Best Of Dallas® 2006 Winners
Food & Drink
Researchers have discovered that chocolate produces some of the same reactions in the brain as marijuana. The researchers also discovered other similarities between the two but cant remember what they are.
Today Show co-host Matt Lauer
Today Show co-host Matt Lauer
Chocolate has been called a psychoactive food, an obsession and an addiction. Its been referred to as the food of the gods and the food of the devil. The Mayans associated chocolate with fertility, while the Aztecs believed it imparted wisdom and virility. The melting point of chocolate is slightly below human body temperature, the root of its smooth-melting sensuousness. In truth, chocolate isnt really that much different from sex, which is precisely the point.
Chocolate is made from beans culled from the pods of the tropical cacao tree, which are fermented, dried, roasted and ground. The resulting residue, cacao powder, is intensely bitter. And its the substance from which Pam Eudaric Amiri draws her sustenance, if not her life force.
For me this is not about chocolate, she says sitting at a table in Chocolate Secrets, her chocolate, wine and gift shop on Oak Lawn Avenue. To me this is about total indulgence. Happiness. To me this is not a chocolate store. To me this is I want to come in the door and LIE down naked and wallow around and be totally happy.
Though there isnt any evidence of rampant nudity in her spacious shop, situated in a former Persian rug store on Oak Lawn, there is lots of chocolate. Glass cases hold truffles and various chocolates containing walnuts, macadamias and cherries; chocolates flavored with peppermint, orange and butter rum; chocolates with toffee and caramel, some of them created by chocolate manufacturers around the world to Amiris own specifications. A display case on one wall holds chocolate tasting kits and bars from French chocolatier Michel Cluizel. The bars are arranged from lightest to most intensethe most potent being a bar that is 99 percent cocoa with just 1 percent cocoa butter. The darkest chocolates, Amiri insists, pair best with wine. Red wine.
Wine is the reason Amiri ended up in this spacious and towering Oak Lawn location, a chocolate temple really. After opening Chocolate Secrets in the West Village in late 2003 as a chocolate and gift shop with a dramatic water wall, she says she discovered that because of the way her lease was structured, she wasnt allowed to serve wine. When you pair chocolate and wine and it pairs right, it lifts you out of your chair, she says. Its a little poof.
And that poof is what she craved. With the help of one-time Mansion on Turtle Creek sommelier Kent Rice, Amiri is attempting to pair a tight selection of wines with each chocolate she serves. Robust wines, such as Zinfandel, Shiraz, Argentinean Malbec or even Cabernet Sauvignon, link best with the darkest chocolates, while lighter wines, such as Merlot or Pinot Noir, dally best with milk chocolate. Chardonnay or Champagne utterly fail in their couplings as does white chocolate (made strictly from cocoa butter), which muddles wine. Though Amiri adds that Chocolate Secrets hand-dips its chocolate strawberries for plopping into a flute of bubbly, romance smoothing over any rough flavor pairings. You do it all together so that it fuses in your mouth, she says mimicking chocolate plop between her lips. Its an unexpected burst of pleasure.
Born in Saint Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands, Amiri is an unlikely sweets hawker. Shes a highly competitive lawyer who went on to forge a 20-year career as a corporate litigator before she dropped out to raise her three sons. She says she was addicted to the power rush generated by successful legal brawls. She was addicted to the winning. I was really wired in the wrong direction, she admits. I dictated through labor.
With Chocolate Secrets, she simply swapped addictions, although she says chocolate cravings do not necessarily stem from chocolate. Theyre stoked by the sugar.
You know theres a joke that chocolate is like an aphrodisiac, she says. But what it really does, for women in particular, is it affects the parts of your brain that trigger pleasure and relaxation. So its almost like a happy pill tranquilizer.
Amiri merchandises her happy pill tranquilizers with custom jewelry, hand-crafted gift cards, contemporary art, custom-blended coffees, French language lessons on Wednesdays and live jazz on Saturdays. I didnt open this to sell M&Ms, she says.
Still, she says, you dont need chocolate. You dont need it to breathe. You dont need it to keep your heart pumping. If you feel a chocolate urge, its probably because of some hidden stress fissure in your disposition. You dont need that chocolate. You simply need love.
Then she catches herself and reverses course. We need chocolate. We need wine. We need jewelry. We need romance, she says. I would like to go and bathe in chocolate.
Let the chocolate commerce commence. Mark Stuertz
When it comes to catfish, we're a picky bunch. Sure, anyone can batter up some fish and throw it in a fryer, but not everyone can make it taste good. Thankfully, the boys at Hook, Line & Sinker know exactly what they're doing. Served in the customary basket-and-paper set-up, their catfish is a dish to behold--never too greasy, always perfectly battered and cheap, cheap, cheap. You can get it to go, but it tastes so much better when enjoyed on one of their outdoor tables, where you can admire the kitschy collection of boat engines out front and make hungry drivers on Lemmon Avenue salivate with envy.
Nearly every Dallas Mexican restaurant worth a dip boasts some type of fish taco on its menu, but almost none are as good as Taco Diner's. These upscale taquerias are certainly no hole-in-the-wall treasures, but what they lack in soul they more than make up for in flavor. The fish tacos feature grilled tilapia (soaked in a delicious, tangy citrus marinade) and sliced peppers on thin corn tortillas, with the requisite trimmings on the side. We get our kicks by adding a little white cheese and a spoonful of the spicy green salsa, but hey, it's your fiesta.
Every true Southerner knows the pleasure a quality order of fried pickles can provide. Unfortunately, they're not an easy appetizer to master, and a floppy pickle just ain't no good--no matter how well you batter it. The cut is also important--some prefer spears, others side with slices. We're in the latter camp, as we'd rather take our big pickles in small doses. Thankfully, the fried pickles at Love and War in Texas are done just right--thin slices of tangy perfection, delicious flaky batter with the right amount of spice and a big bowl of "smoky ranch" for dipping. The fact that we actually get to ask the waitress for an order of "Texas Wagonwheels" is just gravy.
The ice cream sandwich is a work of art, perhaps the most perfectly devised dessert ever created. Pokey O's has upped the ante, though, replacing the thin cookie wafer of the traditional sandwich with sizable, freshly baked cookies (available in 14 varieties) and thick scoops of Blue Bell ice cream (they stock 15 flavors). We soil our faces with oatmeal cinnamon raisin walnut cookies and plain ol' vanilla, but honestly, it's hard to go wrong with any combination. They also do catering, or you can take the ingredients to go and build your own creations with a "Pokey Pack." We could make an easy sex joke here, but we're far too busy thinking about ice cream and cookies.
We generally don't make it to Chubby's until 2 p.m. or so on the weekends, at which time we're enjoying a late breakfast. Most of the clientele, however, seems to be enjoying an early dinner before they watch JAG and turn in. Whether they come for the excellent omelets, the chicken-fried steak or the freshly baked pies we're not sure, but there's no doubt about it--this place is a mecca for the old-timers of Northeast Dallas. We've never been up early enough to see it open, but it's easy to imagine: a hungry mob of seniors crawling out of their Buicks and Lincolns, their walkers and canes banging against the doors, the sun rising in the distance...OK, maybe it doesn't go down quite like that, but if we were old, we'd sure as hell bang a walker for some of that French toast.
Ham's, the little roadside stand that could, is already fairly famous for its pick-your-own or just-buy-it fruit, especially the peaches. But people need to know more about the "homemade" ice cream they sell. Both flavors, peach and strawberry, are delicious, but our particular favorite is the peach. Maybe because they use peaches to make it instead of Soviet-era surplus chemicals, Ham's peach ice cream is incredibly peachy without being too strong-tasting. Because Ham's is a fur piece from Dallas, there are some tricks: You need to take your own cooler with ice in it, and even at that, on a typical Texas summer day you have to hightail it home to get that stuff in the freezer. But it is so worth it! They're open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. seven days a week, from mid-May to mid-August.
Second-generation owners of Jimmy's Food Store, one of the true treasures of Old East Dallas, weren't defeated by a fire in 2004: They reopened a year later, and now they're doing better than ever. People come from all over North Texas to buy sausage handmade behind the counter, imported Italian groceries and wonderful cheeses. And now the store has a little table where you can eat. They're selling, among other things, the best muffuletta sandwich this side of Central Grocery in New Orleans. Another interesting thing since the fire: The area all around them, which used to be dauntingly seedy, is sprucing up a little. Little Italy reborn? If not, it's still one hell of a muffuletta.
