Having a meal outside on a hot summer’s day in Texas is usually not my idea of a great time, but with Fort Worth celeb-chef Tim Love doing the cooking, I will make an exception. The creator of the downhome-fine dining restaurant Lonesome Dove in the Stockyards area has taken his show semi-on-the-road - to the banks of the Trinity River. At the place called Woodshed Smokehouse, with food like this slab of baby-back pork ribs, you’re likely to eat and leave warm, sleepy and very full.

The concept behind Woodshed crosses paths with a couple other Texas chefs’ “barbecue joints,” in that Love and his kitchen do apply a more rigorous culinary method to foods than we’re used to seeing. Dishes often involve several cooking methods behind the scenes, rather than simply being slapped on a grill or into a smoker. Yet that doesn’t keep the vibe from being hyper-casual and more than a little fun.

One of the cooler touches at Woodshed is the flag system used for meats. If you’re like me and have never used or seen such a system, it works like this: In addition to all the regular meats on the menu, one or more flags hung outside the place tell you which animal is being celebrated today. Like the blinking red lights that, when you’re lucky, promise “Hot Donuts,” this flag on this day promises Woodshed’s spin on cabrito.

Really, there’s no way to guess how many presentations the Meat of the Day will get, but virtually any day you can bet it will get taco-ed. With this particular dish, all the joys and wow-pow flavors of the Tex-Mex world gather to explode from this freshly made tortilla. Enhancements like pico de gallo and guacamole do indeed abound. I’m told there are days with two meat flags flying. Now that I’ve got to see!

Think fast… what is the hottest food craze going on right now, in Texas and across the nation? If you say “ramen,” you would be correct. Those little storebought packets of dry noodles, chicken base and salt that so many of us lived on in college have been elevated to a high art. No, not using the packs… but starting with whatever fresh ingredients something called ramen must have started out as. In true chef fashion, Tim Love finishes his ramen by cracking an egg on top.

Toto may know he’s not in Kansas anymore; but if Texans need help figuring out they’re not in just a barbecue joint anymore, they need look no further than the wild and wonderful selection of vegetables. Because of the love affair (Love affair, get it?) between this chef and meat fat, not everything that’s vegetable is vegetarian. But based on this day’s mighty procession of fried potatoes, fried artichokes and what may be the world’s most amazing roasted squash, I’m ready to order nothing but vegetables one of these times on the banks of the Trinity River. Then again, that depends on what flags are flying.

 

 

 

All-around restaurant guy Matt Brice, who did bigtime stints running Ruth’s Chris Steak House in Manhattan and Mo’s… A Place for Steaks in Houston before buying the former Branchwater Taven this past April, loves the phrase “fine casual.” And though it’s clearly intended to bridge some real or imagined gap between “fine dining” and “casual dining,” I didn’t really know what he was going for at his new Federal American Grill until I stopped in for dinner last night.

The basic idea - apart from the name, which references not the federal government or even history’s Federalist Papers but a longtime business started in Houston by Brice’s wife’s grandfather - is to create a menu and set of recipes so stellar that those dishes are served yearround. Though Federal Grill, he insists, is not a steakhouse, it does follow the basic steakhouse mantra that everything you teach a customer to want is available whenever the customer shows up. I applaud that mantra.

Brice, it turns out, has made a study of the ubiquitous crabcake during his career - made easier by the fact that most of the places he’s worked have served very good ones. His version is his idea of the best, and while’s there’s definitely much room for opinions, there’s nothing laughable about his claim. The cake itself is lush, delicate and almost creamy, a function (I gather) of mixing large lumps of crabmeat with smaller slivers. I like the large lumps best, but the smaller pieces help hold things together.

As proof that almost any dish that’s seen everywhere can be really good if done right, I offer Exhibit A, or maybe B after the crabcake: Federal Grill’s tuna tartare. No single component is outlandishly different from most other restaurant’s - avocado, Dijon emulsion, crispy shallot - it’s just plain good. It does show up with a pile of greenery on top, which probably happens with too many dishes here. But especially in the summer, it’s hard to get upset about “too much” green stuff.

