Remembrance of Hoagies Past

Every morning as I drive to work, I always seem to hit the stoplight right before Table Talk. Even at 8 a.m., their parking lot is already stuffed with cars, and as I idle at the light I like to imagine that the scene inside must be a veritable who’s who of old school Alexandria.

After three years of feeling pangs of nostalgia at this stoplight each morning, I recently made time to hit Table Talk again, so that I could experience one of my childhood delights for the first time as an adult.

Table Talk is just up the street from my parents’ office building, so it was a frequent destination for breakfast and lunch when I was a wee one. While most of the menu is standard diner fare, their version of the hamburger hoagie stands out as their great contribution to the sandwich canon.

Sure, it sounds kinda trashy, but twentysome years ago I spent many a happy summer afternoon in some spare office in my folks’ office building hunched over a hamburger hoagie and a copy of Bridge to Terabithia (yeah, I shed a few tears at the end).

I don’t believe that the hamburger hoagie is a widespread phenomenon, but then the sort of places that offer it aren’t likely to turn up on Google. But even if the hamburger hoagie is common in other parts, I’m confident that Table Talk’s rendition would trump all others.





Their genius move is to simply stuff a couple of fried hamburger patties into a sandwich that otherwise has all of the same accompaniments as a standard Italian hoagie: lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, red onions, red pepper flakes, oregano, oil and vinegar, and a sandwich-sized slice off of one of those enormous dill pickles.

And just so there's no confusion, this is not like an ordinary hamburger, where the meat itself takes center stage. The patties themselves are unremarkable. Rather, it's the totality of all of the elements taken together that's the key to appreciating this sandwich.

Indeed, as far as the meat goes, I would have actually preferred it to be a tad greasier, as the patties were a bit too dry. And I’ll definitely ask for extra oil and vinegar next time, so that the bread is properly saturated. Still, it was pretty much identical to the sandwich that I enjoyed as a lad, and I’ll likely be back a few more times before Table Talk’s inevitable demise. If you happen to be in the area around lunchtime, go ahead and take a chance on it. At the very least, you’ll appreciate the quaint diner atmosphere.

As a side note, I’ve noticed a placard in front of Table Talk for the past couple of years touting some future office development in its stead. I asked the woman at the counter how much longer they were going to be around, and she seemed surprised. “Do you know something we don’t know?” she asked. I mentioned the sign out front. “Oh, that sign has been out there for five years now,” she replied. “These things take time.”

Check out Table Talk’s hamburger hoagie:

1623 Duke St.
Alexandria, VA
(703) 548-3989

—AC

All in the Details

We apologize for the long delay, as AC and I have been struggling to get back into the habit of regularly posting after our recent wedding and lavish honeymoon at the Greenbrier resort in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.

We have many things to write about, as we have resumed our culinary adventures since then. But first, I want to share with you some special details from our time away from the real world.

Ostensibly, we chose the Greenbrier so that we might enjoy just a slice of what the landed gentry types get to soak up on a regular basis. What we got was much more than that.

Certainly, the activities (falconry, sporting clay shooting, and a sulfur soak in the spa), the outstanding meals, and the unparalleled politeness of the staff (every single staff member asked us how we were—every single one), put us square in the midst of the high life. But it was the little extras in the main dining room that took the whole experience to a level of greatness we have never experienced.

The crudité: Before placing our orders, we were brought a simple porcelain dish with some celery, cauliflower, endive, and carrot, accompanied by a ramekin of ranch dressing. Contrasted with the hickory smoked pork tenderloin, fancy steaks, seared fish, and foie gras we enjoyed night after night, it almost seems silly to serve such a bare bones appetizer. But in fact, the fresh veggies and dip were a welcome entrée into a rich two-hour dinner, and the offering conveyed the very traditions and hospitality for which we traveled four hours to enjoy.

The iced tea: There was nothing outrageous about the iced tea at the Greenbrier. It wasn’t infused with herbs, or sweetened, just garnished with a big wedge of lemon. At times, the iced tea, which we've seen referred to elsewhere as the "table wine of the south," seemed like the only soft drink on offer. Even at the daily 4 p.m. teatime, it seemed that people were enjoying just as much of the iced variety as they were the milk and sugar version. We got to the point that after lunch at Draper’s Café, the in-hotel luncheonette, we would get our refill of the tea, settle our bill, then take our teas up to our room to enjoy them while we decompressed in front of the television. And at dinner, it was a refreshing counterpoint to the pinot we gulped down each night.

The saucer and doily: Whether it was the iced tea, the freshly squeezed juices, or even ice water, it came in a tall glass on a saucer with a doily. Even water! We loved this special touch because, to us, it feels like the best water/juice/tea on the face of the planet was brought to us. No other glass of sweet, delicious nectar compares to this one right here, and because we are such special guests, we shall enjoy the best of everything at the Greenbrier. Reality check: The lovely doily/saucer combo prevented water rings on the tablecloths.

