Hot Dish Review

This may be hard to believe. Despite its location five minutes down the street from my condo and the positive media attention since it’s opening eight years ago, I had never visted P’cheen until last weekend. It was already on top of my short list when friend BB, owner of There Brookhaven, stopped by my office with their revamped menu and some gluttonous gossip. Armed with this titillating information, I couldn’t put off a visit another day, so I talked LC into giving it a try that very night.

Having never visited the former incarnation of P’cheen, I can’t compare the decor before and after, but the space was casual and funky, with bamboo shades and copper trimmings adding warmth. Music was too loud initially, although our late arrival (around 9:30pm) would indicate that most folks have finished dining and have turned to drinking in many establishments….but not here, and not us.

Now for the gossip. Jeff Myers, formerly partner at Top Flr and still sharing ownership of Sound Table with fellow DJ Karl Injex, was expediting dishes alongside owner Keiran Neely. Coupled with the dining room makeover which Myers completed almost overnight on a $500 budget, one might conclude some sort of partnership had been arranged, but again, it’s only gossip.

We debated briefly over sitting outside where it was chilly, or indoors where it was loud, finally deciding on a table inside where we promptly ordered drinks. LC will often try a cocktail from the specialty list, this time ordering a black tea infused moonshine with lemon. I ordered an inexpensive glass of bubbly, but later switched to LC’s impressive selection, a new cocktail developed by Nate Shuman of Proof and Provision.

Moving on to the gluttony. P’cheen’s new menu is designed for sharing, with a variety of small plates that run the gamut from frog legs to turtle soup. Although I recommended we order only four dishes, it was impossible to narrow it down to so few, especially since LC threw in the Thai grilled chicken wings as our server was walking off. No surprise there.

BB had recommended the grilled octopus but it unfortunately didn’t make the cut. Instead we ordered the coconut curried mussels, baked jumbo lump crab mac ‘n’ cheese, potted duck confit (I insisted), Malaysian steak, sorghum glazed baby carrots, and the previously mentioned wings.

I was hoping a couple of dishes would arrive first, then perhaps a couple more, but everything came out almost at once, covering the surface of our tiny two-top. Coconut curried mussels were reminiscent of chef Devereux’ version at Top Flr, although not as spicy. Malaysian steak was in fact a salad, much like the beef salad I’ve ordered at Surin for years. Baby lettuces, cucumber, shaved onion, and cilantro were topped with a generous portion of thinly sliced steak, cooked medium.

Who can resist baked mac ‘n’ cheese? Neither of us, apparently. I loved the crispy edges of elbow noodles and cheese, finding the subtle bits of crab when I dug deeper into the cheesy goodness. I also can’t resist duck confit. P’cheen serves the pulled meat in a bit of light broth in a tiny Mason jar. Thick slices of grilled sourdough provided the crunchy vehicle for the duck, perfectly paired with a sweet and sour cherry chutney.

The Thai grilled chicken wings, a surviving dish from the original menu, were glazed with a spicy sauce then charred until crisp. LC would have been happy with a dozen of these and nothing else, except maybe the moonshine. However, it was his idea to order the carrots…we needed a veggie, right? Whole baby carrots in every shade of orange, yellow, and even purple, turned out to be one of my favorite dishes of the evening.

As we were licking the remnants from each plate, we noticed a bicycle parade passing in front of the restaurant, some riders with brightly colored afro wigs bobbing as they passed. Our car would not be retrievable from valet just yet (yes, thankfully there is valet!), so we ordered a couple of shots of moonshine, this time choosing vanilla bean infused. Smooth dessert.

Myers was spinning at the DJ booth in the back as we left, waving goodbye to him and the new and improved P’cheen.

701-5 Highland Avenue 404-529-8800

I’m going to have to eat my words. Maybe with some pesto. I always tell people I hate Italian food, when the fact is, I really only hate what most Americans consider to be Italian food, like spaghetti with meatballs and marinara.

