Sometimes the servers can be snooty. Sometimes the prices are over the top. But this is the way things are in the world of Michelin star restaurants. You can't feed those suffering from wallet obesity unless there's a little condescension. Yes, the rich may like to belittle their bilingual Toro jockeys when they accidentally puree the azaleas, but they absolutely adore being sneered at by those who snicker when they slosh and make their noses run red with expensive Burgundy while trying to remember the tasting ritual. Anyway, Chef Avner Samuel--the kind of man you pray would prepare your last fried chicken-and-cottage fries dinner should you ever find yourself with a serious appointment at Huntsville--has created Dallas' first and only Michelin star-quality restaurant. There is no flavor here that doesn't make your toes curl like popcorn shrimp, or your wallet trim down like a waist on a carb countdown. So sneer all you want. We can lick our plates without ever showing our tongues--unless the food goes rude.
Readers' Pick
III Forks
17776 Dallas Parkway
972-267-1776
When the folks at Casa Rosa say their guacamole is fresh, they mean it. This tasty avocado appetizer is made at your table, before your very eyes, and the quality is undeniable. Compared with the typical cooler-wilted guacamole you'll find at many other Mexican restaurants, Casa Rosa's version is superb. The fact that you get to choose your own ingredients also makes it the best in town.
Red Square McDonald's aside, we never expected to eat lunch with Lenin. And if we ever did, we expected it to be, of course, during some strange Bill and Ted-esque time-travel adventure. Yet, right in front of Goff's stands a life-size statue of Lenin, sternly glaring as you bite into a juicy Goffburger and ponder political economics. Or simply wonder if you should spring for a fried pie (we say go for it). If you buy him an Orangina, he might answer that pesky question you've had about The State and Revolution. Not that we suspect the hamburger joint of harboring Commies, because they know, as it proudly states on Lenin's pedestal, "AMERICA WON." Goff's burgers are made fresh, but, in true capitalist fashion, they only take cash.
It's a little confusing, this heavy metal bandying about by Mico Rodriguez (The M Crowd, Restaurant Life) and company. The Mercury used to be a casual fine dining experience in a strip mall at Preston and Forest. But that shingle got changed to Mercury Grill. The new "The Mercury" (a tribute to Orson Welles' and John Houseman's Mercury Theatre in New York) was revamped and installed in the Shops of Willow Bend in Plano. And what an installation it is. It's a contemporary brush of soft hues and glimmering hard surfaces, the kind that relax instead of agitate. The Mercury isn't visually busy or fashionably annoying, rather it's so tastefully done in every area that it's hard not to marvel between bites. Tan booth enclosures and the green-blue frosted glass frame the clear glass viewing slits in front of the kitchen. Those slits reveal an avalanche of stainless steel. Good things go on in there, too. Every dish--no, every bite--is a near-flawless oral escapade. Simple afterthoughts--like the ubiquitous house salad--become attention-getting flourishes within its midst. Fried calamari, almost as ubiquitous as pretzel twists and peppermint candy in bars and restaurants, takes on new life. Who would have thought of parking battered little tentacle blossoms and tender body rings on a bed of creamy risotto rattled out of composure by a spicy tomato sauce? This is the kind of stuff that makes the best dining a bastion of perfect moments; when unexpected elements come together with such gentle seamlessness they seem genetically predisposed to couple. Yet with all this culture and pedigree, The Mercury omits Paul Masson from its wine list. Orson Welles would be so jealous.