ILLUSTRATION BY EDWIN FOTHERINGHAM


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oozes grease with each bite. There’s a riff on Vietnamese pho fashioned from soba noodles and sablefi sh that is more elegant than delicious. Slurping the soup, which is heavy on soy sauce, makes me wish for one of the bowls served in dozens of humbler restaurants around Washington. Richard is one of the country’s fi nest


chefs, but in these early months, not everything on the menu at Michel, the restaurant, upholds Michel, the artist. For better or for worse, the guy is a perfectionist, constantly tinkering with his recipes and presentations. Add the stress of a hotel restaurant obligated to serve three meals a day, six days a week, and it’s a small wonder Mezick and his colleagues perform as well as they do. Clearly, adjustments are in order. In


some cases, accompaniments are more impressive than the centers of the plate. The rib-eye is fi ne, for instance, but I’d rather make a meal of the crisp haricots verts and house-made tater tots the beef arrives with. Duck is similarly upstaged by root vegetables and crisp ribbons of parsnip fl oating across the plate. That still leaves lots to laud,


especially among appetizers. Smoked salmon alternating with lemony herbed cream cheese in a terrine of dozens of thin, pink-on-white layers is elegant and delicious. (“Where’s my bagel?” cracked a dining companion.) Sauteed scallops put you right on


Nantucket Bay with their ocean sweetness. Interlocking bracelets of fried onion atop the seafood give it the chef’s stamp, and the appetizer’s shallot jus justifi es eating more bread to sop up the goodness. The most novel start to dinner looks just like spaghetti carbonara — tastes like it, too — save for one detail: What you think is pasta is actually long, white ribbons of onion, cooked al dente. But the most fetching introduction is a vivid green cake of soft, sweet leeks shot through with red wine vinegar and a hint of hazelnut oil, served with a lacy pane of bread freckled with garlic and Parmesan. The eye, and the tongue, register brilliance. When Richard and crew are fi ring


on all cylinders, there’s no more joyful food to be found. The interior of the restaurant,


which opens with a glassed-in wine locker and fi ts in a snug bar, radiates playfulness, too. Michel retains the coffered ceiling and the open kitchen of its predecessor; overhead mood lights that glow from green to blue to red and a plummy palette and bare tabletops signal a brand-new look for the staid old Ritz-Carlton. The acoustics aren’t great, alas. One night, I’m forced to eavesdrop on a couple of business types sitting yards away; another evening, the roar of the crowd approximates the annoying buzz of the vuvuzela horns heard at the World Cup. Someone might want to adjust the lights in the kitchen, too; their harsh illumination is better suited to an OR. No matter which of his restaurants


A leek appetizer at Michel in Tysons Corner.


you order them in, Richard’s desserts tend to create a hush as they’re presented. Some confections even fi nd diners whipping out cellphones to capture them for posterity. At Michel, where Mark Courseille serves as pastry chef, the most dramatic ending is the aptly titled Celebration Cake created from Grand Marnier-spiked ladyfi ngers, whipped cream, fruit and a sparkler that lights up the recipient’s table like the Fourth of July. But I’m equally impressed with the style and substance of the many-layered chocolate cake; the fl oating island dotted with buttons of chocolate and served on creme anglaise made with fresh banana; and, especially this time of year, the Snowman. The jolly miniature, garbed in a hat of chocolate and a scarf of almond paste, is three


Ask Tom


During a recent out-of-town dinner, a participant in my online food discussion described service in the restaurant as “overly attentive except on one issue: They kept calling my girlfriend ‘Sir.’ ” To be fair, he added, “she does have short hair and she was wearing a long-sleeve button-down shirt. But she certainly doesn’t look like a man by any stretch. My girlfriend was pretty mortified by it. I didn’t think it was worth further embarrassment to correct the staff or the manager in front of her. How would you have dealt with this?” I told the chatter I would have


excused myself from the table after hearing “sir” a second time, sought out the manager, explained the problem and let the supervisor share the reality with the staff attending the couple’s table. But I actually prefer the advice provided later in the discussion by another online follower, who dismissed the indirect approach in favor of this strategy, suggested for the female: “Look the server in the eye and say, ‘I should be addressed as ma’am.’ Done.”


Send your thoughts, wishes and, yes, even gripes to


asktom@washpost.com.


balls of crisp meringue. Crack open the sculpture with a fork, and you discover a rich vein of velvety vanilla ice cream. Richard took a gamble moving


to Tysons Corner. Patrons of his new restaurant sometimes take their chances, too. At fi rst bite, Michel is both exciting and uneven, dazzling and — not so much. Am I expecting too much of something that’s meant to bridge his other concepts? Not when the creator is Washington’s best.


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