When the ballyhooed restaurant with the youthful chef and the $500-per person tasting menu unexpectedly closed after less than three months, the second question foodies asked themselves after "Where will Kwame Onwuachi go?" was "What's going to follow Shaw Bijou?"
Answer No. 1: Onwuachi recently announced plans to join the InterContinental hotel at the Wharf this year.
Answer No. 2: French Quarter Brasserie, a branch of the original restaurant of the same name in Fairfax. The three owners of the New Orleans-themed eatery removed the fancy chairs and tables from the space they took over, but otherwise, they didn't do much more to the two-story, 99-seat interior than hang some antique window frames on the walls and start playing Dixieland jazz. Shaw Bijou was open such a short time, says co-owner Joseph Crosswhite, he and his business partners figured the setting would be fresh to patrons of French Quarter Brasserie.
Cooking aromas greet customers near the entrance. Good sign. Less impressive is the time it takes for the bar to deliver on its drinks, no matter if you’re in the lounge upstairs or the dining room on the main floor. The restaurant draws some of its signature aged cocktails from bourbon barrels that make for odd, oaky tasting Sazeracs and Negronis. If you want a traditional cocktail, be sure to specify.
Let the servers know you want to see your appetizers before your entrees, too. Twice, I’ve had both courses delivered simultaneously. As well-meaning as they appear to be, the waiters appear as green as grass. “Are you ready to order?” one of them asked, mere seconds after I was handed a menu. “Can I bring you anything else?” the same server asked as I was waiting for The World’s Slowest Drink and after I informed him earlier that I was waiting for my dining companions. (The cloud thought above my head wanted to know if he had a table crumber. My banquette was nubby from a previous occupant’s meal.)
The fragrances wafting from the kitchen do not translate to the kind of food that has made New Orleans a dining mecca. Problems surface in almost every dish. Take the brined, smoked, fried chicken, dry as sawdust when we cut into it. Sharing its plate are decent collard greens and corn bread so sweet and caky, it could be mistaken for dessert. Consider the jambalaya, a clump of red rice dotted with sausage coins with the texture of erasers. Boudin balls shaped with ground pork and rice are seasoned as if in North Dakota rather than Louisiana. Can you compose a meal entirely of fried pickles? The slices here make for zesty entertainment, as do shrimp tossed in remoulade and deep-fried. We fill up on the miniature crawfish pies, set in buttery pastry shells, not so much because we like them but because little else on the table encourages another taste.
The owners, preparing to open a third French Quarter Brasserie in Boulder, Colo., this summer, plan to host jazz, blues and comedy performances in the second-floor dining area of their Washington restaurant. Some of us wish their first priority was coaxing a better performance from the kitchen.
1544 Ninth St. NW. 703-357-1957. frenchquarterbrasserie.com. Entrees, $13 to $35.
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