We round up the blog posts, tweets and going-out scuttlebutt that have us talking.
Locally sourced ingredients are all the rage in kitchens, and it looks like bars are next: The Passenger's Derek Brown recently tweeted a picture of his staff plotting a rooftop garden where he’ll grow herbs for use in cocktails. Also coming soon: Beehives. Fresh honey in cocktails? That sounds sweet. [@betterdrinking]
And just when we were uberproud of DC Brau, Gawker had to knock us off our little cloud with a piece effectively mocking Washington’s “young hip vibe” with little gems — um, jabs — like this one: “Drawn by a proliferation of hip totems like yoga studios and Caucasians, previously unexplored portions of DC are experiencing a hipness outbreak.” Adding injury to injury are the comments, which effectively spiral into a dissection of the hotness/value of Washington women. [Gawker]
As we hungrily await the arrival of more bars and restaurants, like the anticipated Rogue 24, Washingtonian took a look this week at the silent-but-soigne design duo Edit, who are responsible for not only the Blagden Alley project, but for the inky, sexed-up appeal of the Gibson and clean lines of Ba Bay. [Washingtonian]
In food news, three out of five noms for the best Mid-Atlantic chef didn't earn the region a winner, but local luminary Jose Andres rode his small-plate empire and modernist Minibar to a bigger prize, bringing home the 2011 James Beard Outstanding Chef Award. For those of us who’ve been waiting, like, seven breathless years for a call from Bonji Beard: This is not going to help. Not at all. [Associated Press]
The New Yorker bestowed high praise this week on the recently concluded Maryland Film Festival in Baltimore, which has in recent years, become the place to catch first glances at the indies and arties of tomorrow (including, a few years ago, “The Hurt Locker”). “What matters right now is to note that something new and extreme is afoot in the American movie scene,” wrote the mag’s Richard Brody, and the fest proves the movement’s class reunion. [The New Yorker]