By Eve Zibart Washington Post Staff Writer Friday, June 22, 2001 For more than 20 years, the Olney Ale House has been a hospitable hangout for all sorts of Montgomery Countians: theatergoers (it's across the highway from the recently expanded Olney Theatre Center), Sunday drivers (and motorbikers), aging company athletes, multi-generational gatherings and pre-nouvelle natural food types who seemed willing to live solely on loaves of hot oatmeal-molasses bread and sharp cheddar cheese spread. Along with the old-fashioned vegetable soup and beef stew, that bread got hundreds of homesick newcomers through their first winters, first communal houses, first jobs and first pregnancies. But Olney itself is scarcely the pastoral weekend route it used to be ? the way to the Ale House is nearly mall-to-mall these days, and the wishbone intersection that bounds it has expanded by several lanes ? and new owner John Roach, who formerly owned Bethesda's Malarkey's, is hoping to take more lucrative advantage of the influx of semi-suburbanites and new development dwellers with pickier palates while still maintaining the easy-going tavern atmosphere. He's done well by the atmosphere, for sure. One of the bathrooms has been made wheelchair-accessible, and the whole tavern has been cleaned up and brightened up in little but appreciable ways. The patio, a favorite summer stop, now has a canopy, new tables and surround-seating benches, even its own bar (bringing to an end the era of the pass-through window). The gas fireplace in the bar doesn't work but the one in the main dining room does. And the old menu cover, which featured a drawing that captured the comfortably aged look of the exterior, has been replaced by one that salutes the tradition with a pleasantly Punch-y pastoral sketch. The beer list is still good and international but with about a half-dozen additional taps available; the wine list isn't lengthy but has some fairly nice options. More crucially, the menu has been upscaled, with wriggle room: There are steaks on the menu these days and a "chop du jour" ? barbecued pork chop one night, a slightly tangier version designated the "southwestern barbecued" chop several other nights (and according to a staff joke, the "du jour every jour"). There are several vegetarian sandwiches, as there always were, including Boca burgers and the seriously attractive Jose's Sombrero, a grilled portobello with grilled onions, melted Swiss and red pepper coulis on the molasses bread; plus a fancier entree called the "eggplant stack" clearly meant to fit into the currently trendy napoleon class. But while Roach has done well by most of the structure, the cooking is a work in progress. These are not the kind of steaks you'd save your protein points for. The 12-ounce strip is the one-inch thick chain steakhouse type, untrimmed of fat and gristle and innocent of salt or pepper. The eggplant dish isn't quite a dish but an incohesive layering of eggplant slices, tomato, red onion and a smattering of corn kernels that can't really be called a sauce or a relish. Mixed vegetables are respectfully crisp-parboiled but other than that entirely in their natural state. One chilly night, of the two appetizers, one was lukewarm and the other luke-er but passable. The entrees, a bowl of stew and the eggplant, both arrived cold and were sent back for reheating; the stew was returned mildly warmer, the vegetables were unchanged. All of which might be excused as the fallout of a whirlwind night, but some weeks later the exact same scenario played out: A cold dish of the supposedly hot spinach artichoke dip was sent back and within seconds either the same bowl or an indistinguishably cold bowl of glop was placed on the table. "We don't have a microwave," said the manager cheerfully, which is great in theory but a nicety that this particular kitchen may not be able to afford. (The problem has since been made moot, if not resolved, by the dip's vanishing from the menu.) Frying is actually a strong point here, although to my taste the batters are a bit thin and "settled." The fish 'n' chips go fast and so does the fried catfish (which as a southerner I don't take lightly). The French fries are sort of double-fried, with a near-batter of their own, and when really hot, they're really hot. Sandwiches are a good bet, and the swordfish club, if it had just a bit more swordfish, would be gold. The vinegar-tangy rather than sweet-tomatoey Buffalo wings are also a nice surprise, as is the good-if-understuffed quesadilla with fresh salsa. The beef stew isn't quite as satisfying as it used to be: As nearly all-meat as stew can be, and long-cooked to the desirable shredding point, it's ultimately a little too meat-intensive ? the final result misses out on the variety of flavor and texture a few more veggies and more imaginative seasoning would provide. The molasses bread too often shows up either underdone and damp, or cold and a little dry; but in any case both the cheese and veggie spreads have vanished into history. The good news is, warm weather will ameliorate some of the problems by playing to the Ale House's strengths, and practice will probably solve others. Those of us who still love the old place will just have to have faith.
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