REVIEWS
Surely I can't be the only food lover who thinks
Art Carlson's 31-year-old, lunch-only shoe box in Dupont Circle deserves
to be on a historic-preservation list, with its delightfully scruffy
appearance (the shelf of cookbooks was sagging years before the recent
earthquake) and quirky personalities behind the Formica counter. "Wanna
dance?" a young waitress asks a customer after she bumps into him in the
narrow eatery. "Ready to rock 'n' roll?" she greets a party on the small
covered patio. Carlson, 68, suffered a stroke two years ago, but that
hasn't kept the host from dispensing wisecracks and making change at his
relic of a cash register. The standing menu is mostly sandwiches and
salads; the sheet of daily specials lets chef George Vetsch, a veteran
of a Zagat's worth of local kitchens, strut his stuff. In one week
alone, a regular could experience the American Southwest, with pork
tacos jump-started with jalapeno-cilantro sauce; India, with chicken
korma on basmati rice and sassy chutneys; and Maine, with a lobster roll
slicked with basil mayonnaise and served with fries the Swiss-born chef
cuts himself. C.F. Folks can be chaotic at rush hour. Its utensils are
flimsy, and the nearest restroom is in the next building. I wouldn't
change a thing.
Tom Sietsema
THE WASHINGTON POST MAGAZINE
C. F. Folks is
the kind of restaurant you could walk past every day without stopping
in. With its chalkboard specials and tiny storefront, it looks like it
should be ignored. Yet if you observe more carefully, you’ll realize
that when it’s open, this lunch-only joint is crammed full; it’s so busy
that waitresses buzz back and forth between tables and the kitchen at a
jog. The décor is haphazard, peculiar, and endearing. Behind the long
counter, racks of old cookbooks share space with old postcards, a stereo
system, odd knick knacks (including Presidential Barbie), and a
boisterous staff. Orders are barked from afar and cooks declaim their
opinion on everything. It is loud, scrappy, and delicious.
We like the
Reuben, but in general, sandwiches are nothing extraordinary. The best
food at Folks is the rotating menu of daily specials (Monday: Louisiana,
Tuesday: Tex-Mex, Wednesday: Italian & Indian, and so on). At many
places, the specials are something you avoid because you can’t imagine
that it could deliver—especially with the pan-world menu. Yet at Folks,
savvy diners order plate after plate, gleefully scarfing it all down.
Food is
delicious the way home-cooked meals are delicious—simple, hearty, and
filled with...well, love. You’ll be served half a cow with hanger steak
salad, flesh loose and tender and charred from the grill atop a bed of
arugula. You’ll be surprised by the quality of the blue cheese. Crowned
with crisp apples and toasted walnuts, it is a basic dish, but
wonderfully executed. Bolognese is homey and thick, several meats cooked
down to a thick ragù and dashed haphazardly on a nest of pasta. Eating
it is like being a child at a table in front of your favorite dinner.
People in DC and Maryland are always looking for or claiming to have the
best crab cake in town, but C.F. Folks actually has it (or has something
very close to it).
Folks’
dessert specials also change by the day and feature honest, clean food.
Blocks of dense shortbread scented with vanilla and lemon are crumbly
and buttery, baked until crisp on the edges. Surrounded by fresh berries
and a thick fruit purée and topped by a big dollop of ice cream, it all
tastes wholesome, fresh, and sweet: like 4th of July in the Heartlands.
FEARLESS CRITIC
A $29.50 bowl
of shrimp ’n’ grits, bringing together head-on shrimp, house-made
andouille sausage, and sweet-onion ravigote, is the most popular dish at
Jeff Buben’s Vidalia. A few blocks away, a humbler rendition of the
low-country specialty appears most Thursdays at C.F. Folks, a feisty
downtown lunch institution. The shrimp aren’t as photogenic, the sausage
isn’t house-made, and instead of ravigote there’s a white-wine sauce,
but it’s a tasty, generous plate for $11.95.
WASHINGTONIAN
Lunch at C.F. Folks is a truly urbane experience. A friend walking by stopped to say hello. He was having lunch at one of the steak houses on the block. It was going to cost three times what my lunch bill would be, and I bet mine was better.
Phyllis Richman,
THE WASHINGTON POST
Granted, this "hole-in-the-wall" International lunch counter below Dupont Circle is "dingy" and "cramped" and the service can be "pushy" (if not downright "surly"), but it has its priorities straight "its all about the food here", and it is "shockingly good"; those in the know advise "don't bother with the menu, just stick to the daily specials" and then sit elbow to elbow with "Washington bigwigs" while listening to opera in the background.
