Darko Zagar

Chef de cuisine Robert Gadsby (left) and Chef Robert Wiedmaier at Mussel Bar in Bethesda.

Fall & Winter Dining in D.C.: Great European Cuisine

We know the story: Between the bills for that lovely summer vacation you haven’t yet paid off and the seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time gifts you just splurged on, the coffers are running low. Well, not to worry—there’s still good news for you.

Put those thoughts of costly trips behind you and get ready to embark on a trip to Europe for the holidays in some of Washington’s zippiest eateries. But leave the passport behind—all you need is a dinner reservation to take you to Spain, Belgium, France and beyond.

Two revered chefs, Yannick Cam and Robert Wiedmaier, both longtime veterans of the D.C. culinary scene, opened restaurants in Bethesda, Md., this year. And though their establishments, Bistro Provence (4933 Fairmont Ave., Bethesda; 301/656-7373; $85 per person, all inclusive) and Mussel Bar by Robert Wiedmaier (7262 Woodmont Ave., Bethesda; 301/215-7817; $65 per person, all inclusive) are only blocks away from each other, they are in many ways worlds apart.

It’s really a tale of two people, similar but divergent. Wiedmaier grew up in Europe (his father is Belgian, his mother American) and learned his craft in Holland. Cam, who is French, apprenticed at the famed Lasserre in Paris. Both chefs wound up in the Washington area. Their paths crossed in the late ’80s at Le Pavillon, a D.C. bastion of ultra-chic French refinement that closed in 1990. From there, Cam stuck to his French guns. He opened and closed Provence on Pennsylvania Avenue (taken over, ironically, by Wiedmaier’s still-open Marcel’s), then opened the fancy but quaint Le Paradou, which fell prey to the economic downturn and Cam’s stubborn refusal to deviate from his high-toned French repertoire.

Wiedmaier, conversely, embraced new trends. The cooking at Marcel’s remained upscale but current (hamachi crudo with grapefruit; Saint Pierre with purple cauliflower), while Wiedmaier forged a new frontier at 11th and K by opening the instant smash hit Brasserie Beck, a casual ode to his Belgian roots, and branched into Virginia with Brabo and The Tasting Room, which features wood-fired flatbreads, charcuterie platters and light fare.

Now, back to Bethesda Row. The joint is jumping at Mussel Bar, even at 5:30. Young singles and well-heeled Bethesda middle-agers commingle three-deep at the bar ordering Chimay ales or martinis while waiting for a coveted, unclothed table.

Guests feast on large casseroles filled with steamed mussels (including Thai with green curry; Provencales with tomatoes, garlic and capers; grilled pineapple with chili garlic sauce; and miso with wakame seaweed and marinated tofu) and cornets of fries to be dipped in mayonnaise.

Spinach salad with caramelized shallots, blue cheese and Nicoise olives or Belgian endive with walnuts, pears and Stilton are good ways to start here, provided you bolster the order with a thin-crisped, wood-fired tart of mushrooms, bacon, Gruyere cheese and arugula or pork belly and mussels. Also include a chunky Maine lobster roll, if for no other reason than to enjoy the sugar-crunchy sweet potato fries that accompany it. Wiedmaier caught on to formulas that work, and he plans to take his brand to Baltimore and beyond. He certainly has the mussel.

Cam opened Bistro Provence last May, and while he may call it a bistro, it’s fair to say that he’s just not able to make a pig’s ear out of a silk purse. The place is a jewel-like space set back from the street, like one of those lovely secret finds that exist in every Paris neighborhood.

Table linens are crisp and white; lush wood, wrought-iron and marble details figure prominently in the small dining room that also houses the open kitchen, where Cam and his trim, diligent cooks silently work magic in shiny copper pots.

The food is elegant and staid. Asparagus with poached egg, chicory and bacon is a delightful version of a frisee au lardons salad. Manicured lobster claw and tail meat line up on buttery, dark French lentils. Grilled salmon with ratatouille may sound simple, but the vegetables have been carved and cut with sleight of hand, the fish cooked to custardy perfection. Roast chicken becomes noble atop polenta so creamy and rich it could do double duty as dessert if a tuile replaced its Parmesan crust. Duck confit and hanger steak with shallots and red wine sauce round out the masterfully rendered but predictable menu.

Desserts reflect bygone tastes (chocolate mousses, molten cake, crème brûlée), but the caramelized crepe with passion fruit sauce and almond cream is worth the remembrance of things past.

Before he opened Penn Quarter’s Proof, lawyer-turned-restaurateur Mark Kuller did the research. He foraged his way through the best restaurants in the country, saw what made them tick and then put together a stellar team to bring his dream to life. For his latest venture, he took chef Haidar Karoum and headed to sunny Spain, where they hammed it up and absorbed more than their share of local color.

The fruits of their labor are evident at Estadio (1520 14th St., NW; 202/319-1404; $60 per person, all inclusive), Kuller’s Logan Circle tapas-style emporium, where Aragon meets tarragon. He got the look down to a tilde: antique Spanish tiles, wrought-iron chandeliers, poured-concrete bar, intricate filigree wall panels, Iberico hams dangling overhead, a charcuterie station and an open kitchen, where a team of workers turns out small plates.