Since we opted out of a steakhouse dinner - that collection of filet (8 ounce or even 4 ounce), bone-in ribeye, New York strip and smoked pork chop listed on the menu inside the black box - we ended up with entrees that were on the light side. At least as steakhouses go. One favorite is this intriguing spin on shrimp and grits, which in the true spirit of the Deep South wraps its shrimp in bacon. And yes, you really can eat your spinach while you’re at it.

Surely the strangest main dish on the Federal Grill menu appeared, I’m told, during the final days that gifted chef David Grossman was still cooking at Branchwater as it morphed into a new concept with a new owner. It’s also vegetarian, which means it’s something I’d never order when there’s prime beef to be had. But… this sesame crusted eggplant was way too intriguing to pass up, with its Indian Lite layerings of saag paneer, raita and cucumber salad.

One thing Matt Brice did learn from running high-end steakhouses is the art of creating great sides for fun and profit. Like these deep-fried Brussels sprouts, for instance. Or the truffle mac and cheese. Or the creamed spinach, certainly a steakhouse classic. Or the carrots roasted in nothing less than duck fat. You need to order one or more of these for your table. And in keeping with the notion of “fine casual,” they cost a lot less than they do higher up the restaurant pecking order.

Desserts are quite good at Federal Grill, led off by a really fun spin on bread pudding. Pictured above is said pudding, turned all nostalgic with peanut butter and jelly. Pictured below is probably the best version of cheesecake I’ve ever put in my mouth, and I’ve been putting a lot of cheesecake in my mouth since trying Jack Dempsey’s famous, shipped-worldwide version on Broadway in 1970. I’m kinda relieved the great boxing champion is no longer with us, since I would hate to have to tell him I’ve found a better cheesecake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My old friend Stephan Pyles is still doing new things - even if one of his newest things is a trip down his own Memory Lane, back to his West Texas hometown of Big Spring. “It wasn’t the end of the world,” I remember Stephan telling me years ago, “but you could see it from there.” Now Big Spring has come to startling new life, within a restaurant called Stampede 66 in one of the hippest developing sections of Dallas. It’s an area craving exactly what this chef now has to offer, including what might be the world’s best buttermilk fried chicken and biscuits inspired by his grandmother’s recipe. Yes, she who lived and cooked back in Big Spring.

When it comes to anything resembling fine dining in Dallas, Pyles pretty much wrote the book. He was one of a handful of young chefs who gave birth to New Southwestern Cuisine in the ’80s, and then watched or helped it develop into New Texas Cuisine. As this art installation of stampeding horses above the Stampede 66 kitchen lets on, Stephan is in no mood to stand around the corral. He has his namesake Stephan Pyles restaurant, of course, plus an intriguing concept called Samar, plus the new Sky Canyon at hyper-busy Love Field. Clearly, what this guy needed was another restaurant.

To Stephan, Texas has always resembled several countries, and he sets out at Stampede 66 to give culinary voice to each and every one of them. One voice, of course, has got to be beef barbecue of the cowboy variety, something he takes in directions no cowboy or “cookie” on a trail ride ever thought of going. This brisket is cold-smoked first, longer than most pitmasters take for the whole process, then cooked by the French method called sous vide for about 72 hours, then tossed on a grill for extra caramelization. The result, set alongside some terrific potato salad and housemade pickles, is some of the tenderest, smokiest, juiciest Texas brisket you will ever put in your mouth.

In keeping with Stephan’s multi-national vision of Texas, Stampede 66 had to incorporate a lot of of rich and rustic Mexican flavors. There are quite a few dishes on the menu that do this, but none more so than this creative trio of tacos - the fried oyster being my favorite. All things taco begin and end with the tortilla, he insists, which is why he went back to basics. Way back. They not only form and cook dough made from corn masa but actually grind their own corn with a special machine from Mexico. Several centuries of history peel away as you listen to Stephan talk about his tortillas.

There is the strong Deep South element in Texas, one made stronger and stronger from the beginnings of the Republic by immigrants from places like Arkansas, Tennessee and the Carolinas. Yes, rednecks. Apparently one of these settlers brought along a great recipe for Carolina shrimp and grits, made even better here by weaving a little bacon into the mix, insisting on locally ground grits and, of course, showcasing nothing but fresh Gulf shrimp. Places just east also come into play at Stampede 66, thanks to jambalaya and etouffee from Louisiana just across the Sabine River.