A recent assignment took me to Davio’s, a relatively new Northern Italian restaurant at Phipp’s Plaza. Like all Italian restaurants, there are pastas, but none of them with marinara. Instead of pizzas you’ll find Tuscan white bean and hand-rolled gnocchi with basil truffle oil.

This is the fourth Davio’s location in the U.S., the first opening in Boston in 1985. The company has grown slowly, taking its time to perfect the concept before branching out to different markets. White tablecloths, upholstered seating, and fat columns give the space a traditional fine dining feel. I ordered a bellini followed by an unusual selection of an off-dry riesling. Both were fantastic.

The menu reads like a study in decadence, from seared foie gras to lobster risotto, until you get to the section titled Marchi. This section is a brief list of Davio’s trademark Spring rolls which come in four flavors that mimic other dishes, for instance the Philly Cheese Steak Spring Roll. They even sell them wholesale to supermarkets. I don’t get it. It’s as out of place as pizza at a sushi bar. But we were obligated to try them, so we ordered the sampler. As expected, LC loved the crispy fried rolls, especially the Buffalo Chicken. I was not impressed.

In addition to the Spring rolls we ordered the steamed mussels to share. The aromatic broth, flavored with ginger, lemongrass and fresh basil had a little kick, but I found the shellfish to be on the small side. LC devoured them as I focused on my foie gras. Seared and paired with roasted Georgia peaches, I initially thought the kitchen had plated an enormous serving of foie gras with no peach because the port glaze made everything look the same. Even our server thought they had made a mistake and whisked the dish away for repair. Meanwhile, I requested some undressed field greens on the side, my favorite way to cut the richness of foie gras. Our server returned, explaining the peach was hidden beneath two lovely slices of the goose liver. I proceeded to cut a piece of each and brushed a few leaves of baby romaine through the port glaze. Heavenly.

That was just the appetizers. The next dish was ravioli stuffed with Maine lobster in a rich basil cream sauce. Pastas come in two sizes so we ordered the small bowl and treated it as a side to accompany an 8 oz. center cut filet mignon. I couldn’t pass up the pan roasted Brussels sprouts while LC had a hankerin’ for the green beans with crispy pancetta.

Our steak was kitchen split, each half (that looked to be around 6 oz. each rather than 4 oz.) individually seared to a perfect medium. Served with caramelized onions and two housemade sauces, horseradish cream and a citrus herb sauce called prezzemolata, it was the best steak both of us had eaten in years, perhaps ever! Each bite melted in our mouths, after which we exclaimed “Oh my God, this is amazing!” It was so incredibly delicious, no sauce was required, but the prezzemolata was terrific so I couldn’t resist dipping a few bites in. We savored every morsel.

Brussels sprouts were roasted until tender and tasty. Lots of porky pancetta punctuated the skinny, whole green beans. Despite its richness, we polished off the lobster ravioli and had the nerve to order dessert.

I was disappointed to discover this Italian restaurant did not serve gelato, so we opted for what seemed to be the lightest, a strawberry parfait with vanilla ice milk and lemon pound cake croutons. A textural delight, it would have been better without the hint of lemon, and with a dollop of whipped cream.

But why stop there? Our server, who’s timing was impeccable, suggested we take home a second dessert, the traditional Italian tiramisu. Sadly, it didn’t even make it to the refrigerator.

Certainly not inexpensive, Davio’s is the perfect choice for a special occassion or if your pockets are particularly deep. Do I like Italian food, you ask? If it’s Davio’s, I love it.

3500 Peachtree Road 404-844-4810

Guys that smoke cigars, play golf, and run multi-million dollar companies hang out at the bar at New York Prime. They can appreciate a good piece of meat as well….often the leggy blond variety. And when no lovely ladies are in the vacinity, they focus their attention on the sizzling steaks being delivered to nearby tables.