Here at the Observer, we're precise in our word use. So when we say stand, we mean a walk-up, no-indoor-seating, honest-to-goodness free-standing stand. And if there's anything we'll stand for, it's the torta al pastor at Tacos y Mas, which may be the best spicy pork sandwich any side of any border. As for the first part of the name, the tacos are mouth-watering and easy on the wallet besides. And while we may be sticklers for precision, we don't mind taking advantage of the covered outdoor seating in front.
What is it that makes a good diner? Grease? Lucky's has that. Kitschy memorabilia? The walls are groaning with it. Quirky neighborhood characters? Ever been to the Oak Lawn Halloween Parade? 'Nuff said. In other words, you'd never guess that this friendly retro joint is run by Consolidated Restaurant Operations Inc. (could you find a more impersonal name, please?), the company that runs Cool River Caf and Cantina Laredo, among others. Still, the pecan French toast is enough to make you forget your money is going to the suits.
You can get Jarritos, the Mexican fruit-based sodas, in most major grocery stores now, but the best selection is at Fiesta. Something about these sodas makes them much more flavorful than American sodas, maybe because they try to taste like real stuff, as opposed to, say, Coke? What does Coke taste like? Can you imagine whatever Coke comes from growing on a tree? Yeah, maybe one of those scary trees in Wizard of Oz that could talk. They could wave their arms, but they couldn't chase you, right? Where were we? Oh, Jarritos! Go to aisle three where the Mexican drinks are, not aisle 10 where all the gringo soda is. They've got Jarritos in guayaba, fresa, mandarina, mango, tamarindo, pia and best of all, tutifruti.
Dumplings are touch-and-go. It's easy for a dumpling to be a little too dumpling or not quite dumpling enough. The shell has to be cooked but not overcooked, and of course the filling needs to be warm when the dumplings arrive at the table but not cooked solid and certainly not cold. If you've never been to Bangkok Inn before, don't start complaining about the modest dcor. All of that energy and concentration is going into getting the Thai dumplings just exactly right, to say nothing of the perfectly prepared dunking sauce that comes with them. Open weekdays 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. and 5 p.m.to 10 p.m. and noon to 10 p.m. Saturday and Sunday.
An all-you-can-eat lunch buffet for $6 is a deal good enough to set off warning bells. How good can the food be if they can give you so much of it for so little? At Thai Thai, the answer is pretty damn good. The spicy basil beef is truly mouth-watering while the masaman curry is sweet and zesty. The secret lies in their no-frills dcor and location: They invest in their food and not much else. The result is the perfect lunch destination for those who want delicious, exotic cuisine and a lot of it.
When you have a hangover, you don't want to cook. Nor do you want to shave, shower or have to be fit for human contact. You just want some basic greasy breakfast fare to soak up the toxins your evil twin guzzled the night before. That's where the Gold Rush comes in--no pretension, no dress code, just fantastic pancakes, eggs and sausage served fast and hot. Once you're feeling a bit more lifelike, you can pretend to pore over the paper as you snicker at the other East Dallas regulars dragging themselves about in even worse shape.
Like the best Plano-Friscovic mansions, Nicola's has a ceiling that vaults high in the entryway above the bar dangling glitzy chandeliers. It's a hall of opulence. On a fat post behind the back bar, a gentleman who bears a striking resemblance to David Niven holds a rod draped with freshly made spaghetti strands. Perhaps this is to subliminally press the point that Nicola's makes its own fresh pasta from organic semolina flour. Nicola's grinds its own sausage too. Veal is juicy and tender, pasta is firm and supple, and carpaccio is rich and crisply dressed in celery shavings, thick Parmigiano-Reggiano filings, blooms of arugula and capers in spicy olive oil. Handbags and shoes aside, Dallas seemingly possesses an aversion to authentic Italian. Those that attempt it usually go the way of fresh-caught bronzini left to flop out its existence on a hot sidewalk. Nicola's is a blissful medium: It doesn't stray too far from the centerline even as it executes nearly perfectly--in a Gucci with spurs sort of way.
A lot can be said (hype) about Bice (beach-aye, beach-aye you ice heads) Ristorante, the circa 1926 Milanese trattoria opened by Beatrice Ruggeri that later found its way to New York, Chicago, Houston, Orlando, Latin America, Saudi Arabia, Beirut, Singapore and numerous other locales. Much more should probably be left unsaid. But what should not be left unsung in this Dallas version of this Milanese marvel is the beef carpaccio. It's like the tatters of a fine camisole, nearly sheer sheets of rose networked with a wavering weave of fat channels. Covered in dribbles of black truffle Dijon mustard sauce, these sheets fray and unravel as the fork upends them and attempts to peel them from the plate. In the mouth, they're reduced to mist, filming the tongue with richness: A French kiss in Italian lip gloss wreathed in Dallas ersatz refinement.
"To eat an oyster is to kiss the sea on the lips," reads a quote posted on Oceanaire's Web site. It's fitting this quote should be used to shill Oceanaire, a seafood-intensive dining room (oh sure, there are pork chops and rib eyes for chumps) saddled with a menu in continual flux on account of the fresh fish shipments shuttled in daily, sometimes more often. Species loaded into the Oceanaire torpedo tubes (like opah or moonfish, savor it with a Sonoma Coast Pinot) are checked off on the "fresh today" list at the top of the menu. But it's those oysters in the raw that get you, glistening with marine wetness like beads of sweat on the upper lip.
OK, so it's not really Mexican, technically speaking. It's "high Mexican" or chichi-Mex, or froufrou-Mex--though it's more like global haute cuisine with a Mexican accent. There are no sombreros or mariachi posters on the walls. Instead, the interior is crisply contemporary with river stone, rich wood beams and contemporary art in a room washed in hushed tones. Still, Lanny's (Lanny Lancarte of Joe T. Garcia's fame) cuisine sings, even if the Mexican notes are often just little ghostly hints. Take the arctic char crusted in pulverized pumpkin seeds. It rests in a tomato jalapeo beurre blanc. Mental circuits blow contemplating the fish taco possibilities. Trout, served with warm cucumbers and dampened with a butter almond sauce, straps you into a similar state of sublimity. Achiote-roasted lamb chops are lurid. Rubbed and marinated in achiote, garlic, oregano, citrus and fresh herbs, the glistening orbs of meat are silky and rich. A flap of bok choy patiently rests nearby, waiting for the Tsingtao to make an appearance on the beverage menu. Ya gotta lime for that?
Once you get beyond the wine, you'll find Drew Hendricks is little more than a grunt. Joining the Army straight out of high school, Hendricks scored a tour on a family vineyard in the Baden region of Germany (it was part of an Army cultural exchange program). Here, Hendricks participated in war games where each side attempted to vanquish the other with weaponized Sptburgunder and Rulnder. Mesmerized by the tools of modern wine-fare, Hendricks decided to devote his life to stockpiling heavy weaponry: Cabernet, Syrah and Nebbiolo, for instance. Along the way, he's developed a special ops nose, an uncanny taste sensibility and a lethal memory that can extract the most stubbornly covert wine details--all without the use of sleep deprivation, loud Bone Thugs-N-Harmony rap or Victoria's Secret lingerie stretched out over the head. Stripes: co-founded the Texas Sommelier Association, was named one of the best young sommeliers (he's 29) in the country by Wine & Spirits Magazine in 2005 and scored second in the Young Sommelier competition put on by the Court of Master Sommeliers. Hendricks hates getting questions he can't answer, so be sure and brush up on your obscure Mller-Thurgau trivia. And don't forget to pack your water pistol loaded with some good Sptburgunder.
Ham is a cured cut from a hog's hind leg. In Italy, where it's salt-cured and pressed it's called prosciutto, which would make a really cool name for a Ferrari. Try this: F355 Prosciutto Spider. Except it would never fly in the U.S. market because nobody wants to drive a 500-horsepower hog shank, even if the name does sound cool in Italian. Anyway, most chefs can't think of anything to do with it, so they wrap cantaloupe chunks with it and call it a dish. But at Amuse the prosciutto vibrates, just like that Ferrari (in theory). Pinches of it are arranged in a row on a long narrow plate over gauzy triangles of manchego cheese. Needles of chive and julienne endive protrude from the folds like chopsticks, and strips of roasted pepper are draped over the top, playing off the cured sweetness. Vrooom.