Born of a gifted chef’s memories of his family’s truck stop, Stampede 66 needed some downhome desserts - you know, the kind of sweet things that aren’t so much classy as they are real good. Such descriptions certainly apply to Pyles’ fondly resurrected version of butterscotch pudding. If you’re like me, you’ll taste this pudding, love it, and only then try to identify the flavor or calculate how many decades it’s been since you tasted anything like it.

Finally, if there’s one thing at Stampede 66 that ties a lot of loose ends together, it’s this new-old margarita - prepared on a cart as though it were bananas Foster. Named for Pyles’ lovingly remembered restaurant Star Canyon, this is essentially a frozen margarita NOT made in a “margarita machine.” Instead, the juices and tequila are combined in a stainless-steel mixing bowl and then the whole thing is sprayed with liquid nitrogen. A kind of adult snowcone forms as the server whisks - even if the whole process is hidden by a fog bank worthy of 19th century London. A big thanks to Stephan Pyles for giving us all Stampede 66, proving that even as you move forward, you also CAN go home again.

 

 

Shortly after Mauritius-born, New Orleans-based chef Dominique Macquet opened his original Dominique’s on Magazine a few years back, he developed what we’ve all learned to call a “good problem to have”: the place attracted far too many diners. Thus began the long, difficult road to the seared Louisiana shrimp remoulade pictured above, one that included the end of one business partnership and the beginning of another. The end result, as of a few weeks ago, is a newer, larger and arguably better edition of Dominique’s on Magazine - only a few blocks from the shuttered first one.

One of the best things about the new version of Dominique’s - on Magazine Street in uptown New Orleans, logically enough - is the chef-partner’s ever-increasing commitment to delivering his “food gospel” with local ingredients and/or preparations rooted in the local cuisine. To most New Orleanians, no longer the tourists he counted on in his initial restaurants in the French Quarter, that counts for a lot. This lobster and celery root salad, for instance, borrows flavor and texture elements from not one but two New Orleans classics: shrimp remoulade and crabmeat ravigote.

With the long, hot summer upon us in New Orleans, as it is in Texas, salads have taken on increased importance in delivering a diner’s pleasure. They are also a sterling opportunity for serious-minded chefs like Macquet to “go local” in a major way. Fact is, he grows a lot of his best produce in an innovative hanging garden out back - eat your heart out, ancient Babylon! But even when he’s buying produce, Macquet comes up with winners like this salad of local red and yellow beets, topped with frisee, sided with a housemade goat cheese turnover and drizzled with olive Dijon vinaigrette.

On the seafood front, Macquet manages to “kill two fish,” as it were, with one hook. This grilled cobia we sampled not only is local (from the waters of the Gulf) but manages to showcase one of the region’s long “under-utilized” species. As a kid growing up in New Orleans, I thought fish meant speckled trout and later, thanks to Paul Prudhomme, redfish ripe for the blackening. Macquet’s cobia is delicious, showing up with housemade pappardelle, baby spinach and caramelized cauliflower (both local!), plus accents of arugula oil, kaffir lime and traditional French beurre blanc.

Two meat-centric entrees stand out at the new Dominique’s on Magazine, in addition to the spaghetti and Wagyu beef meatballs the chef brought over from the original - fans might have lynched him otherwise. One is the grilled lamb T-bone with basil-mint pommes puree, lamb crackling and harissa jus - bearing a wisp of Morocco, to be sure. Perhaps even better is this grilled Morgan Ranch wagyu beef coulette (not unlike the wonderful steak in French “steak frites”) with a housemade Creole cream cheese stuffing, a roesti potato, crispy watercress and carrot flan. As often with Macquet’s cooking, the only sauce is constructed around meat juices splashed with red wine.

When it comes time for dessert, based on the other evening’s dinner, I have not one but two suggestions. Above is the floating island (a spin on classic French ile flottant, literally, or less literally: oeuf a la niege, meaning “egg in the snow.”) That’s all a way of promising puffy-pleasing meringue, served with caramel syrup, mint creme anglaise and whatever fresh fruit looks best in the restaurant’s pastry kitchen. The dessert below just might be even better: a banana cream tartlette, with a tip of the chapeau to a Napoleon, made with vanilla, dulce de leche (how’d that sneak in?) and creme fraiche. At the new Dominique’s on Magazine, Macquet keeps taking on more and more “chains” by committing to local ingredients and local preparations. With delicious irony, for thinkers and eaters alike, this also might be the freest his ever been.

