By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
Everything is fresh, clean, and buttoned-down. The service is a little rickety: something you can forgive if the menu embraces a broad selection of fresh, flavorful seafood. And, scrawled over a large chalkboard in the dining room, the menu sure gives that impression. Fish and seafood selections can be ordered grilled, blackened, or fried, in a choice of sauces including crawfish with tomatoes and mushrooms, caper-dill, lobster-brandy cream, etoufee, Alfredo, or marinara.
But while BFLF has the hook, it forgot to impale it with juicy bait. The food is underwhelming, and it sure doesn't come close to keeping the menu prices afloat--reasonable, perhaps, but only if the entrees were well thought-out and meticulously prepared.
For example, the house smoked salmon at $6.95 might seem a good value. The reality sank this assumption, however, with a skimpy sliver of fish that was mushy and limp instead of supple and flaky. Plus, the smoke flavor had no depth--as if the meat had been shaken in a zip-lock bag with liquid smoke, chilled, and then plopped on the plate. A side of housemade coarse tartar sauce was exceptional, however.
Similarly, the grilled lobster tail at $19.95 strikes as a reasonable price. But not when the result is a crustacean fanny, tasting more extruded than prepared in a kitchen. The thing was dry, had the texture of silicone, and possessed virtually no sweet succulence or rich flavor to speak of. The lifeless caper-dill sauce did nothing to retrieve it from mediocrity. Plus, a side of mashed potatoes did an uncanny wallpaper-paste impersonation, while a clump of browning, mushy corn made this $20 entree seem more like something dreamed up by a hair-netted lady from the school lunch program.
Linguini with mushy mussels in a deep puddle of soupy white wine sauce didn't have the strength to keep itself together. The mussels (old? overcooked?) fell right out of the shells, and the preponderance of runny sauce didn't do much except knock it out of kilter with a sharp sourness on the finish.
Stuffed baked trout with Chardonnay cream sauce featured delicate, flaky fish as a centerpiece. But there wasn't a whole lot of flavor, and the sauce and the stuffing with tiny shrimp and vegetables were too timid to lend any excitement.
There were some notable successes here, though. BFLF's calamari salad was fresh, crisp, and lively with tender yet resilient, agile calamari void of off-putting fishiness. Scattered on a bed of lettuce and red cabbage, the calamari shared space with capers, pimiento, and sliced green deli olives that sparked it with a bright, briny backdrop of flavors.
Equally satisfying was the Boston clam chowder: creamy, rich, and smooth. It was studded with big pieces of chewy, tender clams and chunks of potato at just the right consistency--a real bowl-licker. Mahi-mahi with Chardonnay cream sauce was moist and flaky, and the addition of crawfish, tomato, and mushroom to the mix added interest. But the whole thing still wallowed in tepidness. There was no compelling spark here, at least not enough to justify $14.95. In contrast to a previous visit, the mashed potatoes were smooth and creamy instead of pasty. But that awful corn made another comeback.
The only real bargain on the menu was the Key lime pie with pecan crust. At four and a half bucks, this rich beast with a creamy, tangy custard and a hearty, crisp pecan-crumb crust seemed to have made off with all of the flavor from that chalkboard. Dreamed up by former Natchez owner Dan Vincent and chef-restaurateur Kenny Bowers--ex-Daddy Jack's partner and onetime Lefty's Lobster and Chowder House owner--this boathouse eatery has an engaging, casual atmosphere that's primed for roaring success. But the attention to food is a little too casual, making the prices far too serious.
Nothing fills me with awe like a crisp example of profoundly imaginative resourcefulness--the kind where someone takes lemons and makes whiskey sours.
And that's exactly what you'll find at Rock & Roll Sushi, a relatively new Japanese restaurant tucked in Preston Center. Originally this sushi venue, featuring a circular sushi bar threaded with a moat, was going to serve guests by propelling boats holding little plates of sushi and sashimi creations around the bar. It was intended to be a self-service pluck similar to that in a few California sushi restaurants. But the idea made the Dallas Health Department nervous, and it was scrubbed.
So what do you do with a restaurant canal rendered impotent by bureaucrats? In keeping with the rock & roll theme, the chefs blow dry ice through that waterway, creating a ring of channel-hugging fog around the bar that slithers down and weaves around place settings.