My recent visit found me waiting for LC with his friend GB who organizes a golf tournament every year to benefit the Manna Fund call Manna Tee. While we waited, a film crew breezed in and set up in the corner nearby. Then a serving of steak arrived….Steak Shapiro that is, from 790 The Zone and partner, along with Cody Hicks (also of 790 The Zone), in the newest Atlanta foodie project Atlanta Eats.

LC arrived just in time to see me casually sipping champagne while Steak was flirting with me at the bar. No worries, it was just for the camera. LC ordered his usual vodka martini as more friends and acquaintances stopped by. It was getting late when suddenly hunger struck, so we ordered the shrimp cocktail and a petite filet, cooked medium rare, to share. We nibbled on thick slices of raisin bread and ordered another round of drinks.

Four jumbo prawns, each the size of a newborn’s arm, were steamed and chilled, served with two sauces. Special due to their enormity, because at the end of the day, shrimp cocktail is shrimp cocktail. The kitchen had sliced the steak for sharing purposes. LC didn’t order a side (steaks here are a la carte), so it was a 100% protein dinner. A bit of crusty char on the outside with a hot pink center, the filet was perfectly cooked and terrifically tender…we enjoyed every morsel. Note the pack of Marlboros next to the steak knife….manly, dangerous, and super classy!

If you find yourself at the bar at New York Prime, be prepared to smell like a cigar (or perhaps a stranger’s perfume) when you get home. And if you get hungry, be assured that you can get a manly steak, with or without sides.

As for the show Atlanta Eats, it will be premiering some time this Fall. Check out their Facebook page (and like it!) for updates. Just make sure you’re hungry….for Steak.

3424 Peachtree Road NE @Monarch Tower 404-846-0644

In case you just stumbled upon this blog, I’ve been recounting some of the memorable meals on my recent family trip to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, which is located in a dry county. For those of you that did not grow up in the South, a dry county is one where no alcohol is sold in stores and often not served in restaurants. Because, as we all know, alcohol just leads to trouble.

Ironically named, Sahara Steakhouse is one of those restaurants. It’s a family owned place, the kind that only exists in small towns. The first red flag upon entering the establishment was the salad bar, circa 1975. The second thing we all noticed were the religious paintings decorating the walls….more alarming than charming.

Our server, however, was so friendly, showing us to three tables pushed together, each covered with a sticky vinyl tablecloth. We were located next to a big screen TV, a great bonus for the guys that wanted to watch the golf tournament. Chairs were the black vinyl kind that were common in the ’70′s.

Being a steakhouse, most of us planned on ordering steaks. But first, LC wanted to get an appetizer. Every choice was fried, from fried dill pickle spears to mozzarella cheese sticks. He ordered the jalapeno poppers, heavily breaded and not very spicy. Can’t say I was surprised.

The good thing about a restaurant that exists in a time warp is that the prices reflect those of a bygone era as well. Me, LC, and his parents ordered 8 oz. ribeyes, served with a side, soup, and salad bar for only $14.95. We ordered a round of iced teas.

After placing our orders, we made our way to the salad bar, stocked with iceberg lettuce, chopped boiled eggs, banana peppers, onions, tomatoes, diced ham, cottage cheese, cole slaw, potato salad, and fake bacon bits. I made a lovely salad, drizzled lightly with mystery dressing. Everyone skipped the vegetable soup which looked like the same stuff we had at lunch in Mammoth Cave earlier the same day.

I ordered my steak medium with a baked sweet potato on the side. Although they made a valiant effort to serve our table efficiently, it took over an hour to receive our entrees, many of which were cool by the time everyone’s meal was ready. The kids were getting antsy, nibbling on crackers and drinking bottomless sodas. Lucky for me, my steak was warm with nice grill marks, but it was a tough old cow. Brown sugar cinnamon and butter made my sweet potato yummy and saved the day. LC’s Mom received the best cut of meat, tender and perfectly cooked, but no one else gave the place very high marks.

