And sandwiches appear to be on almost equal footing with both. “Our sandwich business is much bigger than I thought it would be,” Bradberry said of the rather surprising, and apparently mildly disconcerting, development.
To each his own, chef.
The Harvest perpetuates Thanksgiving every day, but didn’t strike us as cause for much celebration. We appreciated the homespun turkey (tender and tasty) and from-scratch stuffing (accented with carrots and onion) but kept getting overwhelmed by the overly tangy cranberry-strawberry relish.
The Marc proved more appealing, its mellow mix of roast chicken, basil-packed pesto, ripe tomato and nutty melted Gruyere melding into swallows of complementary succulence.
Most of the sweet crepes we tried were basically Nutella delivery vehicles, the decadent hazelnut spread overshadowing all but the most emphatic compatriots.
The Tropics, on the other hand, dazzled us with bright blueberries, luscious strawberries, dulcet kiwi and tongue-teasing mango. A hail of toasted pistachios provided crunch throughout.
Sandwiches got better the more exotic we went.
Tuna basks in the glory of pungent capers, sour Greek yogurt and refreshing citrus zest. Chicken salad reveals spice-swaddled bird (steeped in curry; earthy cumin leads the charge) parked between buttery croissant halves. And every sandwich leaps into overdrive when layered with a house blend of preserved carrots, onion and cauliflower; ravishing slaw rejiggers the enjoyment equation toward spice junkies.
On the Horizon
The next step, in Bradberry’s mind, is to flesh out his beverage carte with some of the harder stuff.
“D.C.’s a drinking town,” he stated, estimating that the absence of an liquor license has kept potential dinner clients at bay.
Bradberry expects to fill the vacuum by applying for a stipulated liquor license — a provisional permit that allows restaurant owners to begin serving alcohol within 30 days of filing.
“I know we will definitely get more traffic ... if we get an [Alcoholic Beverage Control] license,” he said, arguing that there is “nowhere else within a mile of Eighth Street [Southeast] to drink.”
Once, or if, the booze starts flowing, expect to see expanded cheese boards and mouth-watering charcuterie selections join the gustatory mix.
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