Estadio is absolutely a great place to hang out and nosh, but if you work the menu right, you can put together an actual meal. By all means, start with a frozen slushito; the one with strawberry, campari and gin goes down almost too easily. If you’re more adventurous, order a porron, a glass pitcher with a pointed spout, from which you stream boozy concoctions directly into your mouth.

I’d begin with bite-sized pintxos of manchego, chorizo and quince or figs stuffed with jamón and Cabrales cheese, along with bruschetta-like tomato toasts or bocadillos (mini-sandwiches) with blood sausage or chorizo and Idiazabal cheese. Then hit the egg-and-potato tortilla and an arugula salad with boquerones and eggs.

Among the larger (but not entree-sized) plates, the scallops with roasted cauliflower, sherry-glazed halibut with romesco, and sweetbreads with tomatoes, bacon and green beans are smart choices. But the clear winner is the quince duck breast, its skin perfectly rendered and crisped.

Almond-and-citrus cake makes a fine dessert, but I’d rather stave off trudging back into slush by downing another slushito or two.

It’s been about five years since chef Johnny Monis decided to make his Dupont Circle restaurant smaller and concentrate on fixed-price dinner options, but the formula is clearly working. If there are words in the English language better than “I got a reservation at Komi” (1509 17th St., NW; 202/332-9200; $200 per person, all inclusive), they would be, “No need for menus; the chef said he’s just going to cook for you tonight.”

Komi’s 38-seat dining room, with its simple, country-chic décor and sparsely decorated goldenrod walls, is a perfect place for a quiet, special-occasion meal. (Just ask President Obama and the first lady.)

What makes Monis’ food shine all the more is the seamless service. No stations here; the entire staff waits on every table with dexterous and knowledgeable diplomatic aplomb. The meal will take three to four hours, but minutes pass like seconds, especially with the help of steamed brioche and caviar amuse-bouches and glasses of sparkling Greek Moschofilero to get things started. Then perhaps a trio of sashimi (amberjack, Hawaiian yellowtail, red sea bream) followed by a carpaccio of sea scallop with shavings of Australian black truffle and whole spot prawns baked in salt crust, their heads poking out as if from a blanket.

Soon it all becomes a blur: the signature Medjool dates stuffed with warm mascarpone; the clever riffs on spanakopita and a half-smoke; handcrafted tagliatelle and wispy stuffed raviolis.

Just when you think you’re done, and done in, out come plates of crackling suckling pig and spit-roasted goat leg accompanied by just-baked crusty pita breads and a stunning array of condiments. You know you’re full, but you somehow keep going, managing a few bites of creamy La Tur cheese, a butter-drenched salted caramel and a few spoonfuls of frozen baklava.

Don’t be surprised if a plate of warm sugared donuts shows up while your coffee is being made. The check comes with a lollipop, but no matter the price of the meal, you leave knowing you’re no sucker.

Over the years, red-sauce Italian restaurants—you know, the kind of place where you can get a good chicken parm and a teeming plate of veal scallopine—have disappeared from Washington’s culinary vista, so the arrival of Carmine’s (425 7th St., NW; 202/737-7770; $65 per person, all inclusive) was met with open arms … and waistbands.

The restaurant, which originated in New York, opened in Penn Quarter late last summer and has been filling the cavernous space ever since. (At 700 seats and more than 20,000 square feet, Carmine’s is now the largest restaurant in Washington.) The space is fairly nondescript: light yellow walls, multiple rooms that can easily be cordoned off for private parties, whimsically different chandeliers purchased from Costco, which the owners boast as a testament to their lack of airs. It’s the perfect place to get together with large groups of people—say, two families in town for the holidays—who are looking for something solid, dependable and in no way esoteric.

The menu is written on billboards interspersed throughout the restaurant, and staff members make cheerful recommendations, emphasizing that the large portions are served family-style and that four dishes are enough for six. (True.)

Steamed mussels or clams heavily accented with garlic slices, an enormous salad peppered with little cubes of mortadella, salami and provolone, a platter of fried calamari and a “side” order (for Fred Flintstone, maybe) tower of tender, cheesy eggplant Parmesan more than sufficed for six people.

Red sauces, robust and flavorful, are made in-house rather than shipped from a commissary, so anything prepared with them is solid. Perfectly al dente rigatoni with toothsome bresaola-stuffed braised pork, baseball-sized meatballs and fennel-laced sausage are stupendous; chicken parm, veal scallopine with butter and lemon, and piquant shrimp Fra diavolo (spicy sauce) complement them abundantly and beautifully. Wine prices are reasonable, with ample selections in the $30 range.

If you have room for dessert, you’ve done something wrong; nevertheless, the Vesuvius of strawberry shortcake will easily fill in the gaps. If it’s your birthday and you’re the shy type, keep it a secret, lest you enjoy very public serenading.