Mark Finkenstaedt

Gnocchi with braised pork at Graffiato from Chef Mike Isabella.

6 Places Not to Miss in February

When the economy went south and austerity replaced ostentation, restaurateurs caught on. First, they convinced us that concrete floors, brick walls, bare wooden tables and light bulbs hung in Mason jars from ceilings were stylish. Then they put away the giant chargers filled with tiny portions of foie gras, turned small plates into big bills and gave fast food an upgrade.

Now, we happily line up for $6 marrow bones, $10 chicken thighs, $14 tacos, $16 lobster rolls and $7 milkshakes with designer burgers, all slyly repackaged as comfort food.

We’ve checked out all the newest places from chic to shack, so hit the ATM, order up a new-age old-fashioned and get comfortable.

Growing up in an Italian household, working as the chef of José Andrés’ Zaytinya for three years and enduring two cheftestant stints on Bravo’s “Top Chef” proved a perfect storm for Mike Isabella (right). The New Jersey native opened Graffiato (707 6th St., NW; graffiatodc.com; $72 per person, all inclusive) in June and got every detail right, from the back-of-the-Verizon-Center-meets-Chinatown location to the décor, menu and service.

Graffiato’s warehouse-chic minimalism (bare cream-colored brick walls, concrete floors, cinder-block bar, brushed-aluminum school chairs, simple wood tables and booths, exposed duct work) somehow seems up-to-date instead of overly familiar.

Along one side of the first floor stretches a liquor bar that becomes a pizza bar halfway back; on the journey there, you can enjoy a glass of prosecco on tap. The upstairs, which seats 100, includes a ham bar (signaled with a display of hanging cleavers) and an open kitchen. The vibe is electric and chill at the same time, which earns degree-of-difficulty points right off the bat.

The small plates concept (“We suggest you order four small plates each!” the server upsells earnestly) would seem hackneyed by now if the offerings weren’t so right on, starting with gratis Sicilian-spiced pistachios. From the wood oven, surprisingly tender octopus with artichokes and chickpeas, succulent boneless chicken thighs in pepperoni sauce, crusty pork ribs with coriander yogurt, and bacon-spiked bone marrow topped with bread crumbs are thrilling.

The selection of American hams (like Benton’s smoked country ham) and cheeses (Green Hill camembert) is thoughtfully chosen. All the pastas are heavenly; corn agnolotti with chanterelles is an instant signature, and gnocchi with braised pork and burrata an immediate personal fave.

I’m a sucker for anything with a jiggly egg on it, so the polenta with meatballs and soft egg are perfect, as is the Countryman pizza with black truffles, fontina and duck egg. Those pizzas, including the cunning Jersey Shore of crispy fried calamari, provolone and cherry pepper aioli, have nicely thin crusts and nicely blistered edges, ranking them already among the city’s best.

Even dessert, usually a throwaway item in Italian joints, excels at Graffiato in the form of delicate, sweet-salty Nutella cookies. The polenta bread in the à la carte bread assortment could easily pass for dessert if topped with a few berries. The only shortcoming I’ve come across are the vegetable offerings, billed as room temperature but, in fact, cold; they would benefit from a wood-oven blast.

I’ve enjoyed a longtime friendship with Meshelle and Cathal Armstrong, co-owners (he’s the chef) of Restaurant Eve, Eamonn’s, P/X, The Majestic and now, along with partners Maria Chicas and her husband, mixologist extraordinaire Todd Thrasher, Virtue Feed and Grain (106 S. Union St., Alexandria, Va; virtuefeedandgrain.com; $70 per person, all inclusive).

The 350-seat behemoth just off Old Town Alexandria’s waterfront is the latest inclusion in the Armstrong empire, and it’s a stunner. Meshelle’s ability to turn rooms into vignettes, learned from an early career as a window designer, is evident, as is a finely honed attention to detail. Concrete flooring; iron girders; exposed beams, brick and duct work; and wood finishes are usually a way to pass off low budget as high design; here, they’re used to preserve the historical bones of the 18th-century building’s past incarnations, including a feed house. (Wood for the tables came from stair treads from when the building housed Olsson’s bookstore.)

