2010 Dining Guide

2010 Fall Dining Guide

By Tom Sietsema
Sunday, Oct. 17, 2010

It might be easier to land a seat at a White House state dinner than to secure a stool at the counter of Minibar, where Jose Andres invites giddy patrons ("How did you get a reservation?" they quiz one another) to rethink their notions about food and cooking during a fast-paced, nearly-30-course meal. The high times might begin with "sangria" you eat with a spoon and end with a strip of bacon robed in chocolate flecked with a speck of gold leaf. Along the way, a team of several cooks -- focused but friendly magicians who whip up edible wonders just feet from their audience -- might also hand over a cloud of cotton candy that replicates Thai curry, brilliant near-liquid baby carrots, a blue-cheese-topped almond "tart" based on almond cream and liquid nitrogen, and (hang on!) prawns served with "brioche" that's just yeast-fragrant air pretending to be bread. New: Silken bone marrow wrapped in "ravioli" coaxed from hearts of palm. "Feel free to ask questions," invites an apron-clad attendant. I have one: Is there no limit to your boss's imagination?

2009 Dining Guide

2009 Fall Dining Guide

By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, Oct. 18, 2009

In the first 10 minutes at the most exclusive restaurant reservation in town, patrons might encounter a pisco sour that starts out hot and ends up cold, a little tumbleweed of fried beet, a boneless chicken wing seasoned as if it came from Asia, a tiny steamed bun capped with caviar and lemon "air" and -- what's this? -- eel and shiso bound in a white web of cotton candy. Minibar, the six-seat counter that frames a handful of young chefs on the second floor of Cafe Atlantico, is by turns wonderful and crazy, but never, ever boring. "We have 27 courses for you tonight," one of the cooks announces. Fear not. The dishes are mostly single bites, and they come and go quickly. If you've visited before, you might recognize chef Jose Andres's fondness for rethinking familiar foods (the pencil-thin "Philly Cheesesteak" finds sheer slices of beef draping an airy, cheddar-filled pita) and his penchant for certain cooking techniques. ("There's a lot of foam," a friend whispers between all the tastes. "I'm just saying.") But each visit inevitably also showcases something fresh: maybe a riff on corn on the cob that heightens the vegetable's flavor and also slips in earthy Mexican corn truffle, or a tiny amber cube holding white chocolate and olive dust, a bite more delicious than it sounds. Not every creation works. Sea urchin roe, for instance, is wasted on shockingly tart, bright-red hibiscus foam. And that steamed bun is gummy. When the ideas are taken in concert, however, the spread is a fascinating journey into the imaginations of Andres and his white-jacketed teammates, and well worth the effort and cost involved in snagging a stool.

Fixed-price dinner per person: $120