Politically Correct

Thomas Jefferson and Don Draper walk into a bar... No, it’s not the setup for a saucy punch line about Swizzle Sticks. It’s the historic-gets-hip vibe of The Federalist, a modern-day public house that seems determined to prove there’s no term limit on cool.

Scanning the menu at the District’s newest homage to heritage cuisine is like paging through Martha Washington’s playbook. What’s a “syllabub” and who eats turtle? You’ll soon find out, if chef Harper McClure—making a compelling case for modernized 18th-century mid-Atlantic cuisine—has his way.

The Federalist offers much more than a repository of retro recipes. Just as the District’s craftiest bartenders went pre-Prohibition to conjure cocktail inspiration, chef McClure hit the cookbooks in search of edible artifacts that could play to a contemporary crowd. That’s how turtle soup ended up as his surprisingly excellent starter. Amelia Simmons’ American Cookery—the first cookbook written by a Yankee, published in 1796—sparked McClure’s creamless version, which is similar to beef-barley soup, but gains lightness from a dash of sherry and soul from minced carrots and sweet herbs. A mahogany glow rises from the broth, thick with shredded snapping turtle. Actually, it tastes just like beef—with a snap.

Another savory starter rides a similarly anachronistic wave to transcendent heights. The “oyster roast” is not presented on the half-shell Rockefeller-style as one might expect. Instead, extra-plump Champagne-poached Rappahannock River oysters float in a fragrant creamy broth, thickened with celery, punched with chives and sprinkled with fire-red Basque piment d’espelette. A small soda biscuit island adds toasty texture to a dish that captures some of the practical magic promised in Martha Washington’s Booke of Cookery, a recipe collection that dates to 1749 and served as another of McClure’s sources (and is soon to be on display at Mount Vernon, see Radar Culture).

The Federalist stands as the symbolic new face of the once-glam Madison hotel, purchased a year ago by an Atlanta-based firm. With its culinary references to the agrarian era of James Madison, the hotel appears to be riding a retro-chic wave that has brought instant pedigree to recent District launches like José Andrés’ America Eats Tavern and Plume, the Paris-on-the-Potomac restaurant that serves as The Jefferson hotel’s crown jewel. Taking a cue from that lauded launch, The Federalist’s colonial-meets-swinging-60s character heralds The Madison’s much-anticipated return to glory. Branded bread plates, a menu embossed “1787” (ask Newt Gingrich) and clever paper placemats mark this as one of DC’s most determined spaces.

Those placemats, which encourage diners to “Venerate the Plough,” feature a farmer at work in his field, stalked by a Yankee grain goddess. Chef McClure, who once worked on an organic farm, says that his aim is to “respect local ingredients without messing them up.” He buys from dozens of farms associated with regional cooperatives. His Monticello garden salad features about 15 ingredients, from spicy greens to rainbow radishes. Zippy beef tartare trumpets Amish grass-fed strip loin, house-made pickles and a long hardtack biscuit.

Speaking of hearty—if not heart-healthy—the chef loves his pork belly. Since McClure’s previous gig was helping launch Rogue 24—and that Shaw restaurant’s progression of two dozen death-defying courses—it’s not surprising that his pork belly is a lipid block prepped sous vide, then cider-braised and served atop a pool of creamed savoy cabbage. It’s a gluttonous descent into decadence that leaves you wondering how many Zumba classes will be required to work off each bite. I made it to three before switching to the addictive sweet-sour cabbage. The Founding Fathers didn’t have gym memberships, either.

You might think that chicken is a healthier choice. You would be wrong. A fennel sausage-stuffed roulade of Amish chicken arrives on a pool of butter-bomb Yukon gold potato purée with overly salty baby carrots vainly trying to reduce the guilt. It was an elaborate way to check the chicken box. Colonial dames would not approve. A superior fowl is the sugar-rum-glazed duck leg. Baby beets and a luscious barley risotto elevated a magnificently braised leg under a crisp skin, creating an ideal balance of sweet (from the beets), citric (from an orange jus) and earthy succulence (from the duck) with a lingering hint of vanilla. It’s the thinking man’s steak.

McClure likes to keep his protein portions modest to accentuate their vegetable counterparts. A recent cod preparation featuring the roasted fish atop a brandade cake left me pining for more. His ale-braised beef short rib packed a ludicrous wallop of flavor. And if you order his baked macaroni side, you won’t miss the meat. Housemade pappardelle swims in a cheddar cheese cream with enough cheese to send four people into a lactose high. I asked the chef about his heavy hand with dairy. “Yeah, I think we’ve got the butter down now!” he said, suggesting a potential future reprieve. Time will tell: The Federalist orders up to four cases of butter per week.

The young chef may have picked up this habit over years toiling in the kitchens of Vidalia and Marcel’s. His finesse, however, seems homegrown. McClure’s knife skills, taste and artfully clean plating style help turn dishes that could be humdrum—I’m looking at you, rainbow trout and green bean almondine!—into stylish courses with layered flavors. Even a side of Brussels sprouts gets the star treatment, here seared with jowl bacon and sweet Toigo apples. I ordered this as an appetizer. Who’s to stop you?

And what’s a syllabub, after all? In Tudor times, this rich dessert was made by milking cows directly over a pot of cider or wine. Blending in a dose of sugar produced the world’s first Miracle Whip. The Federalist leaves the live cow out of the equation, and instead tops a dish of riesling-stewed apricots with a mega-dollop of marshmallowy cream. What at first seems quaintly light packs a flavorful, filling punch, creating a dessert dilemma: If you have only one more bite in you, do you dig into the comfort-food-heaven apple crisp with New England-inspired cheddar ice cream? Nibble the rice pudding fritters with cinnamon crème-anglaise? Or go over the top with chocolate cremeux—a velvety pot-de-crème with peanut ice cream? Cream, cream, cream! Dolley Madison would approve.

As we skate into an election year, it’s worth remembering that dining was political long before the current White House vegetable garden took root. The Federalist offers something of an updated heritage manifesto, nourished by “American cookery” traditions, nuanced by modern techniques and based on local ingredients. If this trend continues, just imagine what school lunches will look like in 200 years!

The Federalist
***½
1177 15th St. NW
202.587.2629
thefederalistdc.com

DRINKS
Classic libations often get an overly sweet twist. The Manhattan is made with Lillet Rouge instead of vermouth—that’s just un-American! Stick with the old-fashioned as a drink and rule.

DESIGN
A comfy, clubby tavern, the restaurant has recessed nooks and a swank communal table.

POWER LUNCH
Entrée salads (chicken confit and spinach) and a kick-ass Camembert burger will turn the 20-seat patio into springtime’s hidden gem.