A Chef's Second Act
Pedro Matamoros strikes out on his own in Silver Spring

By Tom Sietsema
Sunday, February 10, 2008

** Nicaro

8229 Georgia Ave.

(near Thayer Avenue)

Silver Spring

301-588-2867 www.nicarorestaurant.com

Open: lunch Tuesday through Friday 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.; dinner Sunday, Tuesday and Wednesday 5:30 to 9:30 p.m., Thursday, Friday and Saturday 5:30 to 10 p.m.; brunch Saturday 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., Sunday 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Closed Monday. V, MC, AE. No smoking. Metro: Silver Spring. Street parking. Entree prices: lunch $10 to $15, dinner $19 to $30.

About the only detail on the menu at Nicaro, the modern American hot spot in Silver Spring, that distinguishes it from the Tabard Inn, the modern American stalwart in Washington, is the typeface.

Otherwise, the upstart's enticements -- grilled quail with glazed chestnuts, venison with spaetzle -- will feel familiar to anyone who's ever eaten at the venerable Tabard, whose kitchen has seen a parade of talented chefs over the decades and whose philosophy has always been to promote imaginative seasonal fare.

There's a reason that Nicaro prompts deja vu among food lovers. It's Pedro Matamoros, who spent seven years cooking at the Tabard before venturing out on his own late last fall. The new restaurant -- independently owned with upscale aspirations -- is a much-anticipated addition to the dining scene in Silver Spring, although you should know going in that the cooking is generally not as compelling or as consistent as what I've previously enjoyed from the 38-year-old Nicaraguan-born chef.

Evidence of Matamoros's high-end pedigree simmers in some of his soups. Early on, I encountered a sunny bowl of pureed butternut squash, tingling with lemon grass and lightly sweet with coconut milk. The dish was so vivid that I raced through my mental Rolodex, wondering who among my chums would most appreciate such fine cooking and whom I should invite along on future visits. More recently, a smooth blend of root vegetables topped with airy herbed croutons had the food sleuths at my table guessing what seasonings put us in holiday mode (it was nutmeg and cinnamon, underscored with red chili flakes) but also why the soup was served tepid. And, between those visits, I also tried a farro soup that, despite its pork sausage, thyme and tomatoes, left a big blank on the palate.

When Nicaro, which takes its name from a long-ago Indian chief in Nicaragua, is good, it's a restaurant you can't wait to revisit. Here's the spot to indulge in steak tartare, which is presented as if it were being served in a three-star restaurant: an elegant thimble of sharply seasoned, finely chopped designer beef sharing its long white plate with a tiny nest of arugula and thin panes of Parmesan. The fish version of the appetizer is equally fetching: chopped raw walu, or "white tuna," veined with red onion, lemon and chives, and presented with an artful zigzag of coconut sauce. The fresh oysters are as briny as can be and free of any bits of shell, thanks to careful shucking. One of Nicaro's best salads brings together fried Camembert cheese with a fan of wine-sotted pears and a couple of garlic-fueled crostini. A smidgen of molten cheese followed by a sliver of boozy fruit and a crisp bite of starch -- hot, cool, soft, hard -- is a very appealing exercise.

For the most part, Matamoros knows his way around meat and pasta, much of which is made here. Team up the two, and the results can be exceptional. Tender osso buco strewn over feathery tagliatelle and cranked up with gremolata is a dish that deserves a long run on the menu. Rising to a similar level are a riff on carbonara -- Parmesan-cream sauce and tagliatelle tossed with green beans for color and sauteed pancetta for punch -- and roasted venison sliced over a bed of tender little dumplings and a hash of Brussels sprouts. The lean and ruddy meat is backed up with ground juniper and a sweet wash of sauce coaxed from blue-berries and brandy.

Not all of the chef's ideas succeed. Good as they are, scallops are not improved by being wrapped in a band of smoked salmon. And a mixed grill of lamb chop, leg of lamb and lamb sausage is most interesting for the sausage, which is sharply seasoned and house-made.

Otherwise, even the baby vegetables with that entree lacked personality.

Hovering between the thrills and spills on the menu are dishes such as risotto adorned with shrimp and lightened with lemon zest and chives, a yuppie crowd pleaser if ever there was one. Grilled quail is sometimes wan and scrawny, other nights plump and succulent. Its frame is more of a sure bet: wrinkled cranberries, madeira-laced chestnuts and diced butternut squash also place the appetizer squarely, and sweetly, in winter.

The dining room is long, spare and moodily lit, seemingly decorated on a shoestring budget yet visually engaging. One wall catches diners' eyes with what appears to be a half-mile of undulating outsize ribbon, an effect that's recaptured on the opposite wall in square mirrors set with votives. The floors are bare wood; the tables get linens; the adjoining bar, arranged with low couches, could become a habit. Nicaro is the kind of place where you see people dressed in jeans or finery and where everyone is made to feel comfortable -- by the amicable servers if not by the acoustics, which are terrible when there's a full house. Be prepared to repeat yourself here.

Dessert feels like an afterthought at Nicaro, which trots out nothing you haven't seen before and gives diners few reasons to linger. The chocolate chip cookies resemble Chips Ahoy (hold the exclamation point), the ice creams taste dull, and the fruit crisps induce sleep. If you insist on something sweet, make it creme brulee, which sports an appropriately glassy, burnt-sugar crust and, depending on the day, a flavor other than vanilla (ours was a subtle tangerine).

"We're not pretending to open a second Tabard," Matamoros told me in a telephone conversation. That might be the case. But reading Nicaro's menu invariably invites comparison, and this diner can't help but wish for fewer underachievements and more signs of the good old days.

To chat with Tom Sietsema online, go to washingtonpost.com on Wednesdays at 11 a.m.