I don’t know why the lyrics popped into my head but there they were — domo arigoto — distracting me from the task at hand.  Last nights meal at Bibbiana came to a close with hot espresso cascading over two small quenelles of milk gelato.  An exercise in simplicity compared to the fanfare that typically accompanies a pastry chefs creations.  And considering I’m not the hugest sweet tooth, the way all desserts should be.

When I was much much younger my mom packed up the car, bought me a Chinese take out container of grass shrimp, and took me on a fishing trip. The lake churned with blue gill and my bait was like potato chips. I was pulling fish out of the water as fast as I could rig the hook.

Throwing each fish back, I impaled a new grass shrimp, and promptly pulled out another. In retrospect I wonder if I was just catching the same stupid fish repeatedly.  When the day ended I tossed my last catch in a cooler with ice and went home to cook up my prize.

Prepared to scale and clean back at my kitchen sink, I became keenly aware my fish was staring right back at me. Unsettled but determined I forged ahead turning on the faucet for a quick rinse, and the second the water touched that fishes skin a last ditch effort of self-preservation ensued. Flopping wildly my fish wanted nothing to do with my fillet knife.  And thinking he had been long dead I had wanted nothing to do with killing him again.Thankfully, Mom came in and clubbed the poor thing, liberated its fillets and told me never to bring home a fish again.

Now this is where you’re expecting to hear it was the finest tasting fish that ever crossed my lips but actually it tasted like shit. Turns out I don’t have the taste for what ended up being over-cooked dirty pond fish. I do have a taste for freshness though, so in other ways that fish left an impression and now when I go fishing I use my wallet instead of bait.

Magazines, cookbooks, or other food pubs love to tell you how to buy fresh fish touting jet black eyes and smells of the sea.  My advice to fish shoppers who want to pick out great product would be to take a trip to the aquarium. See how they look when they’re alive? That’s how they should look on ice.

My two favorite places for good fish, are the Black Salt Market, and many of the Asian groceries peppered around Northern Virginia. Both specialize in fish mongering, and quick turnover assures a reasonably fresh catch. If you get lucky enough to see eyes fresh enough to stare back at you purchase immediately and cook quickly. Fish that fresh will be worthy of memories.

Photo by flickr user nurpax

So I think I’ve got a bead on a pretty bangin’ brunch.  Normally I ignore the ritual preferring to lounge at home with a press pot and records, but a recently stoked soccer addiction has me dragging my ass out of bed.  Bars and restaurants all over the city are taking advantage of games televised as early as 7:oo am to pull in patrons that might otherwise sleep late.  And Cafe Nema on U street has just entered my rotation.

I love the coffee which Nema brews to order from Lavazza beans.  Dark intense bitter capped in a sepia crema and included gratis with breakfast.  11 bucks gets you unexpected items like lamb-chops and a vinegary green salad spiked with tuna and coriander alongside the familiar scrambled eggs, french toast, crepes and a glass of OJ.

I’ve got no clue how any of this leads to a discussion of veal and chicken bones with Robert who was working the bar.  But sure enough there I am pointing out the importance of skimming impurities and maintaining the laziest of simmers to prevent cloudy stocks.  Discussing mirepoix and herbs intently ignoring Nani’s pass to Berbatov.  All while the espresso machine’s throaty belch of steam was drown out by a cheering crowd — I’d missed another goal.

Cafe Nema

1334 U Street Northwest

Washington, DC 20009-4445

(202) 667-3215‎