If every night ended with buckle, the world would be a better place.
Photo by Leslie Minora
So, we're new around here. And in an effort to assimilate us into both Observer culture and make us less alien to the Dallas food scene, we were sent to the City of Ate-sponsored Supper Club at the Kessler Theater last night.
This week, Tim Byres of Smoke served up a menu that riffed on the theme "Texas roots," a homey mix of spice, barbecue and fresh ingredients -- four courses, each paired with a different wine. Herein, we recap our excellent meal with our excellent dining companions...our boss, Observer editor Joe Tone, and his boss, his lovely wife.
I am one of those irritating vegetarian types. So from
the start, I was pretty much useless at this event. Highly decorative.
As we sat in the Kessler's bar, waiting for the doors to open to the
dining room, we had a drink and Leslie ate a delightfully orange-colored
Leslie: I ate on her behalf.
Grapefruit ceviche -- why is this not a thing? It may sound like a fad
diet, or a breakfast Rocky's wife would eat, but no, this is the best
way to wake up your palate after a long coffee-fueled day of work on a
hundred-degree day. Like the way you feel after a pack of Skittles, but
Whatever. My ginger ale was just
as awesome. Anyway, at that point our boss showed up, and we both
immediately tried to look busy and reporter-ly. Drinks were pushed to
one side. Notepads were produced. Brows were furrowed. "Stop that," Joe
said pleasantly. So we dropped the act and the carnivores grabbed the
next appetizer that strolled by: fried balls of goat meat. "I love goat
balls!" Joe exclaimed. Leslie:
Ball jokes aside, I had seconds. I could have made a
meal on it. The crisp golden shell filled with savory spiced meat and
green chile sauce -- Byers had me at hello. Then it on to dinner, where
he hooked up a salad...
Anna: Back off, Minora. Salad is my territory. The
salad was totally awesome. I would be a terrible food critic, because
everything, unless it is on fire or covered in arsenic, is "totally
awesome." Especially when we sponsor it. Then we had an amazing
gazpacho-inspired soup, which was filled with a roasted vegetable medley
and pleasantly fiery, like Tabasco, if Tabasco was actually delicious.
The Austin-based string quartet, MilkDrive
really set the tone for my Grilled BBQ Cornish game hen. The Kessler is a
great space, but I felt like I was on my grandma's patio -- if my
grandma had a smoker and made perfectly cooked chicken. It was very
smoky, maybe too smoky, if that's possible in Texas. While the one guy
plucked the strings of his violin to my amusement, I wanted to throw
down my fork and gnaw at the chicken bone. But the buckle was coming,
and I needed room. And anyway, we were talking about Dallas being the
strip club capital of the universe and I was momentarily distracted from
Anna: Who knew, right? Anyway, at this point our
waiter was seriously disturbed by the fact that I was not eating the
meat dish. "Some shrimp?" he asked anxiously. "No, I'm good, thank you!"
I said. "We'll make something for you," he said mysteriously, over my
protestations. A couple minutes later, he re-emerged from the kitchen
with what tasted like the most sublime onion ring in the world, over a
bed of zucchini, butter lettuce, and walnuts that tasted like they were
rubbed with sage and red chile. It was incredible. I felt like such an
asshole for not eating what everybody else was, but seriously, it was
Leslie: Then, there was buckle. We debated -- does
that term imply a dough pocket? No one opposed. Or is it just a cobbler?
Odd name, but approachable.
Anna: Whatever the hell it was called, there were
blueberries in it, a crumbly, crispy top, and what looked like ice
cream, but was actually a rich, thick, slightly sweetened whipped cream
side. We all went totally silent for a moment, contemplating our
buckles. Who cares what defines a buckle, anyway?
all, it was a lovely evening. Thanks, Tim Byers! Thanks, Smoke! Thanks,
lovely mystery waiter who brought Anna the divinely-inspired Onion Ring
of Succulent Bliss! And thank you, Amsterdam Bar, for allowing us to
sit here at midnight, hogging all your wireless internet and your cheap
beer to write this post. Sorry, everybody else who doesn't get to eat
that buckle. You're missing out.