Drift Reality

Vace, located at 3315 Connecticut Ave in Cleveland Park, has the best pizza for miles. The ingredients are extremely fresh and the slices are a perfect size. Compared to the crap that you get in Adams Morgan, Vace’s slices are on another level. Granted, you probably couldn’t wrap Vace’s slices around you like a cape in case you were cold like you could with slices from Adams Morgan, but who the hell would do something disgusting like that anyway?

“Hey!” the husky bouncer shouted as my friend and I walked into Nick’s Riverside Grill. “You have to stand in line like everyone else!”

The Caucasian boy looked like he was about twenty years old, with shaved hair, cargo shorts and a bright yellow t-shirt.

Turning around I looked back towards the spot from where we had just entered into Nick’s Riverside Grill and saw two groups of people milling around next to each other.

“What line?” I asked.

“The line that’s at the front,” he answered in a combative tone that made me wonder if he was about to try and start a fight with me due to the fact that I had failed to recognize his “line.”

We followed the man back to the entrance, where we took out our IDs.

I handed mine to the bouncer, who held it up and began scrutinizing it as though he were the gatekeeper to the Pentagon and I was an Arab, wearing robes and a turban.

“What is your date of birth?” he demanded.

It had been around five years since I’d been asked that question and I balked for a moment as a grin appeared on my face.

“Date of birth?” I asked. “Umm…March 10, 1978.”

He must have construed my bemusement for doubt, for he then asked me for a “second form of ID.”

Looking through my walled, I pulled out a credit card.

“I have a CVS card also, in case you’re interested,” I added.

He began glaring at my credit card with the same piercing gaze he had used on my drivers license.

Looking at his arm, I noticed he had a tattoo of the ‘ol red, white, and blue. Turning back up towards me, he handed me the ID back and turned to my friend.

“You,” he blurted to my friend.

After this initial irritation, we actually settled down and had a fairly nice time at Nick’s Riverside Grill, which is a pretty decent place if you can get past the people who work there on the weekend nights.

Gazing around, I couldn’t help but note the yellow t-shirted bouncers dispersed throughout the crowd, all sporting shaved heads and cargo pants - as if they were co-marketing for Abercrombie and the Aryan nation.

Later, while grabbing a drink, I noticed as my bouncer friend from before approached the bar and began jovially telling one of the bartenders about how he had “beat the hell” out of some poor jerk the previous night.

Shaking my head in disgust, I turned towards another bartender and asked for my tab. “Wei,” I said in response to his inquiry for my last name. A short while later, he returned, holding my bar tab.

As I scanned it, an Asian guy standing next to me asked for his tab. “Yang,” he stated when the bouncer asked for his last name.

I just gave you guys your tab the bartender responded, nodding towards me.

“He said Yang,” I stated. “My last name is Wei.”

Realizing his mistake, the bartender went to retrieve Yang’s tab.

“This guy’s getting his Asian last names confused,” I said, turning towards the Asian guy standing next to me.

The bartender returned shortly with Yang’s tab, turned towards the two of us, and said, “So, where are you guys headed?”

“We’re not together,” I responded. “You’re getting your Asians confused.”

He looked at me blankly, as if not sure what to make of what I just said, and walked away bashfully.

I turned towards my check and signed, when all of a sudden, the bartender returned and shot back, “That’s a pretty stupid thing to say.”

“Yeah, it is a stupid thing to say,” I answered and walked away from the bar.

I hadn’t sat down for two seconds when one of the Aryan nation members walked up to our table and said, “You guys have to get out of here. Now.”

We downed our drinks and left.

The moral of this story is that the people who work at Nick’s Riverside Grill on the weekends are morons. Weather permitting, the waterfront is an amazing place to go out in DC. Just make sure you have no expectations of polite service before you go.

Ha Dong, located at 2104 Viers Mill Rd, is a great Korean barbacue house in Rockville, MD. For Mother’s Day, I wanted to take my parents out for a good Korean dinner, but was shocked and disturbed by the absolute dearth of Korean restaurants in the city of DC. I guess Rockville is something like Korea town in Maryland though, because they all seemed to be consolidated in this area. Anyway, we drove up to Ha Dong and found the food to be very authentic (like with all types of foreign cuisine, the dead give away that it is a good Korean restaurant depends on the percentage of Koreans in said restaurant) and very affordable. The service leaves something to be desired, but it was pretty packed when we went there, so I’m not going to hold it against them. The Kun Mandu is pretty good, and the Taeje Kalbi as well as the Bulgogi is very good.

Everyone who grew up in Bethesda knows about Tastee Diner, located at 7731 Woodmont Ave. This is because everyone who grew up in Bethesda smokes weed late at night and then gets really hungry and realized that there are only a small number of eating options available - basically two: Roy Rogers on River rd. (I think now it is a McDonalds) and Tastee Diner.

Most diners have a sort of quaint nostalgic ambiance that resonates with the vibrancy of American history. Tastee Diner is just dirty. The service is terrible but the food is great and I guess that’s all you really want out of a diner anyway.

Driving through Kensington, I was pleasantly surprised to see a relatively non-descript little restaurant with the moniker, “Seoul House.”

Outside of Claremont, the only Korean restaurant I’ve tried is Tofu House, located on University Avenue in Hillcrest, and I was a bit disappointed by the bland Jigge and the Westernized décor of the place. Therefore, I was happy to see that A. Seoul House is owned and run by a first-generation Korean family and that B. They don’t pull any punches with the spice quotient in their food.

I went there with Sooyun, my eternal Korean restaurant companion because coming from a Korean family, she has a true appreciation for food that literally makes you sweat while you’re eating.

