Rye Bunny Masters the Art of Comfort Food

I am not an anchovy lover, and few traits make me feel less cool, at least at Alison Roman–themed dinner parties or the bar at 2 Amys. The thing about reviewing restaurants, though, is that what a critic personally likes or is naturally averse to doesn’t really matter. So one of the first things I tried at Adams Morgan’s Rye Bunny, which Jill Tyler and Jon Sybert opened in April, was Sybert’s anchovy toast.

To Sybert, anchovies and bread are “just about the most comforting thing in the world.” His lightly toasted spears of perfectly pillowy milk bread, slathered with blood-orange jam and intimidatingly draped with a long slender fish, were, in his hands, as harmonious as a Fleet Foxes ballad. Somehow, I now see what he means.

Tiny sandwiches and toasts and other opening snacks were a particular strength of Sybert’s at Tail Up Goat, the beloved Mediterranean-ish dining room the couple ran for ten years in the same space as Rye Bunny. But the similarities between the two places largely end there. Tail Up Goat served a tasting menu. At Rye Bunny, you stand in line and order at a counter, then pick a place to sit and plant your table number. Prices are gentler (yay for $12 wines by the glass), and Sybert’s cooking feels more nostalgic.

Frico, another few-bites snack, is a throwback to the chef’s early days (“180 years ago”) cooking with Italians, who taught him to make the wonderfully lacy and crisp pancake of Kennebec potatoes and Italian cow’s-milk cheese. Sybert tops it with crème fraîche and optional but necessary trout roe.

I loved a croquette made from cornmeal and the trimmings from the Autumn Olive Farms pork he serves as a larger tenderloin. (The croquette is better.) It’s swiped with peppy rhubarb mayo and, surprisingly, winds up tasting like a very delicious clams casino.

The most expensive plate on the menu, a $46 spice-rubbed strip steak from Maryland’s Roseda Farms, is sided with fancy tater tots and a riff on French onion dip. “I don’t have many childhood food memories,” Sybert says, “but as a Midwestern family, we always had chips and dip.” He adds some housemade A1, too. The dreamy chocolate angel-food cake is an homage to the one his mom always makes.

Sybert changed the menu at Tail Up Goat constantly. (I still think about the lamb ribs I obsessed over in 2016. They never came back.) Here, he’ll keep a few menu staples around, like the fabulous fried chicken, a boneless thigh soaked in buttermilk, made golden and crunchy, and accented with chili jam, aleppo-pepper-spiced honey, creamy black-garlic toum, and a fistful of dill.

So what shouldn’t you get here? Some pastas, while made in-house and technically on-point, have been uncharacteristically flat-tasting. And a few of the vegetarian-friendly plates, such as a toss of cucumber with honey and labneh, or a salad of beets and berries, or a smoky maitake mushroom, aren’t disappointing exactly but aren’t as memorable.

The revamped space is just as notable as the food. It’s an analog dream—a little Ballerina Farm, a little flea market, and a lot cozy. Vintage quilts decorate the walls, and their patterns are mimicked in the stained-glass transom and jewel-toned floor tiles. The room gets its amber glow from string lights and hanging paper globe lamps pressed with wildflowers. Each table features a short candlestick—the kind Laura Ingalls Wilder might have carried through an ink-black hallway. Matchbooks sport the faces of the couple’s two dogs, after whom the restaurant is named. Spend an hour here and you might forget ChatGPT and Candy Crush exist at all.

Tyler’s warm and welcoming style of service, which she’s been honing since she started working in restaurants at 15, complements the room beautifully: “We want people to feel seen.” The three things Tyler looks for when hiring servers are people who are “kind, curious, and quick-witted”—the couple held onto 19 employees from Tail Up Goat. Every server I had here fit that bill. (“Tradesies?” one said as we exchanged an empty wineglass for a full one. “Is that dress from Quince?” asked another.) At the same time, you’ll have your napkin whisked away and replaced the moment you head off to the bathroom, and be given fresh plates and silverware no fewer than three times.

One thing I’m resistant to—even more than anchovies—is a no-reservations hot spot with a line. Like Maru San and Eebee’s, that’s the deal at Rye Bunny, which is, for now, relatively easy to get into if you arrive early. But at least here, Tyler and her team make waiting around pleasant, taking martini orders and delivering the occasional snack. Another nice touch, once you’ve nabbed a table: You’re encouraged to hang out and linger for a while. Good thing, because you may never want to leave.

Rye Bunny

Open Monday through Saturday for dinner.

Neighborhood: Adams Morgan.

Dress: Not jeans-shorts casual, but casual.

Best dishes: Anchovy toast; frico; pork croquette; halibut with asparagus; steak; fried chicken; chocolate angel-food cake; cardamom crème brûlée.

Price range: Share plates $12 to $46.

Bottom line: Jill Tyler and Jon Sybert’s sophomore restaurant is as cozy and charming as it is delicious.

This article appears in the July 2026 issue of Washingtonian.

Ann Limpert

Executive Food Editor/Critic

Ann Limpert joined Washingtonian in late 2003. She was previously an editorial assistant at Entertainment Weekly and a cook in New York restaurant kitchens, and she is a graduate of the Institute of Culinary Education. She lives in Petworth.