Muntean’s Soups: A liquid force

Muntean’s Soups is never a mundane place—in fact, it borders on the manic as the bearlike proprietor, George Muntean exuberantly invites all within earshot—this can be as far away as outside walking along J Street between 12th and 13th streets—to sample an oversized plastic thimble featuring one of his homemade soups.

“Here, try this,” he says to a passerby. “Meat or vegetable? Some more? Here you go.”

Saying “no” is not an answer Muntean seems to hear. After all, his is an exceptionally eclectic mix of soups and, he figures, the more samples the more customers.

The menu has global appeal. Wednesday features Greek soups. Thursday there are Hungarian-inspired creations as part of the equation, and on another day, the offerings include Romanian—the RoMulligatoni, for example.

Muntean’s culinary caprice seems to be a guiding force. There is seafood bouillabaisse and a cream of spinach. Beef Acapulco that kicks, as well as a buttery mushroom. Romanian beef. There is a sweet and spicy offering as well as Chinese chicken soup, barley and artichoke creation, beef stew and a lentil. There is also a Supa de Varza—cabbage paired mainly with red bell pepper and carrot chunks.

Other offerings include two types of minestrone, pumpkin and leeks soups, chicken enchilada and a French onion with parmesan—certainly not the traditional cheese of choice—that’s heavy on the bread cubes and light on the onion.

So fluid is the dizzying rotation of options, that soup choices aren’t even listed on the restaurant’s take-out menu—despite receiving top billing on its cover.

A recent overcast day catches Muntean’s “unprepared,” as Madame Terezia Muntean tells a customer with arid understatement. The chill creates an unbridled run on soup akin to the bank panic of the Great Depression and shortly after 1 p.m., all that’s left is a spicy tomato vegetable and what looks like a potato “bruree”—a town in Ireland—but that could also just be poor penmanship for “puree.”

Despite the soup setback, Muntean still works the angles: “I have a good meal: vegetarian meal, no meat,” he stresses to a customer eyeing the scant soup options.

The ambience makes Sparta seem Rococo, although a pleasant lunch hour can be consumed simply reading the various posted photocopies of additional menu items such as the turkey berry sandwich on whole wheat, or the Castroville which features Havarti cheese, turkey and artichoke-heart mayo on focaccia bread that the menu claims is Romanian.

There is also a chicken club sandwich consisting of chicken salad, cheddar and bacon on a croissant. There’s also a veggie garden burger and approximately 13 salads, which, like the 17 sandwiches and beef or chicken gyros cluster along the $7-plus to $9-and-change spectrum. With a soda—skip the odd-tasting Cascal with its “grown-up taste” of fermented juices—you’re out the door for less than $12.

The sign on J Street notes that the sandwiches are grilled. After the aforementioned grilling, the tuna on sourdough is less than 1-inch thick but benefits, as nearly all dishes do, from the cheerful inclusion of some red onion.

Muntean’s history is rich. Denizens of the nearby Esquire office building, ranging from political operatives to powerful special-interest chiselers make Muntean’s a weekly ritual. They do so mainly for the soup.

George Muntean is no stranger to soup, salad or sandwiches. He was the force behind the pioneering Hannibal’s downtown, which once offered combinations thereof before he lost his lease and took his action to Roseville. Now the restaurant owner is back downtown and, not to put too fine a point on it, but people come here for the soup and Muntean’s ebullience.

The sandwiches are not nearly as inspired and would benefit from some additional Muntean culinary TLC or a dash of the long-time artistry practiced at Pennisi’s Deli up the street.

Nonetheless, the place is crazy with character—both in the vats and behind them.