The space is chock-a-block with interesting elements: an outdoor patio near the bustling waterfront, two enormous bars with wide-screen TVs, living room−style seating with comfy, overstuffed sofas and armchairs, porch swings in front of vast picture windows, a billiard room, large tables in semi-private areas perfect for celebration parties.

The menu reflects the owners’ penchant for quirkiness, starting with Thrasher’s clever “hoptails” made with ales. Especially tasty are the Smooth as Velvet (Guinness reduction, Irish whiskey, sparkling wine and Ribena, an Irish fruit drink) and the What I Drink (Amstel Light, lemon ice cubes, lemon soda and dark rum).

For edibles, chef Cathal Armstrong (right) manifests a penchant for blending his Irish roots with American tastes. Morsels and Tidbits include correct deviled eggs, a pig in a blanket (a banger in puff pastry), gleefully messy Buffalo wings, tender fried calamari, thick stuffed potato skins, and a crab and artichoke dip that could stand to be a little chunkier. Don’t pass up the richly decadent bone marrow or boiled pig’s foot crubeens.

Under Vittles and Fare, the chicken pot pie, with its sublime stock base, delicate chicken vegetable filling and crisp pastry top, is a star. Braised beef short ribs, duck confit with Lyonnaise potatoes, salmon with leeks and potatoes, smoked haddock chowder and roast leg of lamb with rosemary attest to hominess; it’s all delicious, but not exactly a light touch. One glaring omission: vegetables. Pickled beet roots don’t count.

Not content to rest on the success of Masa 14, the Latin/Asian-themed tapas emporium smack-dab in the middle of D.C.’s red-hot 14th Street strip, chefs Richard Sandoval and Kaz Okochi opened El Centro D.F. (1819 14th St., NW; elcentrodf.com; $63 per person, all inclusive) a few doors down the street. (D.F. stands for “Distrito Federal.”) The place spreads 260 seats of fun over three levels: a downstairs, cave-like tequileria highlighting 200 agave-based tequilas, mezcals and sotols; a ground-level, open-kitchen taqueria; and a rooftop bar with a strangely beach-like feel.

As is customary these days, the stage is set with concrete floors, reclaimed wood (think barstools fashioned from barrels), low lighting, and exposed brick and ductwork. Added touches include tables decoupaged with Mexican newspapers and a line of Mexican masks recessed into the wall and eerily underlit.

Eschewing fusion formulas, El Centro promotes straightforward, authentic Mexican cooking. Starting off with housemade tortilla chips, a molcajete full of serrano-spiked guacamole prepared tableside and an array of pureed salsa is a no-brainer. From there, move on to a lime-tinged whitefish ceviche and an assortment of tacos served in threes atop zigzag stainless holders. Al pastor-style pork-belly tacos with grilled pineapple easily satisfy porcine urges, while fish eaters can indulge in Baja tacos with slaw and chipotle aioli. Enchilada fans will appreciate the Jalisco shrimp and crab version with Oaxaca cheese, chile and onion rajas, corn and crema, or the beef brisket with entomatada sauce.

The enormous batter-crusted chile stuffed with ground beef and cheese is a good dish for the table to share while waiting for slow-roasted pork shoulder carnitas with pickled onions, habañero salsa and charro beans to arrive. Uninspiring chipotle shrimp suffer the extra indignity of overcooking, but sides of lush sweet corn tamales and refried black beans take up the slack. Skip dessert here and opt instead for a fresa tequila smash of El Jimador tequila, Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur, strawberries, basil, mint and lime juice.

As New York’s Union Square Café is still one of my favorite restaurants, I have nothing but mad respect for its creator, Danny Meyer, and everything he has done to advance goodness in the food community.