ZAGAT
Grilled scallops and tomato-tinted risotto for less than $13? No wonder all the stools are taken at this tiny American lunch counter downtown. CF Folks has been serving good food at fair prices for more than a quarter-century, but tasty sandwiches and a daily-changing board of specials aren't the only reasons customers line up here. Art Carlson, the ever-present host and resident crank, is one of the last of a dying breed: a hands-on owner who schmoozes and teases his customers, often at the same time. ("I don't care about you," he says to a man he asks to move over so an attractive brunette can sit at the Formica counter.) The place looks its age, evindenced by well-worn gags and a sagging shelf of cookbooks. (Will Carlson ever take that dusty can of dog food off display?) Yet the cooking, now in the hands of veteran Washington chef George Vetsch, is serious. Garlicky roast chicken with hand-cut fries, and mahi-mahi treated to an herbed cream sauce are among the pleasing possibilities. Is the salad overdressed? Is that risotto under-seasoned? Blame the chef's too-small kitchen and a flurry of orders at high noon.
Tom Sietsema
THE WASHINGTON POST
The narrow storefront and dive-y look of the place belie the friendly servers; innovative fare and interesting crowd always on hand at this Dupont Circle lunch counter, High powered politicos and journalists from the nearby Post rub elbows while munching on delicious sandwiches and salads.
BON APPETITE
Why wait in line for one of the few barstools or tables that are premium commodities at this lunch spot? The food is reasonably priced, which for downtown DC is remarkable. The jocular bantering of the staff puts a light-hearted spin on things. The food is both wholesome and delicious, and even slightly quirky, as such specials as catfish with Cajun remoulade or acorn squash stuffed with shrimp and béchamel. Specials change daily, but you can always count on good sandwiches such as a Reuben with pastrami rather than corned beef and almond-chicken salad sandwich. There are brownies and chocolate chip cookies, for desert, plus a daily special. Sitting outside may be
an almost year long choice because of the overhead heating. But indoors or out, you'll get a kick out listening to the DC gossip at neighboring tables.
GAYOT
The sandwiches and salads on the menu at this no-frills weekday diner are nothing special: order instead from the daily specials, which feature a different cuisine daily. On Monday, it's Cajun; on Tuesday, Mexican; on Wednesday, Indian and Italian; and on Thursday and Friday, seafood. the cooking is superb
and the crowds know it.
FODOR'S
"Did you paint?" a customer asks the owner. "The entry looks brighter." Art Carlson scans his tiny domain--11 green stools lined up at a Formica counter--in mock seriousness before delivering the punch line. "No, we must have mopped the floor." While other restaurants bend like contortionists to please their patrons, Carlson
lets his audience know it's his way or the highway, Bub. Newshounds (and there are plenty in this crowd of lawyers and journalists) have to settle for no TV: Carlson prefers opera and public radio. C.F. Folks is open only on weekdays and only for lunch because that is how the owner want to work--period. The printed menu is mostly salads and sandwiches, and good as the almond chicken salad is, you'd miss the point of eating here if you didn't take your cue from the small backboard on the wall. That's where you'll find the five or so specials each day. Monday showcases Louisiana and red beans and and rice and chunks of andouille. Wednesday detours to Italy (and maybe a fine pasta Bolognese) and Friday it's "Something from the Middle East."
WASHINGTON POST DINING GUIDE
Owner Art Carlson says the secret is to take good crabmeat and resist the temptation to do much to it. Deep fried and creamy, they're generally served Wednesday through Friday in the form of a crabcake sandwich, but they are best appreciated by ignoring the bun.
Glorious Crabcakes
WASHINGTONIAN
Below Dupont Circle is “the best lunch counter you’ll ever encounter where local workers in-the-know” go “gourmet-style” for very little dough in a “hole-in-the-wall” the size of a “railroad dining car”; a “different ethnic cuisine each day” is served “with a side of sass” from the town’s “gruffest” chef-owner, and “insiders” insist the “tasty, adventurous” Eclectic eats are “worth trying to figure out how to order” (“specify”) “and where to sit” (outside, if possible) – just do it “correctly”, or “be harassed.”
ZAGAT
C.F. Folks, which only opens for lunch, attracts hungry folks who jostle for position at open tables in the small, nondescript eatery. Some of Washington's biggest movers and shakers are known to line up at this popular lunch counter to place an order. Be sure to carefully inspect the blackboard's daily specials, because they seem to be the most appealing. The regular menu offers a collection of tasty soups and salads. Casual dress. Outdoor dining available.
10 Best Lunch
"CITYGUIDES" BY 10BEST
The sandwiches and salads on the menu at this no-frills weekday diner are nothing special: order instead from the daily specials, which feature a different cuisine daily. On Monday, it's Cajun; on Tuesday, Mexican; on Wednesday, Indian and Italian; and on Thursday and Friday, seafood. the cooking is superb
and the crowds know it.