Having recently dined at Davio’s at Phipp’s Plaza, I chuckled at the dissimilarities between the two steakhouses. It’s like comparing a new Rolls Royce to a 1975 Pinto. I’ll take the Rolls….and pop that champagne!

413 E. Happy Valley Street 270-773-3450

Happy Carnival & Mardi Gras! I am dedicating this post to my dear friend AD, who has (almost) completed her book about her world travels! Rio was her first stop in February 2010, and I was lucky enough to join her:
AD is prepared to travel the world, staying mostly in youth hostels and carrying a light load in her backpack. I, on the other hand, have never stayed at a youth hostel. Gansevoort or The Delano in South Beach is more my speed. But what the hell, I am hostile at times, so I decided to rough it with her in Rio de Janeiro. (Check out her blog, lots of great photos!)

I discovered staying at Cidade Maravilhosa Hostel is the closest thing to camping without a tent. We did have AC, but only from about 8pm to 10am. Believe it or not the bed was comfy….I slept like a baby every night.

Breakfast was provided in a common room with a festively printed plastic tablecloth. Bread, crackers, cheese, ham, coffee were always out as well as various fruits like watermelon, apples, and bananas. There was often a semi-sweet bread, almost like cake, that I would eat a small square of with a traditional Brazilian chocolate goo called brigadeiros, made of condensed milk, cocoa, and sugar. Condensed milk, we discovered is a common ingredient in Brazil.

On the second morning I found the mini baguettes in a basket under the little buns. It became habit for AD and I to steal a couple of them each day, along with apples and bananas for (free) lunch on the go! My best discovery, however, was the panini press. One of the kitchen/cleaning ladies had made a panini that second morning. Too late for me that day but on the third morning I found the press and made a ham and cheese panini with a mini baguette. With coffee, fruit, and a sweet pastry, I had my daily routine, after which me and AD were off on the adventure of the day….Carnival, Ipanema beach, the botanical gardens, Cristo Redentor, the tiled steps and tram at Lapa, the beach at Leblon.

We became scavengers. We rode the subway and the bus. I washed my hair once that week, never put on make-up, and wore only swimsuits and cover-ups every day (dude, it was 95 degrees!). The shower in our room was scalding hot so we showered in our swimsuits on the common deck, the scene of the Fat Tuesday cookout.

Ricardo, who runs the hostel, is a big man. The entire staff was so helpful and welcoming. They invited us to the cookout, just $20 Reals (about ten bucks US) for unlimited steak, sausage, salad, rice, salsa, and caipirinhas. Everyone we met was from a different country. Our roommates, A and S were from New Zealand. T from Australia shared a room with M from Morocco. France, Israel, Germany, England, Denmark….people from all over the world staying together. It was really an incredible experience.

Grilled steaks were cut up and served as appetizers. There was lots of meat, some well-done and tough, others medium rare and tender. I saw the kitchen/cleaning ladies making the salsa downstairs earlier. It was simple Brazilian fare. Authentic.

The best part of the cookout was when Ricardo ran out of limes for caipirinhas. He sent a kid that worked there to get more but the store was out so he bought black grapes instead. Uva caipirinhas! I watched as he crushed the grapes then added condensed milk, sugar, and cachaca to the shaker. I can’t wait to recreate them at home!

It wasn’t a luxury trip, it was an adventure. I wouldn’t change one sweaty, dirty minute! Thanks AD.

Remember when the holidays were a time to relax with family and friends? That’s right….when you were a child. After that, it’s all financial hardship and stress.

Once family time was over, B and I had a chance to exchange gifts and enjoy some adult beverages and conversation. A bottle of Gloria Ferrar Brut started off the evening by my gorgeous phat tree.

Then we were off to one of our favorite spots, Top Flr, but alas, it was Monday and they were closed. B suggested another of our old haunts, Livingston, just a mile down the street. Perfect! Although chances were not good that our buddy Zeb, the chef, would be working the day after Christmas.

