11
EZTHE
WASHINGTON
POST
.
FRIDAY,MAY
27, 2022
The standard-issue burger is
named for — who else? — Tom
Hamburger, the investigative
journalist who might want to suss
out what happened to the season-
ing on his patty. The Shirley Pov-
ich fried chicken sandwich is as
tasty as the time the sportswriter
mocked Washington’s all-White
home team by noting that “Jim
Brown, born ineligible to play for
the Redskins, integrated their
end zone three times yesterday.”
The pedestrian Ben Bradlee burg-
er features a Beyond Meat patty,
which must be a cosmic joke on
the legendary editor whose favor-
ite dish was chopped steak at
Nora’s.
The organic lemon-thyme
brick chicken looks the part, its
exterior a succulent shade of gold-
en brown, but the meat suffers
from the same lack of seasoning
that affected the Tom Hamburger.
A similar absent-mindedness
seeps into the Wow Bao dishes,
too: My anemic, possibly freezer-
burned chicken-and-vegetable
pot stickers were served without a
dipping sauce, and my spicy kung
pao chicken bowl had no peanuts
and only trace amounts of the star
protein. I had to content myself
with the Post Pub’s hand-battered
onion rings, as poundable as ever.
As I sat in the pub one after-
noon, talking to bartender Adam
Stinelli about his affection for
George Pelecanos novels, I real-
ized that you can seek shelter in a
dive bar without the assistance of
alcohol. You can get lost in the
people and their stories. This may
take time with the new Post Pub:
Its staff includes no holdovers
from the first incarnation, and its
owner makes infrequent appear-
ances, unlike Beaulieu, who was a
daily presence at his bar.
But as Stinelli explains the law-
less U Street vibe of “The Sweet
Forever” while I sip on ginger ale,
I see perhaps the real purpose of
neighborhood pubs, dives or oth-
erwise: to foster connection with
a fellow traveler, if only for a few
minutes. Alcohol often makes
those connections easier, but it’s
not necessary. And neither is a
space tied to another era. With
luck, the new Post P ub will find its
own audience, one that won’t be
able to live without it in 40 years.them white, which has effectively
stripped the pub of its man-cave
ambiance, circa 197 1. He has even
installed an international beer
can collection on narrow shelves
that circle parts of the dining
room. The cans were collected
over many decades by his father-
in-law, the late Bob Seefeldt, hus-
band to Kathy, a former chair of
the Prince William Board of
County Supervisors.
The new owner has revamped
the menu, too. He’s added an
organic brick chicken, a tuna
steak and kimchi sandwich, and a
Beyond Burger. He’s installed a
Wow Bao ghost kitchen, which
packages pot stickers, bao buns
and bowls for delivery but allows
sit-down diners to order the dish-
es, too. There’s a QR code on the
menu cover, in the space where
you once gazed at an illustration
of a Victorian gentleman posing
with his penny-farthing.
The changes have an odd ef-
fect: The name of the place re-
mains the same, and you can still
feel the presence of old dive-bar
ghosts, smoker’s hack and all,
hovering just beneath the surface
of these efforts to class up the
joint. There’s a tension that re-
mains unresolved with the new
Post Pub. It hangs onto the past
and embraces the future, seem-
ingly unsure of which one is the
best path forward.
I’m sympathetic. One universal
truth to aging, whether person or
place, is that you adapt or die. The
behaviors that worked when you
were young don’t necessarily do
the trick in your later years. The
pandemic killed Beaulieu’s busi-
ness. It d id something different to
me: It killed my desire to drink. I
haven’t had a beer or cocktail
since November 2020, after I re-
covered from covid. My mind
sometimes aches for the free, un-
fettered highs fueled by alcohol,
but my body knows better. I listen
to my body.
I mention this because of a fear
that haunts me as much as any
ghost from dive bars past: that it’s
impossible to enjoy a dive without
booze. This is very meta, but I
wondered not only if I would like
the changes at the Post Pub, but
whether I would like the changes
in myself at the Post Pub. Or
would it all just make me yearn
for a past that’s no longer attain-
able?
As much as I believe a good IPA
pairs well with a burger, its bitter
edge slicing through the grease, I
was more than content with my
Stella Artois Liberté (0 percent
alcohol) to wash down the Len
Hochberg burger, a juicy patty
topped with blue cheese and a
dark mass of sauteed mush-
rooms. It’s worth nothing that
most of the sandwiches here are
named for columnists, editors
and reporters (emphasis on the
sports beat) who once toiled at
The Washington Post.
Casual Dining
If You Go
POST PUB
1422 L St. NW, 202-990-7782;
postpubdc.com.
Hours: 11:30 a.m. to 11 p.m.
Monday through Saturday.
Nearest Metro: Farragut Square
or McPherson Square, with a short
walk to the pub.
Prices: $5.99 to $29 for all items
on the menu.PHOTOS BY DEB LINDSEY FOR THE WASHINGTON POST
ABOVE: Organic lemon-thyme brick chicken with pico de gallo and mashed potatoes. The chicken’s
exterior is a succulent shade of golden brown, but the meat suffers from a lack of seasoning. BELOW:
Benji Porter eats lunch at the Post Pub bar. Most of the sandwiches at the restaurant a re named for
columnists, editors and reporters who once worked at The Washington Post.