Knock, knock...
Sophia:
How much does a hipster weigh?
Me:
How much?
Sophia:
An instagram.
It had been a long day at work, so Patrick whisked me away for an impromptu date night. We couldn’t figure out where to go until we saw Dangerously Delicious Pies. A quick u-turn on H Street NE and a speedy parallel parking maneuver later, we were standing in front of this fabulous mecca to pies. All pies.
Patrick has at least been to the Dangerously Delicious Pies food truck. I, however, have been living in a pit of darkness and communism… with no pies. But neither of us had been to the actual restaurant.
I’m not going to wax poetic too long about our experience. Needless to say, make this a destination on your radar. We sat at the counter, laughed, drank in the relaxed Baltimore-esque surroundings, sipped some Natty Bo (and a little Maker’s Mark), listened to amazing music like Etta James and the Beatles… and ate pies.
Oh, the pies! There is literally a savory pie or quiche for everyone. The worst part? Their menu is so enticing that once you’re stuffed on the slice of pie you’ve chosen, you end up inevitably weeping because you can’t have another slice because your tummy was satiated with happy pie goodness, with no room for anything else.
And I could go on and on about the Baltimore Bomb pie. That pie is decadent and chocolatey in a way that even my chocolate-hating heart could not deny. I would give up war secrets for that pie. I would be big spoon for that pie.
Let’s wrap this up, shall we? Do you want to have an amazing meal at a down-to-earth, unique eatery with a distinct and inviting personality? Go to Dangerously Delicious Pies. Do you want to be served by a “pietender” who will shamelessly scold your husband for never having seen The Goonies? Go to Dangerously Delicious Pies. Do you want to be fat and happy? Go. To. Dangerously. Delicious. Pies.
I want to build a tiny little hut in the back of the restaurant. No one would notice, right?
We’ve driven past it numerous times, to and from work, Georgetown, and Rosslyn. We always talk about going, but inevitably we don’t. Yesterday we finally pulled into a spot right in front of 2121 K Street NW to check out Bobby Flay’s Bobby’s Burger Palace.
It was an interesting experience. A tasty experience, but nonetheless interesting.
The sweet potato fries? Some of the best I’ve ever had. My burger? The perfect medium. The ingredients? Fresh, simple, and colorful.
So where did things go wrong? In the most unexpected place — the Frozen Cactus Pear Margarita.
It was literally undrinkable, and for those who don’t know me, I’ve hardly ever met a cocktail I didn’t like. The problem? Too much tequila. Too little flavor to balance said tequila. It was awful. Patrick even tried to fix it. “Maybe the straw is just at the bottom.” Then he mixed and swirled it for a minute or so and tried it again. “Nope, still gross,” he said as he pushed it away from him. I ended up sending it back and traded it for a Dogfish 60 Minute IPA.
I know it sounds weird to get hung up on a margarita at a burger joint, but how do you screw up something so simple in such an epic way? To the point where an equal opportunity drinker such as myself had to do the unthinkable and send it back? It’s such a dumb thing to mess up.
But let’s go back to the food — it was good. Overly-simplistic, but good. Nothing felt weighed down in grease or an over abundance of ingredients. I loved the avocado relish/watercress/cheddar combination on my LA Burger. Patrick’s burger was so good that when I thought to take a picture of his buffalo/blue cheese goodness, it was already gone — as you can see above. And I could not stop eating the sweet potato fries. Perfectly crispy, not overcooked, with he perfect amount of salt.
The thing is, while the food was good, I walked in and out a bit… miffed. When I looked at the menu, nothing jumped out at me like, “I HAVE TO SHOVE THAT BURGER INTO MY MOUTH PARTS.” Like I said, the food was good, but I don’t know. I feel oddly ambivalent. I feel underwhelmed. I know this is weird to say about a burger joint, but it had the sterile, distant feeling of a franchised chain. Zero personality.
Patrick and I are somewhat divided over whether or not it’s better than Good Stuff Eatery. He thinks it is. I’m not 100% sure if I can compare the two because they’re so different. The one thing we did agree upon? Our new summer project is to find the best burger joints in DC. Twist our arms, right?
