Mendocino Grille

J. treated me to a delicious dinner at Mendocino Grille in Georgetown for my birthday last night. Located on M Street, Georgetown's main drag that now seems to be dominated by overpriced, overly pretentious salons and day spas, Mendocino serves New American cuisine and claims to use local, organic, sustainably-farmed ingredients whenever possible. The space is small – a bar up front that seats no more than ten, and one ground-level dining room split into two sections by a sommelier station – minimally decorated with some exposed granite tile and mirrors, and very inviting. The menu was not extensive but everything on it looked interesting. It was complemented by two specials, an appetizer and an entree, described by our waiter who had a horrendous hairdo but was otherwise polite and professional. Befitting a restaurant with a name like Mendocino, the wine list was long and 100% American, although not all the wines were from California. The prices were not particularly attractive, but there were a few bottles to be had for less than an arm and a leg. We asked for a recommendation, specifying that we wanted something on the lower end of the price spectrum, “$50 or less.” He duly recommended a few wines, but all were over $50. This has happened to us before. Is this kind of slight upsell becoming standard practice at better restaurants? Too bad if it is – while I understand the business motivation behind it, the customer that is not being a pain in the neck for the staff should be accommodated.

We ended up with a bottle from Santa Barbara's Oreana Winery that they call simply Red Table Wine. The restaurant had it listed as “Winemaker's Mistake,” but evidently that was their own invention. The story, apparently, is this. One of Oreana's winemaker was blending several barrels of Cabernet Sauvignon and inadvertently included one of Syrah. Initially devastated over his error, he tatsed the wine and discovered that by sheer luck, he ended up with a blend that was not only drinkable but had a distincitve character. He bottled it. With a story like that, we had to try it, of course, and since it was available by the glass as well as the bottle, the waiter generously brought out a taste, along with a taste of a Bordeaux-style blend from Washington State for comparison. The Washington wine was better on the nose – deeper, with a more pronounced ripe berry aroma – but the Mistake was better on the palate, I thought, or at least more versatile. Relatively soft and not particularly tannic, it had enough structure to stand up to food and while the fruit was very prominent (as it always should be, in my book), the Syrah added a touch of spice that made the wine more interesting. And as it was one of the least expensive bottles on the list, and had a label that showed a giant orange question mark on a black background without a single word of text, we were sold.

For appetizers, J. went with a cauliflower and apple soup, while I ordered the special, which was Mendocino's version of boudin blanc, made with chicken and foie gras. J. loved the soup. It was definitely well-made and very flavorful. I'm just not crazy about cauliflower, especially in pureed form. Not sure why – I adore all other cruciferous vegetables – but cauliflower has never transcended the ordinary for me, and the soup didn't taste like it had enough apple to balance it out. The coup de grace of the soup, though, was the fact that it came with a side of cornmeal-crusted fried oysters, perhaps four or five of them, served separately in a small square bowl. I tried one – it was delicious. Fresh and tender. J.'s attitude towards fried oysters, of course, lies somewhere between adoration and worship, so she had no complaints. My boudin was likewise excellent – creamy and sinfully rich, served with succulently sweet braised cabbage and a dollop of plum mustard – a condiment I had not encountered before. Deep purple in color and very thick, it tasted exactly like its namesake components. A little went a long way. All in all, a fantastic dish, a choucroute alsacienne of sorts ratcheted up several orders of magnitude, mercifully served in a portion small enough to do exactly what an appetizer is supposed to – peak your curiosity and get you salivating for the main course.

While deciding on the entrees, J. beat me to the finish line with her decision, and ended up with what I am convinced is the best dish in the house – quail stuffed with pheasant sausage. I almost threw all dining conventions to the wind and ordered the same thing, but my desire to try as many different things as I could made me go with the pork instead. The quail was truly out of this world. Two quail breasts, completely deboned (talk about labor-intensive!), wrapped into perfect spheres around delicious sausage stuffing, tender and mild, served atop succulent and extremely flavorful brussel sprouts cooked with bits of bacon, garnished with fresh figs in the corners of the large square plate. My pork was also very good, though if this was an Iron Chef competition and each dish was prepared by a different contestant, it would undoubtedly come in second to the quail. It was essentially two dishes in one – on one side of the plate, a boneless pork chop, perfectly seasoned and grilled to medium (at my request), sliced and placed over a heaping of fresh lamb's lettuce and sauteed chantrelle mushrooms. I don't eat that much fresh pork these days, especially during the summer, but lately, whenever I do it seems to be tenderloin. The pork chop was chewy by comparison, but not tough. It almost forced you to eat more slowly and appreciate the flavor. On the other side of the plate, was a small square of pork belly, braised until almost liquid, served over a dollop of creamy polenta, obviously freshly made. The pork belly is a culinary black hole – the most possible flavor in the smallest possible space which nothing escapes – and it didn't disappoint. Barely an ounce, it positively exploded on the palate with flavor of deeply seasoned pork and a velvety, sinfully rich texture of melted fat.

Dessert decision was easy. After a meal like this, we were not about to eat anything even remotely resembling cake, but cheeses occupy a prominent place on Mendocino's menu, and can be had in a larger than usual variety of quantities and combinations. We opted for two, a sheep and a cow, accompanied by a thick and delicious fig paste (standard issue with all cheeses) and spiced nuts, which we chose from a list of several available “accents.” The sheep was Abbaye de belloc from France – definitely aged, firm, on the sharp side but with prominent sheepy flavor. Start with a good manchego and take a few turns through the Pyrenees into France. The cow was Val bagner from Switzerland. Washed-rind as far as I could tell, it was moderately stinky, very strong-flavored with a great texture – just enough grain to recall a well-aged Ementhaler and tie it to its Swiss origin, but really in a class by itself. Both were excellent dessert cheeses, and the servings were generous enough to make the $8 price tag an excellent value. The only miss were the spiced nuts. Truly spiced with cayenne and god knows what else, they were hot, and disappointed J. who was looking for something more cinnamon-y and nutmeg-y. After squeezing the last drop from that bottle of Winemaker's Mistake, and on a school night no less, dessert drinks were out of the question, and we ambled out into the warm Georgetown night, sated and happy. The best birthday meal in a long, long time, and one of the best on record.