REVIEW: Mating Season at Vinoteca
29 03 2010It’s too bad it’s not socially acceptable to date food. I mean, think about it. The process would be so much more thrilling, going out with a different food every night of the week, locking lips with French slimebags or meatheads from Philly. You could be gastronomically slutty.
Like me. I divide my time between cheddar and bacon. Yeah, I like living on the edge.
Of a cheese plate.
Or, you can very easily find something deep and meaningful. Like deep-fried Oreos. They’re deeply ingrained in my thighs, meaning full well I have to go to the gym tomorrow.
How ’bout this. You play the Dating Game at Vinoteca and choose from a trio of sliders. The lamb with Feta and roasted red peppers could be Mr. Eurotrash—bold and complicated. The bison with Gruyere and caramelized onions could be The Country Boy—gentle, soft and sweet—like Jake Gyllenhaal in a compromising position. Beef with cheddar and house-made pickles is ordinary and can’t satisfy you in bread. He’s Young Republican Guy.
But what’s courting without cocktails? A desperate set-up by a Chinese mother in hopes of marrying off her 27-year-old spinster daughter.
So I hear.
Grab a glass of The Puppeteer sparkling Chardonnay from South Australia, which is sweet, crisp, tart. The French 75 with Prosecco, infused gin, fresh lemon, candied lemon peel is light, bubbly, a girlie drink for sure.
If that doesn’t work out, Vinoteca’s house-made sweet potato gnocchi is the equivalent of a boyfriend pillow. (And just like I don’t like heads on my shrimp, I don’t like them on my boyfriends either.) Fluffy-soft diamonds of warm, satiny gnocchi seduce with the taste of sage brown butter. Meaty stems of wild mushrooms hold you close in their strong, earthy grip. Pecorino cheese makes it hard to say no.
And no means yes, Officer. Doesn’t it?
Vinoteca
1940 11th Street NW
Washington, DC 20001
(202) 332-9463
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You told me that the body pillow picture was going to be a private joke. You told me you wouldn’t show anyone.
Thankfully, you’re not a douchebag who can’t tell the difference between a real woman and polyester fill.