We had little company aside from our friendly bartender. But we were in luck to visit on Millionaire Monday, Zeb’s special two course dinner for $18 every Monday which features such rich dishes as lobster and steak. B and I decided to order one of each and create our own surf ‘n’ turf.

But first, we sipped an impressive red that was spicy and deep. A spinach salad with gorgonzola, vidalia onions was drizzled with candied bacon vinaigrette provided a simple and satisfying start.

We ordered the filet medium-rare. B requested it on the rare side and after some thought, I agreed. Best too rare than overcooked. Our plates arrived, thoughtfully kitchen split. The baby filets were unfortunately cooked medium with no rare in sight, but the lobster was perfectly poached. It was a meal that could have been decadent if it weren’t so light.

The bartender topped off our glasses as we chatted. Just then, a gentleman (and I use that term loosely) appeared at the bar. He and his new bride were apparently staying at The Georgian Terrace for their honeymoon. Dressed in a garrish pinstripe suit, he was a minister, and needed advice on what alcoholic beverage to buy for his new bride. We suggested champagne so he ordered “the cheapest one”. His ridiculous demeanor made us laugh, but it wasn’t until his departure that we noticed a flyer he had left outlining the services he offered through his business, Non-Negotiable Ministries.

Valuable services such as Prophetic Miming (who doesn’t need that?), Preaching (of course) Food Catering, and the all important Armour Bearing (WTF?), all available regardless of race, creed, or policy. What if your policy is not to hire ghetto preachers?

Best of all, his food catering business is called Fix-It Preacha. I swear. Even me and B couldn’t make that up!

(If you are interested in honing your prophetic miming skills, just contact me, I have the minister’s number.)

659 Peachtree Street NE 404-897-5000

LC likes martinis, or shall I say, he likes vodka shaken with olive juice served in a martini glass, because we all know a real martini is made with gin.

I like real martinis. Bombay Sapphire, dry, straight up, with 3 olives. Either way, the only place in town that serves a martini properly is The Highland Tap, a subterranean man-cave in the Virginia Highlands. They chill the glass with ice, fill a cognac glass with ice and seltzer, then shake up a double and pour a small amount into the chilled glass, the rest of it into a tiny carafe, which is then placed into the icy seltzer so it remains ice cold while you sip it. Classy.

A martini craving is what generally draws me to The Highland Tap. I wanted to introduce LC to the perfect martini, but we were hungry too, so we decided to snag a booth and share some appetizers and a thick, juicy steak.

We started off with an appetizer of two roasted scallops served over candied collards….just enough to whet our appetites.

Fried calamari or spinach artichoke dip? Both are menu staples throughout the U.S. since the early ’90′s, neither intrigues me. When presented with the choice, however, I went with the calamari. Flash fried with onions and peppers and drizzled with a generic “spicy” Asian glaze, Highland Tap’s plate of squid was neither greasy nor chewy despite its ubiquitous appeal.

LC and I chose a petite filet, medium-rare, with a side of truffled mac ‘n’ cheese. Lately, we’ve been addicted to mac ‘n’ cheese, including the childishly pedestrian microwaveable Kraft variety. But the homemade kind is always preferable, baked until the cheese is slightly browned with crispy breadcrumbs on top. Highland Tap serves a solid rendition, I’m assuming with a drizzle of truffle oil…good stuff.

But first our server delivered a side salad and bread. The Highland Tap has served the same dark brown mini loaves of bread since I can remember. Warm and soft…sounds better than it tastes. I’d prefer crusty white ciabatta any day. Salad was fresh and lively, jazzed up with a citrusy vinaigrette.

Our steak was well-seasoned and perfectly cooked. Sections of sweet caramelized onion accompanied the meat. A second martini was the perfect dessert….straight up.

