Much has been written about the Tabard Inn's restaurant over the years:

2007 Fall Dining Guide
By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Magazine
Sunday, Oct. 14, 2007

** 1/2 (out of four)

Like an old friend, I can always rely on the Tabard to be there for me. In fall and winter, its comfortably worn, fireplace-lit lounge is one of the first places I head for a warm-me-up; in spring and summer, I can count on the brick-walled garden to impress any visitors. A talented parade of chefs has marched through the kitchen over the decades, and the latest, Paul Pelt, follows the inn's long-standing recipe for fresh and contemporary American fare. Pelt's croquettes, sweet with shrimp and nutty with Manchego cheese, whisk me to Spain, though their cayenne-shocked tomato jam is very New World. And his twin barbecue duck sandwiches are both adorable and scrumptious, refreshingly paired with a light slaw of thread-thin shredded jicama, mango and cilantro. There's something to appeal to every hankering on the daily-changing script: short ribs bedded on polenta and ringed with chimichurri, grilled quail that evokes the Caribbean with its peppery jerk spices, a crab cake here and a hanger steak (with bernaise sauce) there. Huw Griffiths's desserts - cappuccino pots de creme, lemon meringue pudding cake, carrot cake lavished with coconut - bring up the rear, and you need to know going in that they are very, very hard to resist. So save space. And bring some cotton balls for your ears, because this decades-old charmer is as clattery as it is cozy.

Tom Sietsema, Washington Post Magazine - February 2004
"Restaurants come and restaurants go, but it seems like Washington will always have the Tabard Inn.

For more than 25 years now, it's been the place many of us head in spring and summer for a chance to dine outdoors, surrounded by a brick wall and abundant greenery. In fall and winter, the destination of choice is one of the many low couches in the lounge, which is as dark as a cave but warmed by a working fireplace. The Tabard Inn reminds me of countless small, chef-owned restaurants in Seattle and Berkeley, Calif., with their focus on keeping things simple and seasonal; at one time, the inn even had its own farm. A parade of chefs have passed through the kitchen over the years, among them Peter Pastan, now of Obelisk; David Craig, of Black's Bar & Kitchen; and David Hagedorn, of David Greggory. In the restaurant's most recent passage, former sous-chef Pedro Matamoros has taken over from chef Andrew Saba, who left for the nearby Jefferson Hotel.

One dish perfectly captures this time of year. Half a dozen oysters, dusted with semolina and fried to a slight crisp, encircle a hash of diced sweet potatoes tossed with bits of bacon, onion and fresh sage. The nice tug between crunch and creaminess, and between savory and sweet notes, is very satisfying, and the dish doesn't need much more embellishment. But the chef adds one more element: a coarse mustard sauce, just a few brush strokes on the plate. A bite of oyster dredged in that robust dip, followed by a forkful of hash, and I'm a happy guy.

On a more virtuous note, there are also oysters on the half shell; subtly sweet and smelling of clean ocean air, they do not need the mignonette that accompanies them. The inn's "classic" Caesar salad is arranged with whole spears of romaine and grated Parmesan cheese, but it lacks the proper punch. There seems to be no lemon or anchovy in the dressing, just a single tiny fish -- a silvery afterthought -- atop the greens. A better way to launch into a meal is with a rustic slice of pork pyty, served with dabs of two different mustards (and a silly, sweet raspberry coulis). Or, if it's offered, try the crab and corn soup, a small treasure of cream, crab and sweet diced vegetables topped with airy croutons.

When does gentle lighting become a flaw rather than an asset in a restaurant? Even if you don't need glasses, you'll probably have to hold the dinner menu close to the votive candle on your table to read the type at the Tabard Inn, which dims its lights to midnight levels. "There's more light outside than in here," a friend cracked -- at 6 o'clock on a recent winter's evening. The darkness not only makes it hard to order, it denies diners the pleasure of seeing their food.

Roasted salmon, grilled steak, seared scallops -- the kitchen trots out the usual upscale restaurant dishes, but often with a neat twist. The scallops, for instance, appear with black fettuccine and a fricassee of mussels. I'm eager to try again the arugula pasta, verdant green ribbons of which are surrounded by a lamb bolognese sauce that is bright with fresh herbs, gently creamy and spiked with some heat in its seasoning. Shavings of cheese on top quickly melt into the dish, enriching everything. It all adds up to a robust winter entree, and moves into loftier territory with a glass of the berry-rich Ballentine zinfandel from the Tabard Inn's intelligent wine list. Lighter, and more elegant, is pan-fried fluke. The delicately flavored fish rests on soft braised fennel, tomatoes and capers -- a jazzy concert with a grace note of lavender. But who knows if those dishes will be around when you visit? The menu changes daily (though a few things, like the hamburger at lunch, always put in an appearance).