How to torture an organic chicken: bath it in white wine, rub it raw inside and out with lemon halves, soak it in dark beer, rub it with a secret blend of Peruvian spices and leave it to stew for 24 hours. Then, give it another Peruvian rub, impale it on a rotisserie over smoldering charcoal and split hickory and apple wood logs. How to reach tortured organic chicken bliss: eat the damn chicken. The spices caramelize on the crisped skin, extracting the Peruvian spice and beer sensations to the point of blood-stirring eroticism (let's be honest, chickens don't arouse when left to their own feeble devices). The caramelized spices seal in the juices. And they're cheap: A whole chicken with three jumbo sides is just shy of 14 bucks.
We like this: Most of India Palace's dcor de pink has been flushed, giving way to lush golds, dark mustards and rich burgundies heightened by brass chandeliers. Which means it's actually beginning to resemble a palace instead of a casino by Larry Flynt. At the entrance is a plastic box with slots quarantining all of the spices: mustard seed, coriander, cumin, clove, garlic, etc. These little specimens are animated into the alluring India Palace fume. And instead of loosely ethnicized schmaltz, the music is authentic. We think. Service is attentive and prompt. The food ranks up there with the dining room fragrance. Saag paneer (cheese in creamed spinach) is rich and well-sassed with a complex Indian spice blitz. Marinated in yogurt, ginger and garlic, tandoori chicken is as moist as it is zesty (usually it's as dry as burlap and as orange as a traffic cone), even when plucked from the lunch buffet. The whole India Palace bounty horn, from the fresh Indian breads to the lamb bahuna, screams with alluring sensuality.
Tucked into Dallas' design district, Kay Agnew's Margaux's is a breath of fresh lunch munch fueled by hot licks of Creole and Cajun brashness artfully designed to kick you out of your luncheon ennui. Red beans and rice with andouille sausage? Oh-so-supple firm beans poured over fluffy separate rice grains with flecks of scallion. Soft shell crab is littered with pecan debris and spit-bathed in a rich lemon beurre blanc. And who can say nyet to popcorn crawdads? What's odd is all of this lusty Cajun sweat is dressed in high-class contemporary design threads, which means white (walls and ceiling beams) and black (table cloths and napkins) plus a vase of sticks welded to a mirror here and there. Very haute but very un-Cajun.
While many of us don't like them, we all have a voyeuristic fascination with whole fish arriving on a plate: tail, fins, head and gills fully intact. We try to decipher its blank expressions, play stare-down with the eye sockets, try to find the thing's tongue. In most places, you order a whole fish and it slumbers on the plate, maybe in a bath of citrus, scallions, spices, peppers and some fermented fluid to race it up. But at Qun Kien Giang, the whole (fried) fish (our server didn't know how to translate the species into English) is upright, resting on its belly, flaunting its spiny fins and scales like an array of vicious military armor. The meat is pulled off the sides and bunched up near the fish's belly--like a pair of trousers rumpled around the ankles--leaving the exposed needle-like rib bones, adding to its menacing posture. Meat is moist and tasty, though, but that's Qun Kien Giang. It's a secret space loaded with compelling surprises and gripping mysteries. Hearty hot pots, viciously spicy soups littered with pert vegetables, fondues loaded with bright green foliage and hot pans for sizzling beef slices and seafood--all fresh and delicious. Plus there's a special marathon meal called "seven courses of beef" designed to load you up so that you have to be hauled out like a whole fish on a plate.
It's a distinctive notch of Thai splendor. You have statues and statuettes of gods and warriors, reliefs of beautiful Thai women and photographs of Thai royalty. Plus, there is the tinkle and splashing of fountains in the entrance. Furnishings are all Thai imports, from the glossy web-worked wood chairs to the god sporting multiple limbs engraved on an urn. But it's the food that gets you, from the supple and greaseless sweet corn patties to the delicious steamed whole fish ever threatening a potent chili sting, to the rich and creamy panang riddled with red chili and kaffir leaves. Pad Thai is exhilarating: supple and separate noodles and sprouts (no sticky pad rat's nest) and real peanut debris (no Jif or Skippy), all draped in a smooth supple omelet, so you can box up what's left and have it for breakfast. This is the coolest Thai indulgence since Thai stick.
Everyone has fries: shoestring, cottage, home, steak, frites, french. Hash browns? Sure. But not everyone has Hanasho fries. They curl at one end, forming a fishing hook. They look like headless seahorses. The staff says they're just like french fries. No, they're not. They have golden brown fringe around the creamy flesh. These are Hanasho's fried squid legs. Probe past the coating crunch and discover the suction cups. And like the best french fries, they're relatively greaseless. In the mouth, they're surprisingly sweet, like popcorn shrimp, yet chewier and without the soapy aftertaste. Delicious. We gobbled them as if they were starring in a super-sized combo meal. Just think how the kiddies would squeal over these if they came with a Johnny Depp Polly Pocket pirate.
There's nothing like branding yourself bland. "This is a generic restaurant concept. It is a throwback. There is no special identity. It is what it is--a place to get well and nourished," the Kitchen 1924 says of itself. OK. But in truth, Kitchen 1924 sweats special identity. Look at all of the neighbors bellying up to the bar and huddling at the tables. Look at all of the sunglasses the Kitchen offers exclusively for use during its Sunday "hangover brunch." Kitchen 1924 roosts in monochromatic tones in its Lakewood Shopping Center home because, you know, color is supplied by the food and guests in true neighborly fashion--a tasty pub for generic camaraderie. How generic? French onion soup is humbly minimalist and un-pompous. Then there's the deviled eggs and succotash. Flat-iron steak, marinated in red wine, garlic, shallot and soy, layers shadowy hints of Asia without resorting to a full-out global gastro pose. Sometimes Kitchen 1924 serves she-crab soup. This is a throwback? Whose generic wool is being pulled? Generically put, Kitchen 1924 is pleasantly delicious, a neighborhood room as distinctively comfortable as its Lakewood ecosystem. Now go eat.
First, let's get the obvious out of the way. The food is good, service is great and the ambiance is chic. But as you wait for your smoked chicken ravioli or your vegetarian calzone, beware the complimentary basket of garlic bread rolls. The homemade "doughballs" are served warm with fresh garlic and oil poured over. Don't let the tiny size fool you. One after another is easy, and before you know it, you're full before your meal comes out. No matter. You can always take the food home, but stay for the fresh bread. A great date place too, but don't expect lots of smooches soon after.
It's their top seller. They gladly admit it. And who are we to doubt such boasts? It's made to order. It's as vividly green as the poison tree frog mugs on those "Save the Rainforest" direct-mail fund-raising pieces. Shove in a chip. The guac is chunky, nutty and fresh. This is stellar stuff with white onion, lime, cilantro and roasted garlic stirred into a bumpy slurry. You can feel the citrus concussion from your cheek membranes all the way down to your hangnails.
If limes could die and go to heaven, they would find themselves in owner Teresa Trevino's Key lime pie. This small, family-owned catering company in Mesquite has quietly made its mark among local schools and businesses, but its secret weapon is this dessert. With a whipped instead of gelatinous filling, it is as if limes ascended into the sky, evaporated into a cloud and then fell to earth landing in a pie crust. Yes, it's that good! Enough so that Trevino won't reveal the recipe. How about them apples? Oops, wrong fruit.
Should you ever find yourself with a leisurely weekday morning, head here for an iced chai latte and muffin. The bustling of Starbucks is nil here as the low sound of the TV and warm but colorful dcor slowly wakes you into the day. Whether reading the paper, using the free wi-fi or just catching a morning break, Crossroads is that stop-and-smell-the-roses place you might just be looking for. If you need to tend to that caffeine addiction or sweet tooth, give this place a shot. But only if you promise to sit and enjoy it.
The moment you step into Kalachandji's, you sense the mood of the East--or maybe it's just the lack of air conditioning. No, it's more than that. It's the diverse clientele, the unusual food and something else that you just can't put your finger on. Ah, it's the chance to broaden your horizons through the exposure to vegetarian food, Hare Krishnas and a darn good tamarind cooler. The buffet is good and inexpensive (and all you can eat), and who knows? You might even have a little fun getting outside of your safe, button-down, plastic fantastic world while chowing down on curried vegetables, rice pudding and pappadam in an open-air courtyard. Kalachandji's is also your source for Hare Krishna and Indian merchandise, including incense, books, statues, jewelry, clothing and more. And if the mood really takes you, slip off your shoes and spend a few moments meditating in Kalachandji's palace, adjacent to the restaurant.
