By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
But this is what Bavarian Grill is all about. Owner Juergen Mahneke stops by each table and says hello to his guests. Just before strolling to the next group of diners, he growls, "have a great time," which is the slogan on Bavarian Grill's to-go menu. And there are lots of opportunities here to have a thrilling blowout. In addition to a couple of yodelers, Bavarian Grill has a puzzle table where you can slosh brew and piece together images of beer steins, German scenery, pretzels, and piglets; a mock ski lodge with a fireplace and skis and antlers on the walls; a train that chugs around the dining-room perimeter near the ceiling through model Bavarian villages and holes burrowed in the walls; and a biergarten. (Sample each of BG's 50-plus German beers and become a member of the Stein Club. Among the benefits of membership are a personalized ceramic stein, German bier videos, and free use of the restaurant's bier book library.)
This kitsch collection must generate an awful lot of Bavarian exhilaration, because it's nearly impossible to get seated in the dining room on weekends, though this most likely isn't because of the food or service. On one visit, we were told our table would be ready momentarily and were invited to grab stools at the bar next to the biergarten. Mahneke gave us a coded plastic-coated Bavarian post card to place on the bar so that we could be tracked when a table opened. This promised bit of brevity stretched into an hour and two tall glasses of hefe-weizen. I waved my postcard frantically each time I saw the man pass by, convinced he had left his Bavarian postcard decoder in his other trousers. On a second visit, we were ignored after being seated for some 15 minutes in a lightly populated section of the dining room. The wait prompted a daring plunge at the wine list. So we ordered a bottle of German red wine from Bavarian Grill's appreciable list of German selections: a Dornfelder-Pinot Noir blend from the region of Rheinpfalz. (We figured it would be a fair match for the seared strip-steak we had ordered, a disappointing ribbon of charred meat that was tough, fatty, gristly, and sparsely flavored.) The wine was served cold, not lightly chilled as the label suggested. But this may have been a blessing. The wine had little of the aromatic red fruit on the nose that you might expect, and it washed the palate with a sharp steminess virtually stripped of fruit. It made me yearn for a brew.
Other things elevated the experience, however. Schwabische maultaschen uberbacken--pasta pockets filled with ground veal, spinach, and sauteed onions--tasted far better than the words sound. Poached in beef broth, the pillows were firm and tender with a moist, tasty nucleus. Plus, the melted Swiss cheese topping had a provocative piercing sharpness. Pochierte geraucherete huhnerbrust--smoked poached chicken breast--was succulent and flavored with just the right level of smoke, while the milky white-wine sauce added freshness. A companion to many of the dishes here, the mixed salad looked like little piles of colorful kindling: clumps of shredded carrot, crispy marinated cucumbers, a wad of pulpy green beans, and mushy but richly flavored vinaigrette-soaked tomato slices. Sauerkraut was a real disappointment: limp and tired, as if it came from a can. But the chunky, herbed potato salad that does duty with German sausages (a choice of two from five kinds) was smooth, creamy, moist, and flush with flavor and a flash of tang. Of the two links, smoked bratwurst and nurnberger, the latter was tastier, if a little dry. The brat wasn't smoky enough.
The smoked filet of trout with creamy horseradish also needed more smog savor. The bland fish was blasted with a searing horseradish sauce. Another swimmer that sunk into a dull pool of flavorlessness was the poached salmon in creamy dill sauce. Limp spinach that tasted as if it had been frozen garnished the weakly flavored, slightly dry fish. The side of smooth, moist yellow new potatoes, cluttered with parsley, was better. The split-pea soup was too smooth. Bigger chunks of meat and coarser stock would have made the difference.
But back to the lederhosen twins: They eventually did get the chicken dance off its duff, so to speak. But only after a hefty woman from Santa Rosa, California, obeyed a command to step onstage and led the restaurant in this poultry jig. At Bavarian Grill, for an optimal dining experience, it's best to follow orders.