The finger bowl: With the bill after each breakfast and dinner service, we were brought a small silver bowl, lined with a thin filter emblazoned with the Greenbrier logo, and filled with warm lemon-scented water. The first time I was bestowed with the dainty thing, AC and I had NO idea what to do with it. AC suggested it was for “washing our hands,” so I did. I scooped some warm water into one hand (hard to do with such a small bowl), and rubbed my hands together as if they were under a faucet. I felt like a complete dolt doing this, but someone had taken the trouble to offer the bowl to me, so I was going to use it in whatever way seemed most prudent. At breakfast the following day, I took the liberty of asking how to properly use it. Our waitress said, “just dip your fingertips in it” in a delightful drawl. Luckily, we found out that we were not alone in our confusion. The waitress shared with us a story from the previous evening wherein a young girl thought it was consommé, and was ready to start slurping away at this seemingly superfluous "soup course".

Melba toasts: Thanks to the Greenbrier, I acquired an addiction to Melba toasts, those small, thin toasts used mainly for hors d’oeuvres. During dinner and lunch, a staffer walks around with a big breadbasket ready to take diners’ requests (soda bread and cornbread were also available). This takes place throughout dinner, so many, many pieces of bread can be had. I went for the Melbas because I figured they were a bit lighter than other breads; I wanted to save room for the ample entrees, salads, and appetizers. But the problem is this: I got like five or six of them each time. I would take the real butter (fashioned in the shape of the Greenbrier logo), smear it all over these little things, and munch away. Things only get worse when the breadmaster comes around again. I think, “Well, I’m getting the foie gras, and they only give you a couple of brioches, so I’ll need more toasts.” And then more toasts, and more. We’re talking toasted bread and pure butter, and a lot of it. And the foie gras is still being prepared! I would like to tell you all that there was a point at which I stopped eating the Melba toasts. But I can’t. The good news is I’ve been off Melbas for over a month, and I’m doing fine.

—AK

Famous Roast Beef

On a rainy Good Friday we decided against hanging out at home and watching Comcast On Demand, instead opting to make a trek downtown to enjoy a long-held DC lunch tradition: Hodge's Sandwich Shop, a sweltering hole (even on a temperate day) lodged on a gritty corner of New York Avenue.

A few weeks ago, AC chronicled its carved meat glories for DCist: "Famous Roast Beef". The owner was lounging about out front and could instantly tell that we were exhibiting an unusual amount of interest in his establishment. He started prattling on about how Hodge's is a "historic landmark". He said that he bought Hodge's about 30 years ago, but that it would likely be swept away in the next year or two in the ongoing revitalization of "Mt. Vernon Triangle."

Despite his awareness of its historicity (it's been around since 1898 in at least two locations), the owner said that he was unlikely to re-open Hodge's in another location, as the investment in new equipment would be substantial.

The roast beef sandwich was expertly carved and piled high, requiring only a squeeze or two of horseradish sauce. The roast beef is only available medium or well-done. Oh, and the best thing about Hodge's is the carver will ask if you want the bread dipped in jus for each sandwich, and then skim each bun across the surface of the roasting pan. That's right: hooray for ham jus and turkey jus.

Though Hodge's seems to have established its reputation with its roast beef sandwich, we were even more blown away by its Friday special, a "smoked baked ham" sandwich. Thick slabs of ham were appropriately sweet, smoky, and salty. No condiments needed.

The seemingly pedestrian turkey sandwich was quite a dark horse. We got there in the late afternoon, so only part of a turkey leg and a few remnants of meat were left in the roasting pan. Nevertheless, the carver ably assembled an estimable sandwich. The meat was tender and savory, and the celery and herbs swimming in the juices in the roasting pan clearly indicated that some Thanksgiving style effort went into this bird.

The sides, sadly, were underwhelming. The mac 'n' cheese and butter beans were woefully bland. Though others have testified to passable collard greens, we think you should skip the sides and save space for at least one, possibly two of those sandwiches. And they have sweet tea to ease the digestion.

Shuffle on over to Hodge's on a lazy Friday afternoon to sample all three of these sandwiches. It's open 'till around 3:30, but you'll want to make it there no later than 1:30 since they're severly depleted after the lunch time rush. There are a few tables under an awning if you're into braving whatever passersby New York Avenue might throw at you.

Hodge's Sandwich Shop
616 New York Ave NW
Washington, DC
(202) 628-0606

—AC & AK

A Deconstructed Malted

I used to loathe malted anything. When ravaging my annual Halloween haul, I always left the packs of Whoppers malted milk balls lingering among the debris field of Mary Janes, Clark Bars, Goldenberg’s Peanut Chews, and other unloved candies at the bottom of my trick-or-treat bag.

But in my last year or two in New York, I developed a powerful taste for malteds. Incidentally, AK’s dad recently mentioned that he could tell she had once been a real New Yorker because she called a malt by its rightful “malted” designation.

It all started with an obligatory pilgrimage to the Lexington Candy Shop, an old school diner and soda fountain that made a brief cameo at the beginning of the classic 70s paranoia flick Three Days of the Condor. If you live in New York and haven’t been to the Lexington Candy Shop, you’re missing out on a classic slice of old New York. They have amazing malteds, extra sour cherry lime rickeys, and they get bonus points for continuing to offer the lost American breakfast classic that is the grape jelly omelet. And yes, we’ve had the grape jelly omelet because we’re that trashy.

