Just as Southwest dominates the waterfront, Northwest has the monopoly on rooftop dining. But one welcome outlier is Marty’s ( 527 8 th Street SE ) on Capitol Hill. A recently expanded but unassuming sports bar, the shotgun-styled deck offers mellow deck furniture in shades of aging white—a surprisingly popular option amongst even the most chic spots—and a pleasantly insulated view past the Shakespeare Theater rehearsal space. Marty’s offers the perfect casual forum for a Guinness, a burger, and talk of the latest game after a long work day. Of course, many places in the city tuck a little open air where you least expect it—the dance floor at Five complete with hammocks; the open roof of Tom Tom’s, just past the Atari and Nintendo gamesets. Ultimately everyone has their own sense of what is crucial to a rooftop experience. But just in case you think I’ve forgotten about Lauriol Plaza : when I first moved into the Dupont neighborhood I noticed right off the bat the plate glass windows, the young crowd. I thought Wow, that is one happening gym. It took two months to recognize the bustle as treadmills of a social rather than aerobic nature. So admittedly the margarita pitcher’s a decent deal, the chips fresh-fried and generous. But give me the stale corn crunch and watery picante of the Washington Terrace any day. Because we’re talking rooftops, and I demand the possibility of wind in my hair and a view beyond blue tarp. The world may not be my oyster, but for just a moment or two—ten floors up, squinting as the sun sets over our city—the Washington Monument is the stirrer in my martini.