FODOR'S
Half the thrill of going to lunch at C.F. Folks is the chance that the owner is going to mess with you. Art Carlson knows just what to say to simultaneously embarrass and endear a customer to his shoebox next to the Palm. Especially if you're a guy.
Consider the gray day I took a colleague and two umbrellas to the place. "What a bunch of [wimps]!" Carlson bawled as we sheepishly positioned ourselves in front of the beige Formica counter where the 66-year-old restaurateur has held court during weekday lunch hours for the past 28 years. Throwing out his chest and pretending to barrel heroically through a storm, Carlson asked aloud, "Whatever happened to ... ?" His mugging suggested that the rest of the unfinished question was "real men."
Something as routine as a carryout request for a tuna fish sandwich comes with a side of shtick here. When a customer mentions that the sandwich is for a colleague back at his office, Carlson wants to know, "boy or girl?" Girl, the customer says.
"Multi-grain" bread, the owner jots down. Had the recipient of the sandwich been a man, Carlson says, he would have written "white" bread on the slip, "and [the guy would] want a milkshake, too," even though milkshakes aren't on the menu here.
But red beans and rice are, at least on Mondays. Seemingly forever, this tiny kitchen has promoted the New Orleans staple as a Monday feature. By now, regulars also know that Tuesday means a Latin American special, Wednesday alternates between an Italian and an Indian dish, Thursday brings something American, and Friday highlights a Mediterranean-flavored entree. There are more than a dozen sandwiches, too, and they're perfectly respectable, but visiting C.F. Folks for a sandwich is like going to Starbucks for tea or a wine bar for a brew. Besides, there's a new face in the kitchen, the talented and nomadic George Vetsch. The Swiss native has done time at a lot of Washington restaurants -- among them the
Oval Room, Circle Bistro and the late Etrusco -- but to hear him talk, his latest gig might be his best yet. "I don't have to manage people," he says, and for the first time in years, "I have Saturday and Sunday off." Better still for customers, "I'm cooking what my mother used to make" -- cabbage rolls, peppers stuffed with lamb -- "and what I loved as a kid." Plus, it's no secret that his boss, who suffered a stroke three summers ago, is mulling retirement and would like nothing better than to hand the reins to a chef who shares his philosophy of good food at a good price.Lunch counters are hard to come by in Washington. Good ones are scarcer still. It would be easy to applaud C.F. Folks just for being there, but Carlson and now Vetsch don't play the nostalgia card to fill the 11 green stools, 8 indoor tables and 24 al fresco seats. Instead, they win us over with equal parts eccentric charm and plates of food that taste as if they should carry more than a $13 price tag, which is the average cost of the six or so main courses that change daily.
A glance around the 600-square-foot interior of C.F. Folks (the name combines the initials of Carlson and his business partner, Peggy Fredricksen) shines a light on the host's interests. One shelf sags under the weight of a small library's worth of serious cookbooks; another is a showcase for old campaign buttons -- and also cans of Alpo and Cheez Whiz. Alongside a display of potato chip bags hangs a paper "mood meter" that starts at "Beloved" and ends with "Postal." The last time I was in, the sign's marker was set to the middle: "Like We Care." The phrase is a joke within a joke, because Carlson and company so obviously do care about what they're doing. Those irresistible french fries with your entree come from potatoes cut by hand and twice-fried in flavorful duck fat. It's a small but telling statement, especially given the closet known as the kitchen. Its size prevents Vetsch from doing two things he likes: baking his own bread and making pasta.
One afternoon I find myself slicing into a piece of mahi-mahi that
could pass the fish test at
Pesce,
Dupont Circle's sunny seafood spot. The fillet is perfectly cooked, lapped
with a creamy herb sauce and served with skinny green beans tossed with
bits of bacon. Another day, I feel as if I've been transported to a French
bistro, thanks to rosy slices of duck arranged over a bed of wild rice,
halved grapes and bits of mango. Tasting Vetsch's homey roast chicken
draped with a winy gravy, I imagine I'm back at his childhood home near
Zurich. Like most entrees, this one comes with a small, well-dressed
salad, a chunk of decent bread and a foil-wrapped pat of butter.
There are few subjects Vetsch can't nail, although Carlson jokes otherwise: When the chef was hired over the winter, "he couldn't spell India," an allusion to the dal (lentils) Vetsch now makes as an occasional Wednesday special.
The crab cake is described on the menu as "Washington's Best!" I wouldn't go that far, although I do appreciate the generous round of crab, mayonnaise and mustard patted down with fresh bread crumbs and cooked so that the surface develops a dark golden crust. The filling of a pork barbecue sandwich includes crisp edges of meat and a tangle of fried onion ringlets, but the sauce is too sweet for my taste. Both sandwiches come with a bit of coleslaw that emphasizes cream over cabbage.