Most anyone who dines out in Dallas (and now Frisco) knows about Terilli's. They know that Terilli's has a diverse menu and that everything is good. But maybe you were put off by the boisterous party atmosphere of dinner at Terilli's. If so, it's time to revisit and enjoy the laid-back calm of brunch. Personally, we can't get out of an eggs Florentine rut, but with so much deliciousness to choose from, we may someday have to branch out. But, hey, with brunch every Sunday, there's plenty of time to experiment. If you don't do the "breakfast" thing, Italchos feel right at any time of day. So if you can manage to drag your lazy ass out of bed, slip on your hangover disguise next Sunday morning, because Terilli's has your Bloody Mary waiting.
There's no reason for meat-eaters and vegetarians to come to blows over who gets to choose the restaurant this time. Granted, vegetarians most often get the raw end of the deal, forced to eat a limp afterthought of a salad whenever their pals want to hit the steak house. And our heart goes out to flesh-eaters who are forced to eat a delicious meal of tofu or noodles at a veggie place...sorta. But at Clay Pit, no one has to compromise; vegetarians can choose from tandoori vegetables, vegetable naan pizza and all manner of curries and more, while meatatarians can have beef, chicken, lamb and seafood cooked up in myriad ways. Worried it'll be too spicy? Just tell your server you want it mild and your dish will be so smooth even your grandma with an ulcer could eat it.
Sometimes you just gotta have it. You've been thinking about it all day, and the longing's just growing stronger. When your sugar jones kicks in, pray that you're near Voila Bakery. They have tempting sandwiches and soups for those normal days, but when your sweet tooth really needs satisfaction, it's straight to the dessert case. From an all-American apple tart to a deliciously creamy mini cheesecake or the scrumptious chocolate mousse cake, you will be stuffing your face with empty calories in no time. Hauling the kids around when the DTs (dessert tremens) hit? The brats'll love the spaghetti ice cream--vanilla ice cream extruded into thin noodle shapes, topped with "tomato sauce" (raspberry sauce) and "Parmesan" (crumbled white chocolate).
Often, the thought of having to wait for your food at a sit-down restaurant is downright depressing. When you've spent 45 minutes debating where to go, another half-hour rounding up the kids/friends/family and 20 minutes driving to and parking at your destination, you're simply ready to eat. NOW. You want the instant gratification of a snack that's plunked down even before the drink order. Just chips and salsa would cut it, but at Gloria's they go that extra step--a second dip. In addition to the tangy, chunky salsa, Gloria's pre-prandial offering includes a blended black bean dip, just the amount of protein you need to settle you in for the main course. And, best of all, it's free.
There may be an American Idol wannabe belting out country karaoke tunes rather than a steel drum band, but Weekends is the closest thing to a Margaritaville state of mind within 20 miles of downtown Dallas. Pick a balmy evening to sit out on their floating patio, stare out over Ray Hubbard Reservoir and imagine tossing your cell phone into the waves like in one of those Corona commercials. Feels good, doesn't it? This '60s and '70s-themed restaurant and bar offers live music, karaoke, plastic flamingos and enormous piles of nachos. If you can't make it down to Key West, Weekends always has a little booze in the blender, and soon it will render...you know the rest.
Greasy spoons are so last year; eggs and sausage are surprisingly delectable sans griddle plaque. We were once content with morning dishes of once-frozen, deep-fried items covered in a shroud of gravy, but now we've tasted the flavor of true, fresh food just after sunrise, and there's no going back. The first incident came with Buzzbrews' "Hare Krishna" eggs. The egg whites burst with avocado (not a bruise in sight), bright feta cheese and griddle-cooked tomatoes. The next occasion called for something a bit sweeter, and griddle toast was the surefire way to go. The tooty-fruity option covered in fresh fruit and berries is sweet and dizzying, but breakfast fanatics will appreciate the pit grill variety, paired with eggs over easy, bacon or veggie sausage. Buzzbrews rounds out their hearty meals with stellar joe and a lovely selection of hot teas. The diner, which features the art of local painter Frank Campagna, also offers non-breakfast dishes, but we're so in love with the a.m. showcase, after more than two dozen visits, we still haven't made it to any other part of the menu.
No one ever said that an afternoon snack had to be light, or even healthy, for that matter. For instance, say it's a Saturday following a rather eventful Friday night. You awoke a bit later than usual and have made it through those first couple of errands. Now you're looking for something more substantial, something downright artery-clogging. "Elote con todo, por favor." Say those magic words to Ericetta, the chipper woman who tends the umbrella-covered cart (from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. most days) just outside the entrance to Fiesta. She'll load up a cup with corn, Parmesan cheese, sour cream, mayonnaise and lime (be sure to get the lime) and hand it off to you to add desired amounts of chile sauce and lemon pepper. Sound absurd? Mix it on up and dive into a fattening heaven that'll have you down for a recuperative nap in no timebut not before you grab a refreshing agua fresca from the inside caf counter. An afternoon snack--OK, fine, an afternoon meal, for less than a fiver.
Show us an Indian buffet and, based on past experiences, we'll clutch our Pepto and run screaming. Cheap, unclean buffets had convinced us that Dallas was without digestible masala. Then we met Roti Grill--no buffet in sight and satisfying dishes that after several trips have caused no intestinal distress. And for those who want to try something different every trip, the spotless, modern Indian diner offers quick, tasty and painless vindaloo, masala, korma, jalfarezi and other sauces in its "two step" menu option, which allows customers to choose a sauce and pair it with vegetables, lamb, chicken or paneer (homemade cheese, similar in consistency to tofu). The meals are served with basmati rice in regular and Texas sizes; the Texas size option adds on naan or roti bread. Ask the friendly counter service staff to help you decide or try the blind finger-point method--there's no bad combination.
After a long day in the cubicle fields, there's something heavenly about happy hour. Everyone de-ages by approximately 6.37 years, microchips are removed, spreadsheets are forgotten and actual human communication can commence. Only thing is, by 6 p.m., lunch is a distant memory. The belly needs some insulation before a deluge of lagers and other libations. The Ginger Man's Beer Companion is the perfect choice--a smattering of items that tickles the taste buds but doesn't ruin dinner. A variety of cheeses (yay, Muenster!), Genoa salami, olives, pickles, fruit and sliced baguette compose a hearty snack and prep evening revelers for any Stellas, Murphys or Paulis they might meet along the way.
Located in a snug corner of Oak Cliff's Bishop Art's District, Chan Thai could easily pass itself off as a hip, trendy restaurant offering smart Asian cuisine. All they'd have to do is double their prices, halve their portions and dim the lights, and it would become the restaurant of choice for food snobs who mistake the frustrating accoutrements of fine dining for a pleasurable eating experience. Lucky for us, however, Chan Thai likes being both unpretentious and incredibly delicious, offering the best pad Thai, curry chicken and spring rolls you're likely to find in a quick in-and-out lunch place. Even though just about all lunches are priced under $10, the stylish, brightly colored Chan Thai is no dive, which likely accounts for the presence of such Republican luminaries as County Judge Margaret Keliher and district attorney candidate Toby Shook.
Best Place to Eat After Running/ Cycling White Rock Lake
Legal Grounds
Although a tad overpriced and almost always overcrowded, Legal Grounds is still an apt reward for a morning spent running and cycling around White Rock Lake. Located in the heart of Lakewood, Legal Grounds has long been a hotspot for athletic types, as witnessed by the veritable army of trim patrons clad in running/cycling shorts and tank tops. And while this is not always a good thing--gentlemen, if you have more hair on your shoulder than your head, scrap the muscle shirt--it does give the place a cozy, fun vibe on a Saturday morning. More important, the French toast, topped with a layer of fresh fruit, is appropriately decadent, not too dry or too buttery. The same could be said of Legal Grounds' fresh muffins, which are the best in town. Finally, the strong, flavorful coffee will wash away the sticky taste of the post-run Gatorade and keep you going if you're contemplating a second loop around the lake.