 

 

 

 

 

Last night chef Kevin Bryant and his crew strutted their stuff to 11 food journalists from the Houston area. But the restaurant they’d opened only a week ago in Montrose is called Eleven XI (even though that’s not its address), so it’s all beginning to make sense. If you haven’t made it into Eleven XI yet, I really think you should. All 11 of you!

In addition to the cheese-crusty grilled oysters up top - described by GM Joe Wellborn as a combination of Mexican and Italian, which would always work for me - there was an unexpected commitment to the dying art of cooking whole fish. Since Americans hate anything with bones, the presentation associated with Asia is seldom seen. With this red snapper showing up as Eleven XI’s Whole Fish of the Day, we hope we see a bit more of the same this side of Chinatown.

Still, neither of the dishes pictured above was how Bryant kicked off the meal - by evening’s end a total of 14 courses served family-style, 10 savory and then four sweet. The whole thing was such a relief from the usual chef-driven tasting-menu BS, in which what seems a hundred tiny plates with little or nothing on them parade before the diner for intense admiration. As in: “The chef now offers his leaf presentation.” Eleven XI was smart enough to give us an All Access Pass to this superior seafood tower, featuring shrimp and an intriguing array of raw oysters from several, mostly coldwater coasts.

Perhaps it just wouldn’t be dinner without a crabcake. This one was a bit different from the norm here in Texas, though it certainly followed the current trend toward few to no breadcrumbs or other binders - read: stretchers. Instead of “going local” at any cost, Bryant formed his cake from sweeter-than-thou Dungeness crab from Oregon. The sweetness of this meat was perfectly offset by the tang of a remoulade-like Dijon sauce described as being “Creole.”

One dish that didn’t travel far from its traditions was the steak Tartare - and only a group of card-carrying foodies would include so many who couldn’t wait to get their mouths around raw beef. The staff at Eleven XI made much of the fact it was cut to order, insisting that many fine restaurants take the shortcut of cutting at the beginning of the night. The accompaniments were anything you’d want with steak tartare plus French fries, which seemed a reasonable embrace of American modernity.

One of the night’s biggest hits seems destined to replace the chicken wing as everybody’s favorite beer food - except for the small matter of being more expensive to buy and way more difficult to make. Score that round for chicken wings. Still, these braised pork shanks (“Think osso buco,” explained Joe Wellborn) were tender and falling off the bone, like the world’s best rib born of the world’s best chicken wing - and I for one don’t recall that happening with Adam and Eve. The sauce here is BBQ, though it would be great Buffalo-style too: a mix of Texas, Memphis and a certain corner of North Carolina. A BBQ Sauce Greatest Hits Album.

Much the same as BBQ, everybody loves fried chicken, right? Well, here’s what happens when KFC meets Popeyes and travels a few extra miles along the highway. For one thing, it’s a Texas game hen, so it’s smaller - it is, believe it or not, a single serving. For another, the hen’s been brined first in citrus tea, which apparently took a lot of trial and error involving Houston coffee-tea wizard Avi Katz. Whatever you choose to drink with it or after it, setting this plate where your bucket o’ chicken used to be strikes me as an excellent idea.

The beauty of virtually all the food Bryant and Crew turn out is that none of it is precious. Not only are there no edible flowers and no tiny squizzles of something that adds nothing except in the eyes of the chef, the portions are Texas-sizable (meaning they can be shared) and the flavors are big, bold and shamelessly traditional. Here, for instance, is the slow-braised caveman-style beef short rib, described as having a “nine-inch bone.” But then again, I assure myself, that doesn’t matter.

When, after 10 savory courses and about that many paired wines, cocktails and beers, it was clearly time for dessert, I sneaked into the kitchen with my camera to catch Bryant working on some big, fancy “production number” to close things out. Instead, I found him hunched over a little Fry-Daddy kind of affair, squirting in a tangle of sweet batter to make state-fair funnel cakes. Be still my heart. I was so impressed by the fact that, after making desserts for Tony Vallone a while back, the guy would devote himself to funnel cakes, I forgot to take his picture. So yes, there he is!