I tried the Yuk Gae Jang and the Kun Mandu and was delighted by the quality of both. The service was extremely pleasant and friendly and the interior has a comfortable, intimate feeling.

Seoul House is located in Karlsington at 4670 Alabama Street.

This past month has involved a lot of eating out. First and foremost, I’ve got to mention this Iranian place on 5th Avenue, on the outskirts of the downtown area - Darband.

Darband is located at 1556 Fifth Avenue. I was a bit skeptical at first because it advertises itself as an “Iranian Deli,” which is a bizarre concept to me, but as soon as I smelled the fragrant aroma of sumac and saffron I knew that the place was authentic. So far, I’ve tried the Zereshk Polo, Jujeh Kebob, and the Kebob Kubideh and they approach my Mother’s dishes which is the same thing as saying that they are close to perfect. Every day, they offer a different special from a selection that includes well known Iranian dishes such as Lubia Polo and Ghorme Sabseh. Unlike Bandar and Sadaf, the restaurant is more about the food than the ambience and any true aficionado of Persian food will quickly see the place for the hidden gem that it is.

 On a friend’s advice, I drove out to Ocean Beach to check out Hodad’s (5010 Newport Ave. 619-224-4623). The initial plan was to pick up a burger and a movie before returning home. It was about 8:40 PM when I called over and told them I wanted to make an order for pick-up.

“Sure,” he said. “But we’re going to close at 9:00, so get here before then.”

I promptly hopped in my car and jetted out to Ocean Beach. I arrived at Hodad’s at around 8:50 PM. “Got an order for Jiyan,” I asked at the front counter where a guy with long hair and tattoos was standing.

“Yeah, sure do,” he said as he handed me a greasy brown bag.

I paid the man and started to head out, before thinking to myself, “Jiyan, this hamburger is going to be soggy by the time you get home.” Looking around and seeing quite a few patrons still seated in the restaurant, I decided to sit down and eat there.

The burger was nothing special. It was somewhere between Carl Jr.’s $6.00 burger and a Hamburger Mary’s burger. The bread was already soggy by the time I started eating, and had the same texture as mucus. After eating the burger and working on the fries, I headed to the back, where I asked a bald-headed guy with tattoos for a cup of water.

He got me a cup of water before saying, “Not to be a d@#k or anything, but when you say you want an order for pick-up, that means for God damn pick-up!”

I stared at him flabbergasted for a few moments before responding, “Well, what about all the other people in here? If you looked like you were closing, I wouldn’t have eaten my burger here.”

“Yeah, well we close at 9:00,” he said. “That means you can’t stay here after 9:00.”

“You should have said something from the beginning,” I responded as I took my water and headed back to my table.

So bottom line on Hodad’s: average burger, awful service. If you want a burger, go to Hamburger Mary’s. If you don’t want to go to Hamburger Mary’s, save yourself some time and some money and go to In-N-Out Burger.

Okay, I’ve put this off long enough, but I’ve simply got to tell you about Bronx Pizza (111 Washington St.). If memory serves me correctly, Bronx Pizza was started by two guys who moved here from New York and realized that no one out here had the first clue as to how to make a pizza. Actually, apart from the guys at Bronx Pizza, not much has changed about this situation - the people out here still don’t know how to make a decent pie. I remember when we first moved to San Diego, Karl (who is from Jersey) did a double take as we passed the place and told me, “We’ve got to get pizza there.” He had some strange telepathic connection with the place from the outset and we soon realized that Bronx Pizza was an amazing find. Karl loved the place so much that I gave him the nickname, “Pizza.” The pizza there is just out of this world. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been eating at more upscale restaurants, paying a ridiculous sum of money to eat crap that pales in comparison to Bronx Pizza. Go there.

Last night, James and Sooyun came over as we had planned to head over to Sushi Itto on University for dinner. When we arrived, we realized that the half-price special only ran from 7:00 until 9:00, so we decided to head elsewhere. Sooyun said he knew about some Thai restaurant down the road, and James seemed excited by this, so I went along as we headed to Bai Yook Thai Cuisine.

We arrived and ordered Spring Rolls, which were extremely tasty. Sooyun ordered noodles with shrimp, I had chicKarl curry, and James had some sort of pork dish with noodles. We also split an order of the spicy fried rice.

Nearly the whole time that we were eating, I found myself longing for Bronx Pizza and thinking that not only could I have enjoyed my food a lot more, but I could have also saved a lot of money. The food was not good. I don’t usually say that because I’m a pig and I will put about just anything in my mouth. When I was younger, I even put goat feces in my mouth and my parents have the pictures to prove it. Why my parents decided to take pictures of me eating goat feces instead of trying to remove the goat feces from my hand is another story.

Anyway, the food was gross and I felt ill for a few hours afterwards. My curry tasted like someone had poured milk, sugar, cayenne pepper, and Drano into a small bowl and mixed it up. The noodles and shrimp has something in it that tasted like dirt, and I kept wishing that the noodles and pork would magically transform into spaghetti and meatballs.

The only other time I had an eating experience this bad (other than the goat incident), was at an Ethiopian cuisine in DC. The waitress had a hair-lip, the owner/cook had ear hair that poofed out about 3 inches, and there was a midget running around in the kitchen. Oh yeah - the food was awful to boot.

Call me uncultured and close-minded, but next time I feel adventurous, I am just going to put a tamale on my burger.

Jack & Giulio’s in Old Town is one of the best Italian restaurants in San Diego. It has an outdoor patio area with a terrific view of the surrounding hills, excellent service, and mouth-watering food. I have lunch there about once/week and normally order the house panini, which is a delicious mixture of salami and feta on a panini, served with artichoke hearts and olives. Jack & Giulio’s is located at 2391 San Diego Ave in Old Town. their phone number is (619) 294-2074.