This piece is a sneak peek from our November Best Restaurants issue, on newsstands now.
Richmond, we need to talk. Nothing bad, no, no. All good, as a matter of fact — if only you could understand how good.
In the nine years since I began coming down regularly from D.C. to research my first book, “The Wild Vine,” I’ve seen you evolve into one of the most exciting food capitals in the South.
For most of those nine years, I was a restaurant critic in D.C., spending my off-hours crisscrossing the country to write about food culture for national publications, eating out, on average, for 500 lunches and dinners a year. I’d like to think that, with all those meals under my belt, I know a little bit about what’s good.
And you, my friend, are good. But do you know that about yourself, Richmond? I mean, really, truly know it?
I don’t think you do.
You, my friend, are good. But do you know that about yourself, Richmond? I mean, really, truly know it?
You know Edo’s Squid as a delightfully run-down Italian red-sauce joint where it’s all but impossible to snag a table on weekends, and the garlic in the air makes your mouth water, but do you also know it as one of the best Italian restaurants in the country?
Or that 8 1/2, another Ed Vasaio project, doesn’t just crank out pizzas from its blistering oven, but national-class pizzas?
I rarely hear anyone talk about Lehja, which only happens to be one of the best Indian restaurants I’ve come across in America.
I have heard talk about Brenner Pass, lots of it, with some of you privately bitching about all the hype it’s gotten. Well, I’m sorry, but that hype is richly deserved. Brittany Anderson’s cooking is as imaginative, soulful and exacting as anything I’ve found in the country.
You know that Longoven is good, because Bon Appetit told you so last summer, when it included the pop-up on its list of America’s Best New Restaurants. But, show of hands — how many of you dropped by Sub Rosa Bakery for the Sunday dinners before the splashy commendation arrived?
Speaking of Sub Rosa: I prefer its rustically thick-crusted Turkish breads to the French baguettes I pick up at BreadFurst in D.C., which this year bagged a prestigious James Beard Award.
I’ve made the trip south to Richmond many times over the past few years — two hours plus, in infernal 95 traffic — just to eat at these marvelous places, all the while wondering why so little in D.C. speaks to my imagination the way these do.
The least you could do, Richmond, is to love and cherish them and count your blessings.