The Quarter in Addison

Walk into The Quarter and even if there's no karaoke or live music, the in-house soundtrack and numerous TVs are enough to detract from the French Quarter décor and vibe. The Mardi Gras shtick seems like a way to force a little background into what would otherwise be a lackluster sports bar that, by the way, didn't even have the Dallas Mavericks on any of the large dining room screens two nights they were playing.

Instead, on one visit, the few diners present were regaled with some sort of ultimate brutality competition that was truly, um, appetizing. On another visit, a rotating list of approximately 13 karaoke participants went full force with help from DJ Wes, who apparently thought he was running sound for a packed house at a rock club. Fork clangs and dinner conversation—even chewing—were completely drowned.

It should be a Big Easy—a great opportunity for beloved, traditional dishes and an atmosphere to celebrate the flavor of New Orleans, with a few drinks to amp up the party. Unfortunately, dining experience is not a priority at The Quarter. Drinking and Golden Tee, drinking and karaoke, and drinking and football are the foci. And the evidence is all laid out on the table.

Take the muffuletta. It's a New Orleans classic, a sandwich that should be hefty but vibrant, dramatic in flavor but homespun. The Quarter's version meant well but didn't deliver. Traditionally, a muffuletta has almost as much filling it as the bread is thick. A true re-creation of the original would contain capicola, salami, mortadella, Swiss cheese and provolone, with the olive salad acting as the star of the sandwich. At The Quarter, the bread overwhelmed the contents, and the meat was truly lacking. The olive salad was disappointingly scant—the tongue was left needing and wanting that smart twang to contrast all the starch. The size of the muffuletta loaf itself should've cued the kitchen staff: more, more, more.

Another disappointment was the N'Awlins-style shrimp po-boy. Once again, big buns came to dinner barely dressed. While that might be acceptable—encouraged, even—for a Mardi Gras bead toss, it doesn't work for a sandwich. The shrimp were just that. The puny little things were butterflied before battering, which didn't help matters. It's not wise to take something already so small and make it even thinner before asking it to withstand a deep fryer. The result was cardboard on a bun with some lettuce and tomato. Nothing short of "ugh."

The Quarter bleu burger was also a tough chew. Topped with bacon and blue cheese, the burger should have everything going for it. The overcooked patty quickly overwhelmed its fabulous accessories.

Two fleeting highlights came with The Quarter sampler (a spread of ribs, grouper fingers, bland and probably frozen chicken strips and the disappointing fried shrimp, this time served whole). The barbecue ribs were incredibly tender—slow-cooked and succulent. They pulled apart with no resistance, and the sweet barbecue sauce clung to the meat with just enough zip. The small portion the sampler provided incited fights for meat.

The grouper fingers were also a good bet. The herbed batter offers a nice reprieve from plain cornmeal or trite beer batter. The tender fish flaked to the fork and deserves a sturdy homemade tartar sauce, as opposed to the seemingly prepackaged glorified mayo with which it is served. Promisingly, The Quarter also offers a fried grouper sandwich.

Red beans and rice should've been an easy success, but the evidence of slow-cooking skills provided by the stellar ribs didn't carry over to the beans. They arrived adorned with a gummy pack of rice that must have been formed with a measuring cup. It was hard around the edges and took several minutes to loosen up when immersed in the beans. Minute rice, anyone?