Here in Texas, you also have to love a guy whose menu features a Daily Fried Pie. These mini versions were filled with Mission figs and cream cheese, offering a lovely half-memory of cheesecake. But one of the 11 writers said it better: “It’s like a divine Fig Newton!” she exclaimed. The fried pies came with housemade vanilla ice cream, which for once seemed as good as or even better than the Blue Bell I pick up at the grocery. And the way I see things, if a gifted chef like Kevin Bryant can serve funnel cakes for dessert in his brand-new restaurant, I can tear off crispy chunks and dip them in melted ice cream. I mean, fair’s fair.

 

 

If you ask me, chef-owner Ronnie Killen doesn’t need the aggravation of barbecue - which has to be the most competitive sport in all of Texas. Even guys doing barbecue to help their church want to be better than the guys doing barbecue for any other church. So when a trained chef with experience in Europe and London, finalist honors at running the White House kitchen and a hyper-successful steakhouse in his native Pearland, decides to throw his hat into the smoke ring, you really have to wonder.

Today, as the line started to form outside Killen’s Steakhouse for the weekend “pop-up” barbecue joint he’s doing, Killen may have been wondering himself. He’s been working the smokers since 3 a.m., he lets on between swigs from a can of Bud Light. The steakhouse, the pop-up, and making 500 pulled pork tamales for tomorrow’s Go Pig or Go Home competition are clearly taking their toll. Still…

“I’m not striving to be mediocre,” says the chef who won last year’s Go Pig or Go Home, noting that Houston has no barbecue of the national stature of Franklin’s in Austin. ”I’m trying to take barbecue to a whole new level, a chef-driven level. We’re not trying to be the best barbecue in Pearland, or even the best barbecue in Houston. We’re trying to be the best barbecue.” So this is what Ronnie Killen is up to each Saturday and Sunday morning, starting somewhere around 3 a.m.

Technically, or you might say contractually, this version of Killen’s barbecue is open from 11 a.m. till whenever the meat runs out, following the lead of now-iconic Aaron Franklin and other Texas gurus. There are takeout orders, to be sure. But most people like to chow down right inside the steakhouse - the way these two guys are doing on a 10-pound collection of beef brisket, pork shortribs, beef ribs and some smoked sausage that’s made by Killen in tribute to his German and Czech roots.

Though most people, even here in Texas, are more familiar with pork ribs, Killen puts extra-effort into making sure his beef ribs are smokey and, most of all, tender. In pursuit of such things, he smokes his various meat using three different smokers, each using a different type of wood, each held at a different temperature and each being used for a different amount of time. I think that’s what he means by “chef-driven.”

Also worthy of attention are the three different sauces Killen sets out on the table, or at least offers for use wherever you can grab some from somebody. While avoiding any specific geographic affinity - you, know, Texas vs. Kansas City vs. the Carolinas - the sauces do mark off specific flavor profiles. The most mainstream is probably the Tangy, but the chef recommends the Sweet for the shortribs -pork and sweet being such naturals. For his brisket he lobbies hard for his Coffee sauce, whose pleasant bitterness parallels the tannins in Napa cabernet when sipped with a juicy ribeye.

As a rule of thumb, barbecue at the Killen’s pop-up follows the traditional minimalism of the Central Texas tradition, which a lot of German and Czech families have dominated for generations. These are not people known for their, well, generosity. At least in his pop-up setting, Killen serves a mainstream mustard-based potato salad and a small bowl of beans with the meat of your choosing, along with the ever-sentimental journey of plain white bread.

And yes, there are three desserts offered at Ronnie Killen’s pop-up, which he plans to create like some Barbecue Brigadoon each Saturday and Sunday until summer, when he should be able to open his real joint nearby. Sweets include banana pudding with vanilla wafers, pecan pie touched with Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup (the chef fesses up) and this beauty from the Steakhouse. It’s bread pudding made with croissants, with a chunky sauce of cinnamon-kissed Granny Smith apples and raisins. Like I said, Ronnie Killen may not really need the aggravation of barbecue. But after today, I just might need his barbecue.