Brunch sees a sun-filled room packed with people of all stripes, some deep into their newspapers, others laughing over the previous night's adventures. The choices include a welcome mix of sweets and savories. I'm partial to the poached eggs served with crumbly pork sausage made on the premises -- though not the insipid sauerkraut that also shares the plate. A trencherman might opt for scrambled eggs shored up with a small, soft steak of good flavor that would benefit from a bit of crust (skipping the french fries, which taste as if they had seen better days). The tall crab quiche holds a handful of sweet seafood along with corn, chives and cheese, all in a homey crust, and is accompanied by a glistening hillock of mesclun. A headliner on the brunch menu, six big doughnuts, will cost you six bucks. They're warm and soft, but not so amazing that you need to jump off any Atkins bandwagon you happen to be riding.

Pastry chef Huw Griffiths has been a constant for the past six years at the Tabard Inn, and his work always reminds me that desserts don't need a lot of fireworks to grab your attention. His rendition of that '70s staple carrot cake has just the right proportion of spice to nut to cake to sour cream frosting. And Griffiths's pear tarte Tatin celebrates soft, cassis-flavored fruit and a thin, buttery shell of pastry. The dessert that stands out from the pack, though, is the multilayered dacquoise, from its velvety chocolate top, to its slightly crunchy meringue center, to its dense, nut-veined chocolate base. An elegant dessert, it looks and tastes like something you'd find in a French cafe, rich but not overly so. However, none of the endings need the excessive garnishes -- the tufts of whipped cream, the curly tuiles, the out-of-season berries, the bland sorbets -- that decorate their plates, and take away from the lead performance.

Like the low-ceilinged main dining room, with its black-and-white tile floor and plain tables and chairs, the service at the Tabard Inn veers toward the casual. The bartenders are easy to chat with, and the waiters, a smart bunch, feel free to speak their minds about the menu. "I wouldn't recommend the soup today," one of them told me at lunch. "It's not very good."

Thanks for the candor. It sounds like an old friend talking."

Phyllis Richman , Food Critic, The Washington Post:
“The Tabard Inn makes me crave spring and summer. Also winter, and even damp and chilly fall. As soon as the weather suggests I don't need a coat, the Tabard Inn's brick-walled garden comes to mind. It is a joyful little mingling of masonry, trees, vines and flowers that together turn a meal into a vacation. On the other hand, cold or rainy days allow me to hope for a fire in the Tabard's lounge, so I can sink into a sofa and plan my dinner with drink in hand-- a glass from the restaurant's exceptionally astute wine list, a beer from the chalkboard's plentiful array of microbrews or an oh-so-fashionable single malt scotch. If the weather is just ordinary, it's still nice to sit at the bar and imagine I'm not in a small Washington hotel but somehow in Manhattan, just a few steps from Central Park West.”

Robert Shoffner, food critic The Washingtonian, 1998:
“Over the years, the Tabard Inn has established itself as the power-lunch spot for the politically correct. With the mid-July arrival of chef David Craig, the Tabard Inn shows promise of becoming one of the best tables in a restaurant-rich neighborhood. Craig comes to the kitchen of this small hotel from Pesce on P Street, where his seafood cookery earned him three-star Washingtonian restaurant awards. The hallmark of his style is the pairing of seafood--and now meat and poultry as well--with a ragout or a braise or a roast of vegetables that provides a striking complement to the dishes main ingredient. Thus, a deliciously crisp-crusted filet of pan-seared striped bass is presented over braised cabbage, whose earthiness is emphasized by a ribbon of beet coulis. Similarly, a spare plate of perfectly roasted Cornish hen has its flavor boosted by a few spoonfuls of pearl couscous glazed with stock reduced to a syrup-like consistency. A crisp-skinned confit of duck leg, served over smothered onions and garnished with dollops of fig-and-cherry compote, was exemplary of Craig's technique of layering complementary and contrasting flavors. From the onions to the cherries to the figs, ascending degrees of sweetness serve as a relish for the meat's light gaminess, while the acid of the cherries leavens its richness.”

Washingtonian Post Review - Victor Dvoskin at Tabard Inn