If we were on death row we'd request Scalini's chocolate cappuccino pie as a last meal because it's so unbelievably delicious. In fact, it's so awesome that if given the chance between having a wild night with Scarlett Johansson and having a slice of this pie, we'd choose, oh come on, obviously Scarlett Johansson. But we'd still take her to Scalini's, order her the chocolate cappuccino pie for dessert. Gotta get lucky after that.
Appropriately located in the upscale Knox-Henderson neighborhood, La Duni does everything so well that singling it out for a drink seems akin to praising Jessica Alba for her ankles. So, dear God, don't just go to La Duni to order a mojito and then head across the street for a generic meal at Chuy's. Stay a while and enjoy any of La Duni's kick-ass Cuban and Mexican dishes, particularly the quesadillas de pescado, which include handmade corn tortillas stocked with sauted fresh fish and Latin cheese. And if you start it off with a mojito, fueled with just the right dosage of Bacardi Silver rum and ably mixed with sugar, mint and the juiciest of limes, you will start thinking of La Duni as your own personal Xanadu.
In September 2005, we gave the relatively new Manny's Uptown a so-so review. The menu, created by former Mia's chef Javier Hernandez, engendered lofty expectations for our critic, and he came away disappointed by the inconsistent dishes and the spotty service. Perhaps it took a few months to work out the kinks, but Manny's is on top of its game these days, offering an extensive array of Tex-Mex dishes that unlike others in its culinary genre don't swim in a murky sea of cheese and sour cream. Still, at Manny's, the food, while delicious, may not be the highlight of your experience. The fenced-in outdoor patio, haphazardly decorated and oddly lit, makes for a veritable dining playpen practically begging you to come with all your friends and stay all night. On any given Saturday, the place is jam-packed with a random assortment of patrons, from your typical blond-and-beautiful Uptown party set to the middle-aged couples looking to enjoy a rare night of frivolity.
This Casa Linda joint has a loyal following. On Thursday nights you'll catch the biker crowd; they park their Harleys in the lot and catch up on gossip. They come for Fat Daddy's burgers, giant hand-formed beef patties with a bun that's not too thick and not too thin, accompanied by seasoned steak fries and a generous condiment bar for $5.99. The big surprise: Order the burger at Fat Daddy's, and you get two free beers. Seems the owner decided he'd come out ahead by giving beer away rather than paying for a liquor license to sell it. Decide you want a soft drink or tea? Gotta pay extra for that. It's actually cheaper to drink beer than a Coke. Fitting with the self-indulgence of eating a cheeseburger with fries, there's something decadent about that.
This Vietnamese-Chinese spot packs 'em in on Sundays for an endless parade of carts that offer a huge variety of dumplings and other dim sum treats. Steamed pork buns, barbecued ribs, shrimp rolls and small plates of ever-changing delicacies make Sunday brunch an adventure. Arc-En-Ciel serves dim sum daily until 3 p.m. but really draws people on Sundays. Especially in evidence are people from the local Asian community. Sometimes there's a bit of a language barrier with the waitstaff, but they are friendly and enthusiastic. If you're not crazy about one cart's offerings, another will be along in two minutes.
At the Garland Road location, multiple TVs blare Mexican shows so you know this place is authentic. Pollo Fiesta's specialty is pollo asado, chicken roasted on a giant spit. Rubbed down with Mexican spices and falling off the bone, it's a great alternative to the ubiquitous rotisserie chicken. The charro beans are great, filled with chunky onions and peppers. The arroz has peas, carrots and kernels of corn. With hefty chunks of avocado the tortilla soup is darn good for fast food.
Best Nighttime Transformation
Legal Grounds/Papou's Greek Kitchen and Taverna
During the day this Lakewood neighborhood spot serves up coffee and legal advice. At night it dishes Greek favorites such as spanakopita and moussaka. It's cozy and intimate and one of the few places serving Greek cuisine on this side of town. It focuses on the traditional: stuffed grape leaves, gyros, grilled lamb and chicken kebabs and pastitsio, with sweet endings like baklava. Word is that on the last Thursday of each month Neenah, the star of the local belly-dancing circuit, performs at 8 p.m. That's what we call a Greek restaurant.
Need a happy ending for a dinner party? Try the tiramisu at Cheesecake Royale. The layers of ladyfingers, mascarpone cheese, espresso, Kahlua and whipped cream topped with a layer of rich cocoa are heaven in a pan and will give the end of an Italian meal a flourish. No need to order in advance, but give yourself time to let it thaw enough for the ingredients to reach that lovely creamy texture. For 18 servings, it's a bargain at $25. Their three-layer desserts, especially the chocolate mousse, rum and Italian cream cakes, are other good choices. And of course the house special, cheesecake, comes in varieties such as amaretto, black forest, Key lime, raspberry, chocolate swirl and the sinful caramel fudge, and you can mix and match slices. Or just go for the most basic: New York Plain Colossal Cheesecake, tall and rich with hints of vanilla and lemon. Sometimes the simplest desserts are the best.
This is the sort of place where you roll up your sleeves, put your elbows on the table and get down and dirty with your crawfish or crab legs. There are no tablecloths here, or napkins for that matter. Instead, grab a roll of paper towels and get to work. Try the shrimp, boiled or fried. Dip 'em in butter, drench 'em in lemon juice or order 'em spicy. You can't go wrong. But if they're in season, order the crawfish. And when they're not, splurge on the summer platter for two. It's more crab legs, shrimp, potatoes, sausage and corn than you can eat, sprinkled with enough cayenne pepper to make your lips burn and your eyes water.
The walls are painted the color of chocolate, and the tables are covered in cloths that looks like caramel. At Xocolatl, everything in the store has something to do with chocolate. Take breakfast, for example. They have chocolate pancakes, chocolate croissants and chocolate pastries; a dinner menu is on the way. The owner and chief chocolatier loves chocolate so much that in addition to opening the store she has started a chocolate club that tours the city to find its best chocolate. It's that kind of obsession that results in the best chocolate around, from pancakes to cakes and candies, all of which are made in-house.
Brazilian churrascarias are a meat lover's paradise. The meat is cooked over an open fire on a stick of steel and then carried table to table where it is cut to order by men dressed as gauchos. The best Brazilian barbecue house in the area may be Addison's Fogo de Chao, but it's so pricey it's hardly enjoyable. For meat that's just as good, and not quite as expensive, go to the newly opened Rafain. The restaurant was started in 1959 in Southern Brazil, near the famous Iguassu Falls. The chain has expanded throughout Brazil and has recently opened in the United States, to the delight of Dallas' small but proud Brazilian population.
Sausage makes everything better. And luckily Kona Grill in NorthPark Center knows this. Kona's big island meatloaf is a slab of tasty meat topped with a wild mushroom ragu and served with white cheddar mashed potatoes and a side of vegetables. And all of it is good. Really good. But the best, most awesome, most saliva-producing piece of the culinary puzzle is the andouille sausage the meat loaf is stuffed with. Yeah, that's right. Meat stuffed inside meat. Maybe that sounds wrong, but trust us, it is oh so right. The NorthPark Kona Grill is the chain's first Dallas-Fort Worth location, and the Hawaiian-inspired menu is pretty impressive all around. Supposedly, the macadamia nut chicken is the restaurant's signature dish, but that can't possibly be right. We ordered it, and there was absolutely no sausage to be found, so, clearly, they have no idea what they're talking about.
There are many reasons Piggie Pies takes home this award, as well as receiving similar ones in the past. Here are a few: the mozzarella cheese, the fresh mushrooms, the pepperoni, the feta cheese, the Canadian bacon, the just-right crust, the goat cheese, the fresh garlic...the list goes on. And that's just the regular, choose-your-own adventure pizzas. Piggie Pies also has a list of gourmet pies that are equally as good. With options such as the meatball pizza, the Mediterranean, the Milano and the pizza al pesto, among many others, the menu is almost overwhelming. Pizza Hut this ain't. Besides all the pies, there's a long list of pasta choices as well. We suggest the blackened chicken pasta: It's Roma tomatoes, mushrooms, penne pasta and blackened chicken in a marinara cream sauce, and it's big enough and rich enough to split. Unless you're greedy, and then you can just save half for breakfast. It's good that way too.
