Oy, I almost don’t want to write this– but I took so many pages of notes during my disastrous dinner at Tandoori Nights in Clarendon, that all that information deserves to be used. I know you’ll appreciate reading some of it, since our threads on dining, fine or otherwise are consistently popular. So let’s get this over with.
I’ve recently become an addict of EMS. I know, I’m the only one who has ever entered the store in stiletto heels, but what can I say? You can only spend so much time underground with Abhi before he begins to influence you. While I work up my nerve to (gulp) actually go camping for the first time, I’m going to keep frequenting EMS; for some reason, it makes urban-me want to be outside. Powerfully magical, I know. So between my forays to gear mecca and the container store (and yet– my apartment is still disorganized), I noticed that a potentially brown restaurant had opened on the second floor of the ritzy Market Common at Clarendon, just outside of D.C.
Yesterday, I decided to give it a shot, even though I was a little put off by the restaurant’s font. Yup, I’m that kind of dork. Why wouldn’t I be? If words are my life, the shapes of the letters which create them matter, too. I looked down at my outfit, which I had worn earlier to the amazing lecture Sajit blogged about at the Smithsonian. It was casual, but to me, so was the font. So imagine my shock when I tentatively walked through the front doors and saw a lounge sleek enough to impress, a distinguished man in a well-cut suit who looked like the manager and a mural of brown women on the ceiling which made me want to faint because I spent so much time craning my neck back to memorize it. “WOW,” I thought to myself, “it’s GORGEOUS.”
I simultaneously regretted my clothes while planning a meetup or party that just had to take place in this space. Much like it jinxes the shit out of my crushes on boys to imagine my first name with their surname, all of my moony swooning, my counting parties before they were hatched…well, it virtually guaranteed doom. 🙁
My friend and I were seated in a beautiful, semi-private room and were asked if we wanted still or sparkling. I opted for the first and the busboy blurted out, “it’s bottled”. Um, okay. I wasn’t sure what to do with that so I asked him what brand. He didnÂ’t know. When he came back, he said “Voss” and my pretentious-meter went off so hard it broke. How very glam. And everything on the menu was spelled properly! Well played. Continue reading