The Best Meal in Washington Right Now Is at Moon Rabbit—Here’s Why
$$$$ | ★★★★★
Article and photos by Eric Barton | June 2, 2025
AUTHOR BIO: Eric Barton is editor of The Adventurist and a freelance journalist who splits his time between Asheville and Miami. He has reviewed restaurants for more than two decades. Email him here.
I was in Washington to update our list of the city's best restaurants, which is like trying to rank the best embassies based on the quality of their hors d’oeuvres. You could spend a week here eating only excellent food and still leave 10 good meals on the table. But even in that kind of company, Moon Rabbit stood out—by far the best meal of my trip, and one of the most thrilling I’ve had in any city this year.
The restaurant now occupies a sleek new space in downtown D.C., and the room itself feels like a quiet act of restraint. Pale wood, uncluttered tables, and light fixtures that seem to bloom from the ceiling above. The show here isn’t the décor, it’s the conviction. The staff moves with a kind of hushed joy, knowledgeable without pretense, each server seemingly invested in your delight. They don’t just want you to like what you ordered—they’re pulling for it.
Cá hổ phách thô
My wife and I chose “A Chef’s Visit to Vietnam,” a five-course tasting menu that clocks in at $85 per person—shockingly low given the ambition and finesse of what followed. Chef Kevin Tien has always tapped into his Vietnamese heritage as both compass and canvas, and here he’s created something personal, deeply creative, and quietly moving.
We started with bắp cải, a charred cabbage dish built around a sesame eggplant purée so silken it nearly slides off the spoon. Mushroom conserva adds earth, while mắm tôm—fermented shrimp paste—brings just enough funk to make your palate sit up straight.
Bắp cải
Next came canh chua, a roasted black cod resting in a tomato-tamarind broth that managed to be both tart and comforting. A celery root soubise lent depth, and charred gailan added the kind of vegetal bitterness that makes the whole thing hum.
Canh chua
Dầu ớt sate
The món mặn featured wagyu beef served with perilla leaves, labneh, fermented honey, and pickled shallots—a dish that could have collapsed under its own ambition but instead felt like a tightly edited short story. Every bite a new paragraph.
The dầu ớt was really two dishes in one, the rich and herby three-day-ferment focaccia on top good enough to eat by itself, then below heirloom scarlet runner beans with tofu massaged to stand in the place of stracciatella, the tofu skin like the exterior of pulled cheese, all creamy and gooey, as good as the real thing.
Bánh rán
Then came bánh Rán, sticky rice encasing freshwater eel, anchored by chili jam and Vietnamese pickles. It had all the crackle and chew of street food, but with the layered precision of a chef who knows how to turn nostalgia into art.
Cả Ri
Dessert came in threes, and none of them blinked. Cả Ri paired green curry sponge cake with soursop mousse, avocado sorbet, and a fish sauce caramel that was all salt and shadow. Bữa sáng gave us coconut in every form: panna cotta, crème, granita, and crumble. Sầu riêng dared us with durian mousse, but the passion fruit granita and dill gave it a kind of lightness that turned skepticism into pleasure.
Bữa sáng
Drinks were just as cerebral. I opened with a martini made from vodka fat-washed in beef broth—like sipping from the world’s most elegant bowl of pho. Later, a rye old fashioned washed in rice arrived with the kind of earthy balance you get from a record played at just the right speed.
Bánh nghệ
What makes a great meal isn’t just the quality—it’s the surprise. At Moon Rabbit, surprise arrives course after course, beginning with the fluffy bánh nghệ bread with tomato umai butter and continuing through ever dish, deeply flavored with things you might not expect to love but absolutely will. That’s the gift of a chef with a voice. You don’t just taste his food. You listen.