We have to be honest. We have no idea what bhalle papdi is. (Or bhel puri or aloo chhole or dahi bhalle, for that matter.) But that's OK. We do know it tastes good, and that's all that matters. Nothing on the Taj Chaat House menu is translated into English, so if you're less than adventurous, you may want to bring along a dining companion who's well-versed in Indian cooking. Otherwise, you can walk up to the counter, pick out a couple of items and take your chances. Either way, you'll probably be satisfied. And, if not, you can toss your Styrofoam plate and plastic fork and try again. Taj Chaat House serves Indian street food out of a nondescript strip-mall unit off of MacArthur Boulevard in Irving, and the interior looks about like you might expect: lots of tables, very little decor (if you don't count the bright yellow walls) and fans blowing from the ceiling and from all sides. It's quick and casual, and the staff is so polite, they don't even get irritated when you stand in front of their counter gaping at the menu for far too many minutes.
We already feel guilty enough eating at Chick-Fil-A, given the company's notoriously right-wing beliefs. We don't need to constantly be reminded by a bunch of Bible- beaters loudly and publicly praying every time we sit down with a delicious No. 1 combo (value-sized with a sweet tea and a golden wheat bun). If God really is all-powerful, don't you think he can read your thoughts? Heck, you probably don't even need to bow your head anymore, prayer technology being so advanced and all. It's not that we don't necessarily pray, either. Think of it this way: If you're God, and you're checking your e-mail, don't you think you'd find it annoying if you had to find the important prayers (say, a crisis in the Middle East or a relative with inoperable cancer) amongst thousands of "Thanks for the Chick-Fil-A" prayers?
People may want to "keep Austin weird," but up north, we try to "keep Dallas plastic." Jags and Hummers speed up and down Central Expressway as big-name suits broker real-estate deals and wage high-dollar lawsuits in glassy office towers. But in a tiny white shack at the edge of Deep Ellum, a crew of home-cookin' connoisseurs at Vern's Place fix up Texas-style meals from 7 a.m. till 4 p.m. The food's great, from the chicken-fried steak to the mac 'n' cheese, but Vern's Place is as much about actual soul as it is about soul food. Folding tables are covered in red-checkered plastic tablecloths. If you want somethin' besides sweet tea, sonny, you're going to have to get it from the Coke machine. Chances are you'll end up waiting in the line next to a family of six from Pleasant Grove, a couple of cops on lunch break and some lawyers in Armani aiming to get a head start on a clogged artery or two. When people from all walks of life in this town unite in the holy name of deep-frying, well, that's soul.
America's fatter than ever. Obesity epidemic. You've heard it all, and maybe you've been guilted into reducing your burger intake as a result. So why half-ass your occasional indulgence with a skinny patty or a charred hunk of grease? Don't settle for less: No hamburger patty in town has more flavor than at the Angry Dog. Certainly, a hamburger is the sum of its parts, and Angry Dog's half-pounders are well-equipped: The veggies are fresh and full-sized (none of those too-tiny slivers of lettuce and onions), the cheese variety is tops (pepper jack!) and the bun, at the very least, is large enough to sop up the juices. But lettuce isn't why people come back to the Dog. Their hunks of lean beef, especially when served medium-rare, have a sweet, juicy, full-bodied flavor that sticks in your memory for days--even weeks--after downing the huge beast. So why get upset about the obesity crisis? Get Angry instead.
We know at least one managing editor around these parts who doesn't dig Casa Navarro, which works for us; one less person crowding up the joint, which gets more and more packed 12 years after Blanca Navarro moved from downtown El Taxco up to Northwest Dallas, where this place has since become a fixture in a strip mall known for its discount, well, everything. Funny thing is, we didn't realize how popular the place was till two Yankees--which is to say, two guys we know who live in Richardson--told us it was on their spot of rotating regular eateries; see, Mr. Managing Editor, it is worth the drive. For what? Well, maybe the green-salt-rimmed top-shelf margaritas, which somehow always seem to help us wind down the week; or maybe it's the gratis pinto bean soup, which we're always tempted to super-size; or the chicken mole, which goes down like melted chocolate; or the basic Tex-Mex dishes always heavy on the cheese and light on the grease (or so we tell our stomachsand hearts). And we dig the Christmas lights that stay up year-round; nothing cheesy about it, but have you tried the enchiladas?
After telling a customer off and getting fired from his corporate job, proprietor Jason Boso turned to culinary school and found not only a new partner in Quincy Hart but a dream for a top-notch burger joint. Enter their brainchild Twisted Root. Hand-crafted patties of beef, turkey and occasionally ostrich and other specialty ingredients join forces with homemade root beer, original condiments, Chef Steve's ice cream and incredible fries. All delicious. We're talking lick-your-plate good. But that's not the awesome part. After ordering, customers are given a slip of paper with a film or TV character's name--Hot Lips Houlihan, that sort of thing. Customers read them and giggle, generally dismissing them until a booming voice calls them over the loudspeaker. This is no time for the timid. Boldly claim your name (we got Ivana Humpalot, and responded to our addresser with "Oh you do, huh?" garnering some applause from fellow diners), proceed to the counter and get rewarded with a completely satisfying meal...Or, be like our friend, shy and sheepish, and have them rib you until you get there. Either way, it's gourmet abuse we fully appreciate.
We love the pizza; it just may be the best in town, come to think of it (and we often do think about it--like, every other day). But, look. We hate to give this away. It's a pretty well-kept secret. It's not like we've seen you there at 11 a.m. on Sundays. We've looked, danged near every weekend. But, like, Coal Vines has a pretty extraordinary brunch. Three words: eggs Benedict pizza. Three more: sunny-side up pizza. Who woulda thunk it? Eggs on a pizza; almost sounds like a Sam Jackson movie. The sausage-broccoli rabe-banana peppers frittata's almost extraordinary; same goes for the one with crab and spinach. And we know one 3-year-old who can't get enough of the French toast; he thinks it's dessert, since it probably would pass as such at most other places. And did we mention the mimosas? No? Probably because after we have a few, we kinda get all quiet and reflective. Full, I think you call it. No--buzzed. Actually, they're kinda the same thing at Coal Vines.
A little line on Caf Istanbul's menu offers a telling piece of information: The owner imports charcoal all the way from Turkey for his grill. It's that kind of attention to quality and detail that sets this attractive eatery apart from most other Middle Eastern restaurants in Dallas. We've eaten there many times, and we realize Turkish food isn't for everyone; oftentimes the meat here isn't embellished (or drowned) with fancy sauces. Instead, the rich, earthy flavors of lamb and beef, for example, are allowed to stand on their own, accented with parsley and pickled cabbage in the house specialty, Istanbul doner. Some standouts on the menu are acili, an appetizer dip-type thing made from tomatoes, bell peppers, mint leaves and a lot of garlic that goes well with Caf Istanbul's outstanding fresh-baked bread and the "ezogelin corba soup," which is simply the best lentil soup we've ever had, spicy and full-flavored. We can't say we tasted anything different about the charcoal-grilled items with that exotic Turkish wood, but they were good nonetheless--like everything at Caf Istanbul.
We kind of don't want to tell them, for fear they'll raise the prices, but Kasbah Grill's Moroccan cuisine is a steal. You can easily get out of here with a sumptuous meal for $10 a person or less. The focus is on tagines, rich stewed dishes such as beef with onions and prunes, or lamb shank in a sauce dotted with carrots and onions, served over rice. The portions are quite large, though you still wouldn't want to miss the slightly piquant harrira soup or a pot of mint tea to finish things off. The owner and staff are gracious and friendly, and you'll dine with an interesting slice of the Mid-Cities' immigrant population--including Africans of many countries. They found out something we knew: Kasbah Grill serves up some of the best ethnic home-cooking you'll find, wherever your home might be.
We know Ziziki's is a great place. It wins "Best Greek Restaurant" just about every year in Best of Dallas--as well as in other, inferior "best" lists compiled by competitors. Oh, and we know Ziziki's is much more than a Greek restaurant, that its owners weave in influences from all over the Mediterranean, all over the world. And we applaud that because we should. But you're gonna be out some bucks if you dine at Ziziki's. And one thing we've always thought, right or wrong, is that a Greek restaurant shouldn't be overly pricy. That's why Zorba's now tops our list for best Greek cuisine in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. Zorba's menu is more traditional than its upscale counterpart on Travis Walk, but it's no less well-executed. Everything we've tried, in fact, is superb--no wonder this immaculate, homey space is full on weekend nights. The Greek chicken? A crisp-skinned leg quarter, somehow imbued all the way through with the flavors of lemon, pepper and oregano. The kleftiko special? An enormous pastry filled with tender chunks of braised lamb, Greek tomato sauce and green peas. The Greek-style skirt steak? Marinated in lemon juice and other seasonings, served sizzling on a cast-iron skillet, kind of like fajitas. And the bill? Very modest indeed.
