I opted for the latter, which begins with a trio of amuse bouche, including a miniature bass brandade sandwich on crunchy crackers. There are two ways to experience Newland, either as a 4-course pre-fixe for $80 per person or a 6-course chef’s tasting menu for $120 per person (a 22 percent service charge is added to all bills). A bite tastes like a sour cream and onion dip stuffed doughnut. Inside is a clutch of warm sour cream and chive beignets, meant to be split open and filled with caviar, microplaned cured egg yolk, and vanilla curd. The top swings open to rest on the head of a small toy, perhaps a Star Wars figure or a Battle Beasts character (bonus points if you remember the latter I had to Google them). It arrives in a retro metal lunchbox, decorated in themes such as AC/DC, David Bowie, Back to the Future, or Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Born in 1982, Markert frequently looks back to his childhood to inspire the trappings of the dining experience, though his food here is decidedly modern, showcasing progressive flavor combinations and chef-driven techniques.Ī perfect encapsulation of this blend of nostalgic whimsy with forward thinking cuisine is the supplemental caviar service (available with either Hackleback or Ossetra caviar). The truth is much less mythical: It’s the name of the street Markert grew up on. Taking over the former Montmartre space on 7th Street SE, Newland sounds poetic, like a distant shoreline yet to be named on an ancient map. A few doors down from there, he will soon roll out a brick-and-mortar location of Fight Club, his pandemic-era sandwich pop-up that operated out of Beuchert’s. His OG establishment in the neighborhood, Beuchert’s Saloon, is just a couple blocks over on Pennsylvania Avenue SE. Newland is Markert’s latest venture on Capitol Hill.
“It says, ‘We’re here to have fun, and we hope you have fun with us.’” “ adds a whimsical breath of fresh air to fine dining and gives it a not-snobby texture and approach,” says chef Andrew Markert, who opened the restaurant at the beginning of March. It’s all fun and familiar, and not necessarily what you’d expect at an upscale restaurant like Newland, which, of course, is the point. The Outfield’s infectious “Your Love” came on several times the night I visited, and Richard Marx’s treacly power ballad “Right Here Waiting” and The Cure’s heart-on-sleeve machismo takedown “Boys Don’t Cry” also made appearances. At Newland, the soundtrack is all ’80s all the time.
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