By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
But Beau's edges fray.
Beau's is set in the rejuvenated Crescent Hotel. People strut through with rolling Pullman cases, cups of Starbucks and laptop bags on their way to meetings or rooms or ruinous shopping sprees in the courtyard, creating a high ogle factor. Next to our table four women in a lobby sitting area formed by couches and stuffed chairs ruminate over a swatch of ivory fabric, passing it around and stroking it. They giggle and ooh. They shift their attention to a sheaf of menus. They ask about appetizers and meat. How many? How much? One has a diamond the size of a stag beetle.
Beau's was designed to reanimate remnants of Beau Nash, the New American restaurant whose Crescent Court space was surrendered to Nobu in the summer of 2005. There were signs that Nobu might surrender too. People were even helping wave the white flag. Nobu scuttled its lunch service last year, and rumors had it pulling out of Dallas.
"Nobu Dallas: 'We aren't closing,'" blared a Dallas Business Journal headline last month. In other words, Nobu was still relevant. The DBJ piece explained how the New York-based restaurant, founded by chef Nobu Matsuhisa with actor Robert De Niro as an investor, dropped prices in the face of declining sales. Nobu managing partner Richard Notar ribbed Dallas by proposing Nobu throw a "We aren't closing" party.
Enter Beau's, now offering the lunches that Nobu abandoned. So Beau Nash becomes Nobu, and Beau's resurrects Beau Nash within shouting distance of its former home. Maybe all this shuffling is where Beau's frayed edges come from, though sometimes those tatters are neatly arranged. After all, our waiter was polite, though he struggled with the wine-by-the-glass selections. He brought the red. He couldn't tell us what it was. He went back to get the bottle to present it. Caramel Road Pinot Noir. Is that OK?
My eyes locked on the 75201 burger. Menu poetry went a little like this: "Ten ounces of the best burger in this ZIP code." In the same ZIP code, though, Perry's offers a burger of shredded aged prime beef, so there's a ZIP code smackdown in the offing. Cheddar, Swiss or Gorgonzola could be melted over the top. Shoestring fries or a salad could be chosen on the side.
"Don't I get a choice of cheese?"
"Yes. We have cheddar cheese and American cheese," he says.
"American? Wasn't there Swiss and Gorgon..."
"I'm just the bus person. You want to wait for a waiter?"
An imperfect Crescent moment. The official waiter brings the burger with Swiss and it's fine, though nothing you'd want to stake a ZIP code on. The meat is a little dry, a little overcooked, though rich flavors still leak through. Beside the burger and the fries, on a separate plate, is a fluffy romaine leaf cupping a thick red onion hoop and thick slices of red and gold tomato, fine things considering the season. Slipping out from under the bun is a baby dill pickle, sliced into a delicate fan.
Crab and shrimp cocktail is as riveting as the Beau's ZIP code claims. Poached shrimp and crab claws are collected in a mango relish. Visually, it is gripping, with thick shrimp curls facing down menacing black-tipped claws over a bed of orange yellow. Shrimp are plump and juicy but a little shy on flavor. The claws are awful: tough, chewy and flavorless. These must have suffered tortuous freeze-thaw intervals, essentially rendering them inedible. But the Caesar salad is solid: fluffy romaine leaves in a smooth dressing ripe with garlic, lemon and anchovy, plus shreds and shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano and foccacia croutons that are crisply tender instead of petrified.
Our waiter, the official one, returned to our table, filling glasses, asking after the food, suggesting desserts and so on. The busboy returned too, though he didn't say much after his cheese stumble. Rank must have been pulled.
On the second visit, Beau's tatters were tangled and unruly. It was in the evening and there was no one in Beau's, though we could hear the clang of dishes coming from somewhere behind a screen. A waitress stopped by after several minutes. She delivered menus. We ordered wine. We never saw her again, or so it seemed.
The menu is essentially a tapas collection, tight little compositions ripe with Asian influences and some Southwestern vernacular. This is the Beau Nash nod.
The wine arrives warm (that same Caramel Road Pinot Noir—our stubborn Beau's habit). Then nothing. For 15 minutes. One wine glass is empty, and it stays that way for at least 10 more minutes. When she does come by, she asks after it, but not the menu. She returns with the bottle and pours.