Over Spring Break, I went to Washington, D.C. to visit friends. Since I hadn't left the state of Florida for several months, I had high hopes about my return to the Northeast. Ah, for those several years I lived in the Northeast. I missed the energy of it all, the presence of so many good friends, and of course, the great restaurants. Florida has a different pace. Terrific weather, and restaurants that are not bad, but I am learning that you have to hunt for them.
Big chain restaurants like Olive Garden and Chili's surround me all too reliably. I can count on the fact that in every city across America, someone else is eating the exact same thing, which is disturbing when you think about it. Although the food is consistent, it's never surprising. Sometimes it's hard to seek out locally owned, unique establishments.
When I got to DC, it was like I had been asleep for several months. Suddenly I was awake, and at each subsequent instance of restaurant debauchery I felt I was tasting life again. It had been almost a year since I last celebrated my dissertation defense at Rosa Mexicano, and I was happy to return to their pomegranate margaritas and thick guacamole redolent with cilantro. Samples of French bistrot fare in DuPont Circle, Italian pizza with organic ingredients and a perfect crust, and some of the best french toast I've ever had in my life were part of the whole experience. And my friends also cooked for me lovingly-- a tofu stir-fry from Mara that hit the spot after too much indulgence, and Beth braised spare ribs in a wine and olive sauce, courtesy of a recent Mark Bittman column in the NY Times.
I resolved to come back to Orlando and attempt only to eat at local establishments. Today I tried Bosphorus, a Turkish restaurant that just opened up near my work. The menu features an array of kebabs and different types of stuffed Turkish bread and flatbreads. I remembered living in Istanbul in 1995, when all this was street food for me. Here it was a bit more pricey, filled with Botox-branded society matrons having a ladies' lunch. The tastes were authentic-- I had a perfectly crusty pide (similar to a pizza, pronounced "pi-day"), topped with Turkish cheese, tomatoes, and spices, and stuffed with grilled doner kebab, the type of meat that turns on a spit for hours, cooking in its own juices. All washed down with a glass of white wine.
Even better was the fact that it was an official lunch, so I did not have to pay for it.
I'm going to have to get invited to these more often.
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