![]() But the warm welcome (and curry) I love won’t be forgotten, not as long as I’m around.ĭear Georgena’s (AKA The Players Lounge), I truly hope this is all temporary, as all things are. “Temporarily closed,” your Instagram says. I wanted to let you know that I’ll keep coming back as long as I can. I went back a few times when this whole thing started, determined to show my eager face. I used to have anxiety over being the kind of customer to have an eating spot where the staff know my usual order. It was the hearty meals, sushi, and welcoming faces and voices of everyone there. I quit drinking a year ago, but it wasn’t the good pours that kept me coming back. Once I got to know the bartender and the rest of the family-run restaurant, you became the closest thing I had to a second home outside of work. The dish became my go-to comfort for any day too long or challenging. I remember putting on the ‘gram “Best katsu curry I’ve ever had.” That sentiment stayed with me. I went just a few nights after moving in, and I fell in love with your katsu curry. Many Hill staffers from Hawaii, where I came from, told me about Momiji. I used to be a heavy drinker, so I needed to find a place where I’d be just as comfortable alone with the bartender as I would with a group. When I first moved to Washington five years ago, there was one thing I needed to find: a local bar. You have been a good neighbor to me and to the District, and we need you back. I know that Chef Tom laptop is bursting with new recipes, including a savory, steamed murcon from Pampanga and a shredded and stewed bacalao from Cavite. I’m in desperate need of your delicious food set to Paula Abdul’s “Forever Your Girl” playing in the background. Let me also be honest: I am tired of cooking. Your commitment to sharing the colonial past of the Philippines and showcasing the varied regional cuisines present in our thousands of islands provides a gateway for others to learn about the place Filipinos have in American history. ![]() You put the best of Filipino culture on display, and have taught others about the complexity of who we are as a people. Please don’t leave me with Taco Bell Cantina. I love your small outside tables I love how the smell of the food hits you in the face the second you pull the door open and, most of all, I love the mural that proudly announces “this food is 99 percent Mexican.”Įven though I sometimes cheat on you with your sibling down the street, you will always be my favorite. I don’t care that you’re almost always crowded and loud. You love me for me, whether I’m in leggings or coming straight from work. Since then, your food and margaritas have been with me through breakups, hard days at work, hangovers, and too many celebrations to count. I had finally found something to numb the homesickness. I gave up and spent my college career declaring that there was no authentic Mexican food to be found in the District of Columbia. The food was OK, but none of it was Mexican food, not by a long shot. That first year in D.C., I tried restaurant after restaurant. for college, away from my Mexican American mother, my first order of business was finding a place to get Mexican food.
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