Dos Mattys, The Bombshell and I giggled a little when we walked into DC's cheekily named Founding Farmers. Most of the places in NY that tout themselves as crafty farm-fresh tend to be smaller, softly lit, seemingly hallowed cloisters to pig.
Not so here. It's a huge space, two floors, mostly modern with rustic flourishes--a big restaurant with a big menu crammed with big, unabashedly American flavors. (And lighting that behooves opportunistic bloggers to boot. Hooray!)
And the thing is...it works! Who can hate on a menu that has chicken pot pie, chicken and waffles, lobster rolls and french dip?
Take, for instance, our appetizers:
Puffed pastries filled with pimento cheese--a pinky-up version of the old-school packaged cheese-and-cracker snacks (y'know, with the flat red rods for faux cheese smearing?). Classy and brassy, gone before anyone could blush.
Deviled eggs! We opted for the "classic" (there's a more baroque "Combo" egg platter, with seafood-decked eggs); eight halves to an order, besprinkled with chives, a straightforward, two-bite treat (and a STEAL at $4!).
Steamed mussels with chunks of chorizo and bounteous bread for sopping the magical marriage of seafood and pork juices; not to be outdone, a platter their bivalve counterparts, raw oysters from the west and east coasts. There was mollusk carnage EVERYWHERE as we licked our briny chops.
Fried green tomatoes! I've never been a fan, but they were a gloriously crunchy delivery module for the tasty green goddess (foreground) and blue cheese dressings.