Saturday, May 28, 2016

The Temple of Heaven



It exists. It is here, on U St between 12 and 13. It has been a religion since 1958 and, among other offerings, serves a sweet perfection known as the Classic.



Inside it's loud. Old funk and soul blares--Parliament, Ohio Players--while the counter staff doesn't so much cook as perform a sacred ritual, highly choreographed and unspoken, in service to the half-smoke. Half pork and half beef (no one knows if it's half smoked--that's part of the secret), it's perfect meat in tube form, on a perfect bun, and you should get it with everything: mustard, onions, and chili.



It's the real deal: no beans, magically spicy, and viscous to the point that it holds everything else together with such will power that eating one of these things with one hand and never losing a morsel is easy, the way it should be. I ate two, which is past my legal limit, but they just slide down so nice.

We've done our usual dinner thing, first at Alfie's (good, blazing Issan Thai), then Momofuku (seriously overrated and not great), and Founding Farmers (simple and decent), but here's where it's at. When people have been packing the joint 16-20 hours a day (see their hours) for 60 years, that's all the testimony one needs. 

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