Stephen Starr's Union Market outpost is a deliberate act of restraint in a dining landscape that tends toward elaboration. St. Anselm is an American tavern devoted to grilled meats and the things that make grilled meats worth eating — fire, quality sourcing, unobtrusive technique, and an eclectic wine list that treats the occasion with more seriousness than the room's laid-back Union Market vibe might suggest. The result is one of DC's most satisfying dining experiences precisely because it has no interest in performing for you.
The menu is deceptively simple: proteins sourced with evident care, cooked over the open grill that dominates the kitchen, accompanied by vegetables and sides that earn their place on the plate. The ax-handle ribeye — a theatrical cut priced by the ounce, running from 45 to 65 oz — is the room's centerpiece, and it delivers the case for quality beef more effectively than a dozen more elaborate preparations. But the menu's intelligence extends beyond the obvious cuts: the rack of lamb, the whole fish, the seasonal vegetable preparations that could anchor a meal on their own all reflect a kitchen that is thinking carefully about sourcing and cooking rather than simply executing a formula.
The wine programme is the room's secret weapon. Natural wines and eclectic international producers arrive on tap — a format that encourages exploration by the glass at prices that make the experimentation feel like pleasure rather than research. The service is warm and unpretentious in the way that the Brooklyn original established and the DC outpost has convincingly transplanted. The dining room hums with the energy of a room that has found its register and refuses to leave it.
Most dishes come in under $50; the ax-handle ribeye is the exception. A full dinner with wine for two runs $150–220 — remarkable value for the quality of the protein and the conviviality of the occasion.
Why It Works: Team Dinner
St. Anselm is the best team dinner for the team that has earned a genuine celebration rather than a corporate entertainment. The absence of ceremony is the point: the food is good enough to sustain the entire evening's attention, the room is energetic enough to carry the mood, and the wine list is interesting enough to generate conversation without requiring effort. The ax-handle ribeye arriving at the centre of the table creates a natural moment of collective engagement that manufactured team-building exercises cannot replicate. Everyone leaves having eaten well and having felt, without quite knowing why, that the evening was genuinely relaxed in a way that matters.
Why It Works: Solo Dining
The bar at St. Anselm is one of DC's most pleasant places to eat alone. The wine programme — designed around discovery by the glass — rewards the solo diner who wants to work through three different natural wines with a chop and a vegetable side without the pressure of selecting a bottle. The staff treat solo diners as the ideal guest: someone present for the food and the room rather than the occasion. The energy of the tavern makes solitude feel like a choice rather than a circumstance. Come on a Friday, sit at the bar, and order whatever the sommelier is most excited about that week.
Diner Reviews
Occasion: Team Dinner
We ordered the ax-handle ribeye for the table to share alongside individual dishes. The moment it arrived, the six separate conversations at the table collapsed into one. The wine list is remarkable — our server steered us through three natural wine selections that most of us had never encountered, and the pairings were genuinely illuminating. The meal lasted three hours. Nobody wanted to leave. This is what a team dinner is supposed to feel like.
Occasion: Solo Dining
Sat at the bar on a Tuesday. Ordered a chop, a vegetable side, and let the sommelier guide me through wines by the glass. She brought out four different pours over the course of the meal, explaining each one. I was there for two and a half hours and left feeling like I had learned something. The bar staff here understand that eating alone is a pleasure, not a consolation. This is rare.