1026 N. Highland Avenue 404-875-3673

A week before AD’s visit, I ran across a coupon for Agave, one of her favorite restaurants in Atlanta, and one that I’ve often mentioned to LC, but never visited with him. It was a sign. Now was my chance to revisit this Southwestern staple.

AD arrived with her former colleague DR, finding us already seated at a a table on the secondary patio. Chips and salsa were delivered quickly, but subsequent drink service was much too slow for folks craving tequila. LC and I tried the jalapeno skinny margarita, while they went with the regular variety.

LC and I prefer restaurants that aren’t shy about heat. Don’t you just hate it when a dish is described as “spicy” and it comes out bland? Or when you ask if it is spicy and the server assumes that is a bad thing and says something like “oh no, it’s not very spicy”. I always respond with “that’s too bad, I would have ordered it”. As delicious as Agave’s food usually is, I warned LC of Agave’s somewhat wimpy reputation in the spice department.

Traditionally, AD has always ordered the spring rolls to start and I had to have some guacamole. DR ordered ceviche that was beautifully presented in a martini glass, while LC was intent on trying the New Mexico hatch green chile stew.

The spring rolls, made with shrimp, cabbage, serranos, and roasted poblanos, are a crispy sweet treat, but I was truly impressed with the stew, thick with potatoes, onions, corn and tender chunks of beef….and it was spicy!

Every time I’ve eaten at Agave I leave stuffed. Too stuffed. Once, AD and I shared the spring rolls and a fish entree and we still had to be carried out on a stretcher. So on this visit I opted for an appetizer of grilled beef and shrimp. LC ordered the lone item that I wouldn’t even taste….meatloaf, while AD stuck to her favorite fried chicken. We got an additional side of poblano grits for sharing.

My dish was pleasingly petite, with thin slices of medium rare tenderloin and plump grilled shrimp. It was the huge dish of fiery grits that was my downfall. Ironically, AD’s chicken wasn’t as spicy as it had been in the past. LC enjoyed his entree and I was so engrossed with the grits that I don’t even remember what DR ordered.

Room for dessert? No way, Jose’!

242 Boulevard SE 404-588-0006

The first couple of days in Pigeon Forge were a whirlwind of Chinese acrobats, crazy rides, and of course, stampeding buffalo. When the dust settled, we noticed a lovely restaurant and inn perched along the river. It was part of The Old Mill Square, along with a gift shop, candy store, toy store, and creamery.

DC read glowing reviews of the Southern food at The Old Mill, so we headed that way for dinner our last night in town. After dinner, we had reservations at the Titanic museum….we were on a tight schedule. When we arrived at the restaurant, we discovered there was an hour wait. So our plan was sunk.

Or not. They owned a second restaurant across the street with a more diverse menu….and no wait. Outside, The Pottery House Cafe & Grille looked like a renovated house, complete with a gazebo in the front yard, but inside it was a rustic yet modern space with exposed wood beams and ductwork. Light wood furnishings and barn lanterns added a country vibe. And, of course, there was plenty of pottery.

Our group of six was seated at a large round table and proceeded to order drinks and appetizers. Someone mentioned the cafe bakes its own bread so I was excited to give it a try. I even considered ordering the fried green tomato BLT on their toasted sourdough, but my bad experience with toasted sourdough at breakfast coupled with the unlikelihood that they could make fried green tomatoes properly prompted me to look elsewhere on the menu.

Perhaps I would have the praline grilled pork chop with cinnamon apples and mashed potatoes? I had a feeling it would be a sugar bomb, and the pasty filler of mashed potatoes that everyone else loves bores the hell out of me.

While I weighed my options, LC ordered a basket of fried pickles and DC wanted to try the fried green tomatoes to start. As predicted, the tomatoes were thickly breaded and deep fried. I was relieved that I selected the grilled sesame chicken salad as my entree.