 

With the personalized cooking, personalized service and personalized, well, person that have served him so well in Houston, chef-restaurateur Philippe Schmit unveiled a new version of himself last night. In addition to his going-gangbusters eatery called Philippe Restaurant + Bar, he’ll now bring himself and his staff to make dinner in your kitchen for 12-50 of your nearest and dearest. He gave a VIP preview in a large and lovely Bellaire home last night, and somehow they let me in.

“Oh yes, I would be zere,” the newly minted U.S. citizen promised me as I gulped down shrimp, oysters and crab salad from this chilled display on the already chilly patio. According to a card at each place setting, the concept is “catering in your home showcase,” which can include serving on your (I hope best) china and choosing wines to pour from your own cellar. If you don’t possess such a cellar, award-winning sommelier Vanessa Trevino-Boyd will be there to pour her version of the good stuff, as she did last night with bottles from Italy, France, Madeira, Portugal and South Africa.

Chef Philippe, crafty fellow that he is, designed a menu that demonstrated the three major styles of service that will be available: passed, seated and buffet. Among the appetizers swirling through the bubbles-sipping guests were these scrambled eggs with black truffle, plus the self-proclaimed French Cowboy’s rendition of chicken wings with barbecue sauce and something called Frog Legs in a Pond. I’m kind of sorry I didn’t see that last one.

If you were looking forward to a nice, light salad, you didn’t get one. In keeping with Gascony, the French region that gave us the Three Musketeers, there was protein to spare. Above the minimum amount of greens required by law, this salad served up shredded duck confit, smoked duck breast and foie gras, plus in the back a quail egg AND a quail leg atop toasted brioche.

Despite the challenges of doing so in somebody else’s oven, Chef Philippe succeeded masterfully - he is an official Master Chef of France, after all - with this cheese souffle. And since the cheese was gorgonzola, you had no trouble telling when it got close to your table. Cauliflower, chervil and walnuts joined in the souffle itself, making for a tidy little marriage. But the real hit was the port wine sauce you could pour on youself. Maybe literally.

Philippe being a classically trained French chef and all, there was an official “fish course,” and you can’t get much more French than rouget. He said he was impressed that the fish was caught only a day earlier, and certainly that achievement was hammered home by the clean, saltwater flavor of rouget and not a whole lot else. That foam, by the way, was described as “saffron emulsion.”

To showcase the buffet capabilities of his new expansion, the chef set up a carving station of beef sirloin crusted with mustard and a bit of breadcrumbs. By this point, many of the diners were groaning about how full they were from eating everything else, but there’s just something about red meat in the Gret Stet of Texas. After everyone finished taking photos, the stuff started to disappear off the cutting board. Fast.

A buffet, of course, isn’t only meat. For one thing, there were no fewer than five globetrotting sauces to spoon over the sirloin: bearnaise, barbecue, peppercorn, bordelaise and chimichurri. And there were also lots of vegetable sides, from classic ratatouille to a lovely mix of root vegetables, creamy spinach and an oversized bowl of haricot vert that I decided to empty before agreeing to go home. Oh, and there was one more tres Philippe vegetable…

Really now, what is there to say about truffled mac and cheese fries? At our table, we mostly tried to guess how they got to be that way, what innocent young American mac and cheese must have done to fall in with that bad crowd from France. Mac and cheese baked in a sheet pan probably, then cut into sticks, battered and deep-fried. Happily, especially for me, the truffle oil was more of a perfume than a flavor.

The grand finale was classic French Opera Cake, a fantasy of super-thin layers of different kinds of chocolate. Perhaps best of all was the citrus salad (candied orange) and the cafe brulot chantilly cream. Taken together, the courses were 100% a case of “Hey kids, don’t try this at home.” Still, if you want somebody to come to your home and try it for you, I’ve heard rumors there’s this French guy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When it opened in 2004 inside the Omni Houston Hotel, Noe was one of those restaurants in which every dish came with instructions. You know: “The chef prefers that you eat from that spoon in your right hand, then chase it with sauce from the shot glass in your left.” I am grateful, however. The experience helped teach me that I don’t much care what the chef prefers. I’m also grateful that that Noe is no more. Welcome to the month-old Noe Grill.

