Chopsmith — Restaurant in Washington

Ode to Chopsmith: A Culinary Opera in NoMa

Oh Chopsmith! Blade-wielding temple of char, Where meats meet their maker and salads aren't spared. You sizzle with the fury of ten thousand skillets, While tofu trembles beside brisket with swagger.

“It’s RAW!”—Gordon thunders from spectral realms, Yet not here—not in your flame-kissed domain. Here, proteins are baptized in searing perfection, And even a chicken breast earns redemption.

NoMa, you once were just a whisper on the map, A bureaucrat’s backlot, half latte, half longing. Now? You erupt with flavors like a jazz band drunk on harissa, A mosaic of spice and struggle, pan-seared and plated.

In your alleyways, ghost kitchens howl to the moon, Slinging bánh mì at 3 a.m. like confessions. Your breweries birth stouts blacker than DC winters, And food trucks roll like war drums into battle.

“Good food is honest. It tells the truth,” Bourdain would mutter over a bourbon at dusk. And Chopsmith, in your open kitchen cathedral, You sermonize with sauces and parables of fire.

You don't serve food—you sculpt it from hunger. You don’t plate—you perform. Each dish is a punch to the cynic’s gut: A Cobb salad that laughs in the face of sadness. A pulled pork sandwich that would make a monk swear.

Yet beware! “You put the lamb in a BLENDER?!” Gordon’s ghost would scream at lesser mortals. But not here—not at Chopsmith. You revere the beast, honor the grain, And let nothing die in vain—except blandness.

You are the reason NoMa matters, A smoky heartbeat under the Metro’s grind. A neighborhood reborn in duck fat and bone marrow. You’ve given DC not just another restaurant— But a reason to believe in lunch again.

So here’s to you, Chopsmith: May your knives stay sharp, your waitlist long, And may the gods of flavor always curse your rivals With underseasoned eggs...

I can assure you that if a new restaurant opens up and violates health code nobody should eat there. After eating there a few times I was recently discussed by watching the behavior of what's going on. I watched the barista drink out of one of their cups that they mixed drinks in and then just simply rinse it with water and put it back in rotation. On that same day I watched as either condensation or water from a pipe was dripping onto a wet floor sign when they could have simply put a bucket under it. The dripping water was causing a safety risk for people. The same time somebody who seems to be related to one of the employees had a toddler there who was handling all of the chip packages and on occasion throwing one onto the floor. The mother of this child which is pick them up and put them back in the little baskets that are stupidly left at young kid height.

I emailed this restaurant chain through their contact us site on their web page and never heard a word back.

If they don't respect their customers enough to communicate with them or fix a problem like this they don't deserve anybody's business especially if the barista is going to be...

Let's take a moment to appreciate the Chimichurri steak I just devoured! This meal was absolutely delicious! The steak was perfectly paired with avocado, roasted corn, potatoes, Caesar salad, and the dressing added an extra burst of flavor!

Now that we've covered the main event, let me introduce you to Chopsmith, nestled in the NoMa District of Washington DC. During my visit, I stumbled upon this delightful deli-style restaurant, offering the perfect balance of flavors.

Aside from the Chimichurri, I also indulged in the buffalo chicken sandwich, opting for the combo with hot and tasty fries, along with a refreshing fresh kale tropical drink.

Ordering food at the kiosk is very user-friendly, and there's also a cashier available to assist if needed. The meals are freshly made to order, and I couldn't find any complaints with the preparation of my meal.

Even though I didn't dine in, the ambiance of this place is wonderfully warm and inviting, making it perfect for meeting up with friends, enjoying some solo time, or even just taking a...