Meanwhile, the bread was unimpressive. LC ordered a ribeye steak with a side of jalapeno corn puddin’, at my suggestion. He said the steak was overcooked but had great flavor. I was expecting his side to be more of a cornbread pudding (like Goin’ Coastal’s), but it was sorta like thickened creamed corn with a spicy kick. C tried the quiche with fresh fruit and DC got the fried catfish with fries and cole slaw, sharing some with little A. I can’t remember what, if anything, little T ate….she was feeling queasy. The prices were very reasonable, with entrees hovering around ten bucks each.

My salad was good enough, predictable romaine with toasted almonds, Mandarin oranges, tomatoes, green onions, and chunks of chicken, all topped with crispy rice noodles and sesame ginger dressing. Their homemade cinnamon raisin pecan bread would have been much better warm, or toasted.

No time for dessert. It was time to meet our fate on the Titanic. We each received a “boarding pass” with the name of one of the passengers. Who would live through the ordeal? Ironically, I was the only one in our group that was in First Class….and the only one that didn’t survive.

175 Old Mill Avenue, Pigeon Forge 865-428-0771

Over a month after the actual day, B and I finally got together for her birthday dinner. We decided on The Sound Table for a variety of reasons, including a chance to visit with owner Darren and savor their kickass Brussels sprouts.

The concept of dinner upstairs, drinks and dancing downstairs has shifted a bit over the last year. Food is mostly served downstairs now, certainly a less intimate setting since the DJ booth is constantly pumping out the beats at a conversation-prohibitive level.

We chatted with Darren (he is English, so one must “chat”), then took our seats at a table along the exposed brick wall. Our peppy server was cute, with tattoos and black-rimmed glasses, offering suggestions for a cocktail to start off our evening.

I chose a drink made with tequila, lime, and maraschino….sort of a fancy margarita without salt, while B ordered a glass of red wine, an obscure varietal that turned out to be rich and deep.

Our perusement of the menu uncovered several disappointing changes. Naturally, the roasted Brussels were off the menu, after all, it is Summer. I had considered trying the Spatchcock chicken, a menu mainstay since the restaurant’s inception, but it too was gone.

Regrouping, we decided to split the green salad composed of local lettuces, blue cheese, and spiced pecans. For my entree, I chose the porkchop with baby peas and greens of some sort, while B ordered the salmon special with baby carrots. For an amuse bouche, we discussed the failures of men….it was a substantial serving, full of grizzle. I needed another drink.

When the salad arrived, I was surprised to see the beautiful green lettuces covered with a creamy dressing. It wasn’t mentioned and seemed an odd pairing with the two toppings. A balsamic would have made more sense, and likely would have tasted better. B described the salad as “not special”.

Then our entrees arrived, all dainty and innocent looking. But beneath the pretty exterior was the harsh truth. My two small porkchops were cooked to the consistency of shoe leather and sat upon flavorless peas and bok choy. Bok choy? I’m rather certain that was not what the menu said. Regardless, I tried to eat a bite or two but B convinced me that I should not eat it. Christ, I hate sending food back!

While not thrilled with her selection, B managed to eat almost a third of her salmon. The skin was left on, a pet peave of mine, which made it extra-fishy tasty and smelling. Two baby carrots were the saving grace of the dish.

My sad chops were replaced by our old standby, the hanger steak, medium-rare. We chose an additional side of squash to make up for the underwhelming veggies that accompanied our entrees. Both of these dishes were winners, especially the baked squash, topped with crispy shallots. The steak is usually drizzled with a good quantity of salsa verde but this one arrived almost naked, so I asked our server for extra on the side.

We were ready for a happy ending so we tried the pistachio pot de creme with mascerated figs….amazingly delicious! We should have skipped the two entrees and went straight for the steak, squash, and two of these desserts!

On another bright note, we took a peek at the new patio out back, which used to be a renegade smoking area. Had we known, we would have chosen to sit out there where conversation wasn’t drowned out by the pulsating music.

483 Edgewood Avenue