I had never been to the Shake Shack in New York, so I was looking forward to its opening here last spring at the corner of Connecticut Avenue and Jefferson Place, just below Dupont Circle. The pre-opening hype was predictable, with devotees screaming loudly of civilization finally coming to D.C. in patty form and naysayers pre-criticizing the place in favor of Good Stuff/Five Guys/In-N-Out/insert-your-favorite-burger-joint-here. And so I visit the new Shake Shack (1216 18th St., NW; shakeshack.com; $13 for a cheeseburger, fries, a shake, tax), and now I’m firmly in the ambivalent category.

I love the nostalgic air of a spic-n-span ’50s burger joint, and the food has me at frozen custard, whether it’s as-is, whirred with premium ice cream for a signature shake, or blended with add-ins such as hot fudge, shortbread cookies and salted peanuts to make a “concrete.” (I’m still dreaming about the Shack Attack: chocolate custard, hot fudge, chocolate truffle cookie dough, chocolate chunks and sprinkles.)

Alas, though, I’m not partial to the Shake Shack burger. In fact, I leave half of my double cheeseburger (not a usual occurrence), tinged with pink and grease and strangely lacking in flavor between two disks of deflated potato bun. Even the raw onions have no bite. I gave up crinkle-cut fries when I entered seventh grade and have no desire to revisit them.

A food-world friend and I decide one day to do a lobster roll comparison, so we head first to Freddy’s Lobster and Clams (4867 Cordell Ave., Bethesda, Md.; freddyslobster.com; $28 for an Allagash White, clam chowder, lobster roll and slaw, tax) and then to the new second location of Tackle Box (3407 Connecticut Ave., NW; tackleboxrestaurant.com; $33 for a Stella Artois, clam chowder, lobster roll and fries, tax) in Cleveland Park (the first location in Georgetown is slated to reopen at the end of September).

Decor-wise, both places do up the beach-shack theme: picnic tables, counter service, open kitchens, lobster traps, buoys, fish seines and lanterns. Freddy’s serves a lovely clam chowder: thin but with a rich fish-stock base meant to be thickened with oyster crackers, nice bits of bacon and plenty of chopped clams and potato.

The Tackle Box version clearly is thickened with roux, but still has a heady seafood flavor. Fried clams at Freddy’s are wan and over-battered; the coleslaw is ho-hum.

Now, down to business.

Freddy’s lobster roll is chunky and plentiful, but includes pasty claw tips. Its dressing is lightly and pleasantly creamy, but has strips of lemon zest in it. Some people may appreciate that, but I do not. I want to taste lobster, not lemon. On the roll at Tackle Box, the lobster meat is less generous and more shredded, with a dark pink appearance and seemingly little dressing.

The overall effect is not great, and the bun would benefit from a nice buttery toasting, as one finds with the still superior and utterly sublime roll to be found at Hank’s Oyster Bar Dupont Circle, worth every penny at $23. On a subsequent visit to Tackle Box, a more comprehensive sweep of the menu takes place.

The joint is jumping, with a bar packed with 20-somethings, tables full of neighborhood folk of all ages, and people lining up to place orders and take one of the 180 seats—120 downstairs and 60 upstairs, which offers a quieter environment. We start with a mammoth raw-bar platter of 24 oysters and 12 clams on the half shell, eight giant shrimp and half a chilled, poached lobster served with lemon-garlic aioli, cocktail sauce and tartar sauce. At happy hour (3 p.m.−7 p.m. and 10 p.m.–close, Monday−Friday), that platter costs about $55, a bargain. We manage to down orders of lightly floured and well-seasoned haddock and clam strips.

I love that Tackle Box offers a wide variety of vegetables, such as grilled broccoli, zucchini, corn on the cob, asparagus and fried green tomatoes, as well as a lightly mayonnaisey and celery-seed-speckled slaw. I’m saving the steamer clams and blueberry pie for a subsequent visit.