The genius of this assembly is that it is subtle yet dramatic; decidedly Texas, without slipping on its kitsch; it's sensual, without tripping over clumsy clichs. Stephan Pyles--the restaurant, not the chef--is a gentle conglomerate of modern geometric shapes, metal, rich wood, stacked Texas flagstone and terra-cotta brick swaddled in Southwestern sunset and desert hues. At the portal, a lit bridge path is flanked by a black granite reflecting pool, where a small waterfall burbles over a sculpture. The greeting chamber is separated from the rest of the restaurant by a 4-foot-high wall of copper bands woven through steel vertical ligaments. The focal point, visible from almost any point in the restaurant, is the 1,500-square-foot glass-enclosed display kitchen--a display case where steam, flame and smoke billow and coil. Like Pyles' distinctive food, this ambiance has impact, yet the senses remain nourished.
Bubba's monster chicken pieces, coated in extra-crispy batter, are the perfect specimens. Not too greasy, not too salty, just a giant hunk of chicken-y fried goodness--perfect with Bubba's exquisite made-from-scratch dinner rolls. Another thing about Bubba's: Each time we've eaten there, the chicken was perfectly cooked, a testament to quality control and properly maintained fry vats. Doesn't happen at some of those fast-food joints. Add to that a killer cherry cobbler, and it's more than worth the wait in Bubba's hairpin-turn drive-through lane.
The beauty of this service protocol is its deftly coordinated tag-teaming. Bread is dispensed and water poured with choreographed precision. Order wine by the glass and the bottle is presented, a taste is poured and, after a nod, the glass is filled. Servers know the menu and almost no question trips them. They confess to ingredients, technique and approach with eloquence, and then query you before making recommendations. They check on the experience without disturbing. Their expressions soothe when the check arrives, because they've earned that muscle-bound gratuity.
We can think of nothing better than having a friendly delivery person arrive at our door with tacos al pastor--yummy wraps of chicken, cheese, lime and pineapple pico--as well as a Corona six-pack, limes, Tylenol and some cereal for in the morning. No, you heard right. Just hit a $15 minimum and Tijuana Bar & Grill will send their Taxi Express to your door with their freshly prepared Latin dishes and whatever needed convenience store items they can satisfy with their inventory of more than 300 products. When a marathon of Nip/Tuck is on, or you just realized all of your underwear is currently in the washing machine, the Tijuana Taxi Express is the coolest thing since sliced breadwhich, of course, they can bring to your door.
You want cake? EatZi's has good 'uns, and there are other fine establishments named in this issue to help you with your frosted desires. Here, however, we're talking about the staff of life. You can keep your buttercream icing and your red-velvet masterpieces. For us, the true measure of a great bakery is its bread. Thick frosting and a butt-load of chocolate and sugar can produce a passable cake, but cranking out bread with a soft, pliable crumb; rich, yeasty flavor; and a crust that's crisp and substantial but doesn't cut up your mouth or dislocate your jaw takes a master baker. Want a loaf of sourdough that actually has a touch of tartness? How about a chili-cheese bread that isn't greasy or overly dense but could make a full meal with a slice? A kalamata olive loaf that would make a Greek yearn for home? EatZi's has all those and more. So keep your sugary treats; when we're jonesing for a white-flour rush, we take it straight up--from EatZi's.
Tough call here. Perennial Dallas favorite Peggy Sue BBQ whips up a mighty fine pulled-pork sandwich, and its ribs, brisket and sides are equally tasty, but for straight-up, down-home, Texas-style barbecue with just the right amount of smoke and fall-off-the-bone tenderness, we have to give the edge to Baker's Ribs (this year, anyway). It's no surprise that Baker's emphasizes ribs in its name. Slow-cooked but never dry, not overly greasy and dipped in a peppery but restrained sauce, Baker's ribs melt in your mouth like a meat Fudgesicle and will having you sucking on the bones like...well, you can insert your own double entendre here, but smutty comparisons aside, these things are damn good. Add in an equally smoky side of pinto beans and some lightly creamy coleslaw and you have a meal fit to make a cowboy weep for joy. Our advice though: Take your order to go. A frenzy of meat lust is best enjoyed in private. Besides, we're talking barbecue here, so you're probably gonna need to take a shower after you're done rolling in them bones.
It may seem odd giving Best Chicken-Fried Steak to a joint known for its barbecue. On the other hand, to anyone but a Texan, applying the word "best" to a flattened, floured and fried hunk of cheap beef slathered in--ugh--cream gravy is pretty weird itself. Texans' love of this dish was always a bit of a mystery to us, seeing as we're not from around these parts--or at least it was until we took a bite of Peggy Sue's huge hunk o' steak. Miracle of miracles, it didn't taste like the greasy sole of a shoe dipped in batter and smothered in wallpaper paste! We actually took another bite. (Or several. We may have been drunk at the time.) Regardless of our mental state, however, our Texas-bred spouse assures us the Peggy Sue's chicken-fried is exactly what all the Texas culinary fuss is about: a crispy coating, not greasy, surrounding a piece of tender, flavorful beef accompanied by a moderate amount of peppery gravy that actually has a rich creamy flavor not reminiscent of glue. Thanks to Peggy Sue, we can say we've become converts to the Texas way of thinking about this Lone Star favorite. Now, all we need is the number of a good cardiologist.
Our heart always sinks a bit whenever a Dallas business boasts that it has a true "New York-style" anything. Most often that means that someone has hung up a few black-and-white posters of the Manhattan skyline, maybe a shot of King Kong atop the Empire State building, and is serving up ersatz slices of what passes for the Big Apple in these parts. New York-style in Dallas is usually about as legitimate as those Louis Vuitton handbags peddled on the streets of NYC. Truth is, we don't know much about New York, but we know what we like in a deli: crisp, garlicky pickles that are dropped on your table the minute you're seated; crunchy complimentary bagel chips in regular and rye; lean, salty pastrami piled skyscraper high on soft marble rye; chicken noodle soup with real egg noodles floating in a broth that tastes like it's never seen the inside of a can. You want lox and bagels? Deli News ships theirs in from New York. Want to do your Seinfeld impersonation? They have black and white cookies along with a whole counter of baked treats. Smoked fish, egg creams, phosphates and a host of Jewish delicacies find space on a huge menu that almost requires a Yiddish-to-English dictionary to read. Is it true New York? Who cares? It's a lot closer and has to be just as good.
Listen Wendy, Ronald and Your Royal Burger Highness, you can stop calling those flattened sheets of beef-like substance you dish out "burgers." We know better now. Sure, Dallas has always had its share of great burgers--Whassup, Angry Dog?--but when you don't have time to sit down to the real deal, that doesn't mean you have to eat McSlop. Back Yard Burgers serves up thick patties of beef that taste like you just whipped them off the Weber yourself. They gladly smother it in cheese--including real cheddar or Swiss, not some processed cheese-like yellow gloop. Fries--seasoned or waffle--are not two or three generations removed from real potatoes. Back Yard Burgers may be a little more expensive than Mickey D's, but you're already rushing your lunch. Why not treat yourself?
What the hell happened to chicken wings? We've always loved them, but they used to be the red-headed stepchild of the chicken, just one cut above gizzards and livers in the parts pecking order. Sure, they're tasty, but back in the day few people would make a whole meal out of them. Now wing-slinging eateries are springing up everywhere--almost literally. It seems like there's a WingStop on just about every street corner in greater Dallas. Maybe it's because they scored Troy Aikman as a pitchman, or maybe it's because these wings are high-flying gems (great french fries too). WingStop's wings are available in more than a half-dozen flavors that let wings take flight. Try a 10-piece Atomic. Go ahead. We dare you.
The never-ending diet that dominates our portly life means we must eat a lot of salads. By lots, we mean we could give that giant invisible rabbit in Harvey a run for his roughage. When we want a fancy salad, we head over to Greenz, but mortgage rates being what they are, we often don't have the green for their greenery. Thank the rabbit god El-ahrairah for Snappy Salads, located in the shopping center at the northwest corner of Preston Road and Forest Lane. For just $6.49 we can pick from their complete variety of veggies and dressings (meat is extra, and they also offer soups.) The greens are fresh, crisp and never bitter, and the dressings are several dozen notches above the Kraft variety. It's a cheap, healthy--except for all the blue cheese dressing we add--alternative to fast food, and if you're a yo-yo dieter like us, you need all your money to maintain your various fat and thin wardrobes.