A subsequent trip to the Bespeckled Trout, a cluttered shop of antique curiosities flanked by an old fashioned soda fountain, revealed the extent to which soda jerkistry could be an art form. The impassioned proprietor apparently makes his own syrups and even imports raw malt pellets from Wisconsin.

Unfortunately, we’ve not yet discovered a classic malted in the D.C. area. But we’ve managed to content ourselves with a quality substitute: the Dusty Road sundae at the Dairy Godmother, Del Ray’s much celebrated Wisconsin-style custard shop.





The Dusty Road is basically a deconstructed malted. Their creamy vanilla custard comes topped with hot fudge and malt powder, and though we skip the whipped cream and nuts, we can’t not get the maraschino cherry.

The genius of the dusty road is that it allows you to decide how to moderate your malted with each spoonful- from granular malt powder overkill to smooth blend of custard, malt, and hot fudge.

Although we had always thought that the Dusty Road was owner Liz Davis’ singular creation, she informed us that this sundae format is a standard offering in the midwest. But she assured us that our other favorite, the Door County Sour, which pairs marshmallow creme and sour cherries specially imported from Door County, Wisconsin, is a Dairy Godmother original. I replied that the Door County Sour is her great contribution to sundae culture. I think, however, that this C.I.A. trained former pastry chef might have greater aspirations than that.

Sate your frozen treat jones at the Dairy Godmother:

2310 Mount Vernon Avenue
Alexandria, VA
(703) 683-7767

—AC

Nighthawks at the Candystick

After our Saturday in Frederick, Maryland, I couldn’t believe that more people in the D.C. area don’t talk up Frederick as a day trip. Frederick takes the quaint small town feel of Old Town, Alexandria and mixes it up with some of the stalled in time shabbiness of Baltimore.

Take, for instance, The Old Log Wash House Laundromat pictured at right. The sign has the requisite old fashioned ad placements for Coca-Cola, although I’m not entirely sure what a spin cycle has to do with “The Pause that Refreshes.” Nevertheless, if I lived in Frederick I would do all my laundry here just to bask in its antiquated glory. Okay, maybe not.

Frederick also has a capital selection of antique stores, particularly Emporium Antiques, a conglomeration of dozens upon dozens of antiques dealers in one enormous space. The breadth of their wares encompasses just about everything from a 19th Century Swedish grandfather clock to an antique stove to a basket-woven shoulder bag housing old artillery shells. They have a few vintage clothing displays, as well.

But thrift and vintage clothing junkies should absolutely check out Venus on the Half Shell. Its collection of clothing is not especially vast, but each piece of clothing has clearly been carefully selected, as the tag affixed to each item has a pithy remark about its origin.

But no trip to Frederick is complete without stepping into the time warp that is the Barbara Fritchie Candystick Restaurant. Interestingly, the actual Barbara Fritchie had nothing to do with roadside diners. Instead, she was a Maryland folk hero from the Civil War, who purportedly flew the stars and stripes as a gesture of defiance to advancing Confederates.

Though the sign boasts “Fine Foods”, it’s probably best to steer clear of just about everything but their pies, unless you have a craving for dumpy diner food. And though their soda fountain boasts an old school Hamilton Beach triple head milkshake mixer, their insistence upon serving Hershey’s Ice Cream means that soda fountain bliss is unlikely.

The atmosphere is decidedly Nighthawks at the Diner, but only if the original Nighthawks in the Edward Hopper painting were still hanging out there fifty years later. Aside from the countergirl, we were the youngest patrons by about forty years.

Though the diner maintains these boss light fixtures, the proprietors have done away with other vestiges of a bygone era, such as the penny candy concession.

The Candystick offers about a dozen different pies made from scratch, as well as their apple dumpling.

The menu lists the apple dumpling with the standard a la mode format, as well as something I had never heard of before- “with milk.” After the countergirl confirmed that she had, in fact, enjoyed the dumpling in this manner, I decided that I would follow suit. The golden shell of the dumpling is thin and not too buttery and encloses a generous helping of apples and cinnamon. While ice cream might have been a greater enhancement to the dumpling, the milk bath did offer an element of wholesomeness that dessert usually lacks.

The countergirl touted the chocolate pie as her favorite, but we decided to see what they could do with the banana cream pie. The pudding layer offered fresh slices of banana and that was topped off with a layer of foamy meringue instead of the usual whipped cream. AK didn’t care for this variation, characterizing it as "otherworldly", but I found the mix of fresh bananas and meringue to be refreshing.

Although neither the pies nor the dumpling blew us away, their overall quality is arguably well above typical diner fare. Besides you need an activity to occupy yourself while soaking up all that classic diner ambience, and it might as well be pie.

Take a day trip to Frederick and check out Barbara Fritchie Candystick Restaurant on your way back at:

1513 W. Patrick St.
Frederick, MD
(301) 662-2500

—AC