Sometimes returning to a favorite restaurant after a long absence is like being reunited with an old friend. Fond memories are stirred, new appreciations blossom, and one marvels at the soulful consistencies that have managed to endure. Other times, the reunion is more like getting together with an ex-girlfriend – less happy memories and madeleines, and more befuddlement, bathos, and barely lukewarm oxtail pavé. Such was the case when I returned to Diva at the Met last week, a place I had always considered if not notable, then at the very least reliable.
A cut well above your average, overpriced hotel restaurant. It was where, about once every month, my friends and I would gather for burgers and chocolate bars. More to the point, Diva’s signature DC Burger, a home made patty topped with braised short rib, wild mushroom ragout, foie gras, and white truffle oil, and the Thomas Haas-designed chocolate dessert.
Unfortunately, on my last visit, I made the mistake of going off-book. I started with the roasted purple garlic velouté which looked fabulous on paper (scallion purée, sunchoke, crispy rice) but turned out be a harsh and heavy-handed mishap. Two of my friends ordered the Dungeness crab salad with hass avocado and hearts of palm which proved beautiful to look at yet disappointingly bland in flavor.
While my friends went the burger route and were not disappointed. I was served a potato and braised oxtail cauliflower pavé served atop a bed of white beans, a dish that had clearly been left sitting, forlorn, while my fellow diner’s plates were prepared. It was dry and barely lukewarm. The accompaniments skirted the fine line between “sides” and “garnish”, a slice of mushroom, two thin slices of an asparagus tip, two slender green beans, and a lone cipollini onion. Now I’m usually not one to argue price point as I don’t mind paying a little more for quality ingredients, but you’d think that for $42, they’d have thrown in the entire asparagus.
Service was frustrating. Even though the dining area was less than a quarter full, our waiter was MIA through most of our meal. At one point, I had to actually flag him down and ask him to clear our plates. When he proved bewilderingly reluctant to swing by and take our dessert orders in a timely manner, we elected to just grab the bill and go.
In the end, a far from happy culinary reunion. Unless you’re ordering that specialty burger, Diva at the Met is little more than your average, overpriced hotel restaurant.