There might be cheaper sandwiches out there, but we doubt you'll find anything better than the variety at Which Wich, the ubiquitous shop created by Genghis Grill founder Jeff Sinelli. For $4.33, you get to play Dagwood Bumstead, building your own masterwork from the bread up--and the fresh baked bread here actually tastes like bread, not that fluffy Wonder Bread-like stuff at a certain other sandwich chain. Forget about the side soup or salad, though. These guys are specialists (they even make their own chips), and you can tell that from the results: a tangy muffaletta, salty pastrami, rich roast beef. If it fits between two slices of bread, they have it.
Yeah, that's right. We went with the chain. So what? Look, it takes a determined idiot to create a bad doughnut. Deep-fried flour covered in sugar--how do you screw that up? Even a mediocre doughnut gets better with 15 seconds in a microwave oven, but why nuke when you can get doughnuts hot and freshly baked--at least when Krispy Kreme's green "hot doughnuts now" sign is lit. Krispy Kreme's conveyors crank hot glazed beauties by the hundreds all day, and that's what drives their success. Frankly, we find the glazing to be a little thick and their sweetness a little cloying. Give us a chocolate custard-filled. They may not be hot out of the oven, and they're fattening as hell, but they're like really great sex with a wholly inappropriate partner. You may regret it later, but not much, and you'll be back for more as soon as your conscience allows.
Hey, we don't care if you grew up next to Laura Miller in Connecticut: Anybody who lives in Dallas any period of time develops a tortilla palate. You can tell the mass-produced ones from handmade. Caf San Miguel offers fare that might be called neo-Tex-Mex, based on familiar dishes but with a creative flair. In the matter of the near sacred tortilla, however, there is no messing around. The tortillas that come to your table here are made by hand by a lady whose craft you can actually watch at the front of the restaurant. All the food here is great, but the tortillas add a note of traditional fidelity. A restaurant that produces a tortilla like this is a restaurant that takes Mexican food seriously. Open 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. Monday through Thursday and through 11 p.m. on Friday and Saturday, and 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Sunday.
Since Teppo was sired by Teiichi Sakurai in 1995, Dallas concrete has been swarmed by sushi depots in hotels, countless strip mall nooks, grocery stores, even from warehouse stores such as Sam's. In the thick of this krill, Teppo still floats to the top, compelling awe with its often perverse sense of culinary fish doctrine. Flounder carpaccio in a mango-hued splash of uni spritz with sprouts and tomato, for instance. Or raw fish (we spaced on which species because we were caught up in our bottle of Ozeki Dry sake) with okra in plum sauce. Flora is pressed for duty as well, with gazpacho Teppo-style: a lurid chilled tomato soup with ginger and cucumber. If this is too edgy for you, nibble from a skewer of beef tongue, quail egg, chicken hearts--even chicken joints--cooked over oak coals from the yakitori menu and pretend you're a French organ fetishist. Mundane sushi options dance with pristine lushness. Spanish mackerel shimmers like a clinging silvery chemise.
In Dallas, the quest for good Chinese food is not only about grub quality; it embraces clean fragrant ambiance and graciously attentive service too. Many, if not most, Chinese restaurants skirt the service part. But not at Kirin Court, a second-story restaurant nearly as big as a football field with a burbling tank filled with live crustaceans on one end and a stage often filled with live entertainment on the other (sometimes Vietnamese rock-and-roll). But it's best just to eat. Graze from assorted clay pots and fried-rice dishes. Or chew delicious dim sum--from tasty chicken feet to steamed buns with a molten core of barbecued pork--delivered from passing carts. And for those with tongues finely tuned to exotica, pluck nourishment from double-boiled shark fin soup, braised sea cucumbers with black mushroom or crispy fried pig intestine. Does the thought of such culinary adventures set the gullet butterflies a-fluttering? Then dampen them with a tasty, crispy roasted squab. Crunch, crunch.
What's there to say about Stephan Pyles? Much and little, all at the same time. He demonstrated his paranormal facility with flavors at Routh Street Caf, his imaginative wittiness at Star Canyon, his ability to weave and float a pan-American mesh at AquaKnox and his skill at panning commercial karats with his work with Carlson Restaurants, Dragonfly and the Gaylord. With Stephan Pyles restaurant, the man is not merely back, he is transmogrified. After years absorbing influences and steeping in ideas, Pyles is unleashing a torrent of interpretations never savored before in Dallas--maybe anywhere. From his distinctive ceviches (halibut, scallop, hamachi, bronzini) posted in martini-esque display bowls, to his seared foie gras "Tacu Tacu" with lentils and bananas, to his poblano-asiago soup with scallops salpicn and smoked tomato foam, to his coriander-cured rack of lamb, the food doesn't stun the senses via an array of "aggressive, bold" flavors, as Pyles contends. Rather it gives pause because of the imaginative way Pyles applies his ruthless finesse to these vigorous tastes and aromas. Pyles has never discarded his West Texas roots (the dining room is a panoply of stone and sunset hues with chandeliers mimicking tumbleweeds). Rather, he has taken his Texas rootstock and grafted a careful parsing of every relevant flavor and aroma he has ever come across, re-engineering it with that distinctive Pyles craft. We're lucky his Texas roots exert enough force to keep him fixed in Dallas' orbit.
What kind of a mad chef would do Iranian osetra caviar on chiboust of Yukon potato and Maine lobster with green apple sorbet? Or beef tenderloin with foie gras Rossini with Himalayan truffle potato marble? Poached lobster with chlorophyll tart? All disgorged from a glass jewel-box display kitchen into a dining room nipped and tucked with ultra-suede, exotic wood and Limoges china? If you guessed Avner Samuel, you ain't heavy, just rich. In the annals of fine, fine dining, nothing surpasses Aurora, outside of a set of Michelin stars. You'll know this when Aurora kicks in; when the overbearingly self-important menu prose congeals on the tip of your tongue in a surging rush of paroxysmal glee. Shed a tear of joy. Feel the heat flashes. Grip the smelling salts. Catch your breath. Twitch. Repeat. Just make sure you don't use up all of the smelling salts before the check arrives.
Just as Pappas Bros. was cleaving its way into the North Texas steak house storm, the Steakhouse ran a series of sonically sensual radio ads. Its dry-aged steaks splintered silence with the sputtering hiss of rendering beef fat. Cigar tips kindled with the scratch and pffft of a stick match. Cognacs sloshed in clanking crystal. Much of that swirled down the drain of Dallas history--the cigar part, anyway. The cognac isn't gone, but it isn't the same without a heady Partagas fume. The steak, however, remains: rich, silky, seasoned simply but with mind-bending effectiveness, its nutty dry-aged aftertaste lingering long enough to be gently sluiced away by a strapping, gripping Cabernet or Barolo. Service, too, is seamlessly orchestrated. Notice how the valet plucks the ticket stub from your windshield as he hands you the keys. Prime stuff, that.
You can season french fries to death or smother them in pounds of ketchup and come away with a satisfying hunk of cooked taters, but there's something to be said for the perfect car fry. It always happens: You grab an order to go and can't wait to start in on those fries, their aroma filling your mid-sized sedan with delicious temptation. But ketchup isn't gonna happen during your drive, and too much seasoning results in a messy steering wheel. What's a fry purist on the go to do? Grab 'em from the Dairy-ette, where the fries' delicious balance between crispiness and plumpness is unrivaled--not soggy, not overcooked. Makes sense that the Dairy-ette has the car fry down; after all, they're one of the few joints left that comes right to your car window to serve 'em up. Oh, they'll hook a shelf to your car window and offer ketchup...but you won't need it for the fries.
This spot in the Quadrangle is a stylish room with linen tablecloths and napkins and fresh flowers. It's also got one of the best cheap three-course lunches in town: soup or salad, an entre and dessert for $9.95. Entres include sushi or sashimi boxes, stir fry and big vermicelli bowls, mounded with charbroiled chicken, pork, beef or shrimp and topped with crushed peanuts and cilantro. It's all fresh, healthy and well-presented. And did we say cheap, cheap, cheap?
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