By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
There are at least five indicators that tell you a new restaurant is not just another place to eat, but a major seismic event: 1) you need a reservation to get in on a Monday night; 2) every Mercedes in the parking lot has a model number of 500 or greater; 3) the valet and host staffs alone could easily fill most Dallas restaurants; 4) there's a wine on the list for $35,000; 5) someone ordered it last week.
17776 N. Dallas Parkway
Dallas, TX 75287
Region: Carrollton/ Farmers Branch
By these measures, III Forks is a big deal. In addition to having a wine (a 1926 Chateau Haut Brion) costing as much as a year at Harvard with full beer privileges, the place can seat more than 1,000 and has a kitchen staff that includes 35 chefs and a front-of-the-house staff numbering more than 200. You need a golf cart to traverse the long, polished hardwood floor of the foyer that separates the entrance from the host stand, and there's a towering, 24-karat gold-leaf dome rising above the restaurant's roofline.
It's overwhelming. So overwhelming, even the staff doesn't know what to make of it. Look what happens when III Forks' public relations department is queried on the genesis of the operation:
Me: What exactly are you trying to create with III Forks?
Forks PR: A grand steak and seafood house. All of our food is Texas-French style. So we believe our building falls along that same sense.
Me: What do you mean by Texas-French?
Forks PR: Sorry, I don't understand the question.
Me: When you say Texas-French, what does that mean?
Forks PR: That's the style of food that we serve, and I believe that the building is also in that style.
Me: I'm not familiar with a Texas-French style of food. What does that mean exactly?
Forks PR: Humph. I'm not sure how to explain that. What do you mean by "what does that mean?"
Me: How does Texas-French incorporate either traditional French or nouvelle cuisine?
Forks PR: I would say it's a great mix of traditional Texas and traditional French. Texas-French.
Me: OK. Well then how does the restaurant itself carry French architectural or decorative influences?
Forks PR: I would say the whole restaurant in itself is built in the Texas-French style.
Desperate for a straight answer, I prodded Executive Chef Matt Chisholm. (Just days after I spoke to him, Chisholm abruptly departed III Forks. See Hash Over, this page.)
Me: How would you describe Texas-French?
Chef Chisholm: Captain Bob Cooper, the founder of III Forks, is 257 years old, and he maintains his age because he drank from the Fountain of Youth 200 years ago.
Me: Where is this fountain located?
Chef Chisholm: The Fountain of Youth is in East Texas. So Captain Bob Cooper believes in his heart that the French stole all the recipes from Texas. So when we say Texas-French, what we mean is that all the recipes we do are original adaptations of our own creations rather than us taking from France. And what it comes down to is what we serve here is real Texas...I mean, you don't raise beef in France.
More than a restaurant, III Forks is a virtual employment pool for the White House press office. It's no wonder the stock market is so bearish. All the bull is under that 24-karat gold leaf dome.
How much bull? Let's count the ways. First, there's the whole convoluted conundrum of the Texas-French designation, which roughly translated means it's French because there isn't a speck of French pedigree on the plate. It's 100 percent Texas mutt--or more accurately, steer--thumbing its snout at the fussy snoots.
And as far as I can tell, other than the stained glass in the foyer, which was handcrafted in France, there are no French architectural strains in the place either. The 21,000-square-foot building with garish moldings slobbered all over the walls and ceiling looks more like a muscle-bound Plano estate than a chateau.
Then there's III Forks head honcho Captain Bob Cooper, an alias for Del Frisco's Steakhouse founder Dale Wamstad, who high-tailed off with untold millions after Wichita, Kansas-based Lone Star Steakhouse & Saloon scooped up his restaurant in 1995. He wanders around the place greeting guests, telling folks how honored he is that they've stopped by his humble steakhouse. Only in Texas is a restaurant the size of a zeppelin hangar considered humble.
Yet if he's the savvy businessman his millions indicate, why isn't he selling drops from that East Texas fountain for the same price he slaps on his Australian lobster tail, which weighs in at $84?
Even Executive Chef Matt Chisholm offers his share of bull. He's actually none other than Matthew Antonovich, former executive chef and cofounder of Sipango. (He says he hasn't legally changed his name. Yet.) Antonovich--I mean Chisholm--is a co-proprietor in III Forks along with front-of-the-house manager Jonna Fitzgerald, a onetime Miss Texas who plays the fiddle. Instead of artwork, the foyer has big color photos of Chisholm, Fitzgerald, and Wamstad. This restaurant is not about subtlety.
But that's probably the ingredient least necessary to a good steak. I say this because III Forks is the first place I've visited in a long time that's made me glad I'm not a rabbit or a vegan. Every cut, from the medallions of tenderloin to the rib eye, is juicy, tender, and sweet. And there's really nothing to the preparation. It's dusted with a blend of seasonings and tossed on a high-temperature broiler--the same process used by virtually every decent steakhouse in the land.
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