“Our diners today are more sophisticated than they were 15 years ago,” Omni food and beverage director Shane Bruns told me over a late lunch today. And he should know, since he earned his spurs Texas-style as a chef in San Francisco and Aspen before trading his whites for a suit and tie. “I think it’s important to know where your food comes from.” So whether you’re going with the dish pictured up top, the glorious curried lobster carbonara, or something as “simple” as this heirloom tomato salad with warm avocado, you’re virtually guaranteed to be eating one or more things from the ”local growers, farmers, fishermen & women” listed at the bottom of the menu.

Tex-Mex tacos, say hello to Chinese lettuce wraps - the face that launched a thousand P.F. Chang’s. Except at dinner-only Noe Grill, the “tacos” are filled with “Asian pork belly” that’s been braised and, apparently, browned moments before it turns up at your table. There’s a sweet chili sauce involved, along with stirfried vegetables and Napa cabbage. Here’s a dish that tastes almost as good as it looks.

Some dishes, though, taste even better than they look. That’s certainly true of the “chicken-fried” Gulf oysters sharing the plate with sweet and crispy corn fritters and an aioli given surprise by sake and chili. The menu makes a point of marking dishes for vegetarians, gluten-free and dairy-free lifestyles. I think this fried oyster dish ought to be marked for me.

One of the more interesting ways to start a meal at Noe is with fried green tomatoes unlike any I’ve ever tried. Maybe that’s because the chef is from France rather than from Irondale, Ala., where the dish allegedly originated to find fame in the title of a novel by Fannie Flagg. Either way, these green circles are given a ride in tempura batter, given texture on the plate by corn and crab relish, and given both sweetness and heat by something billed as dynamite sauce.

I know there are some people on this earth who consider the prospect of salmon quite exciting, but I am anything but one of them. I have to admit, though, the salmon entree emerging as one of Noe’s most popular choices has a lot to recommend it. Even to me. There’s a pineapple relish, some pickled radish and some exotic-looking roasted enoki mushrooms, all pulled together by hyper-Asian kecap manis glazing the salmon and green “skid marks” of cilantro pesto upfront.

One of the most hopeful signs around this new Noe - elements most likely to bring it success in a city with so many terrific restaurants - is its “all things to all people” approach. Far from the original Noe with its chef instructions, the new Noe takes its lead from what Houston diners and guests actually want for dinner. That includes an impressive burger left to its own devices, but dragged over the top by the addition of a pork belly slice and a sunnyside-up egg. The fries are good too, getting extra interest from rosemary and parmesan.

I’d say that sides are a nifty part of the Noe experience, whether you opt for the creamy mascarpone and lobster mac and cheese or dig into these caramelized Brussels sprouts with cubes of house-made pancetta. Several sides show up in these mini-pans, tying the act of eating back to the act of cooking in a truly pleasurable way. Next time, guys, count me in for the wild mushroom and truffle quinoa “risotto.”

Except for the organic carrot cake with cinnamon carrot chips and pina colada compote, desserts at Noe are experimental with the very course that so few diners feel experimental about at all. Okay, there’s a chocolate mouse cake. But certainly this “mochi” ice cream sampler comes from another country, another hemisphere and possibly from another planet. The ice creams were flavored with red bean, green tea and black sesame, yet even they tasted familiar compared to the chewy “mochi” crust wrapped around each scoop. Or maybe I simply spent too much time with Play-Doh when I was a kid.

Under the care of executive chef Jacques Lolliot and chef de cuisine Heneef Abdullah, the Noe kitchen does turn out a satisfying cheesecake. Even that gets a bit of a twist, though, being made with Texas goat cheese. There’s a caramel cookie crust, a passion fruit gelee and a raspberry coulis for good measure. Good measure, in fact, seems to be what the new Noe Grill is trying to accomplish. I loved nearly all the 12 dishes I tasted during a long lunch today. And best of all, if I had wanted to love something different, I honestly believe they’d have tried to make it for me. For a moment, forget the chef. This is about what I prefer!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The original Reginelli’s opened in the Uptown section of New Orleans in 1996, just about a pizza’s throw from the soaring turquoise culinary icon known as Commander’s Palace. Over the years, the Reginellis of, well, Reginelli’s and the Brennans of Commanders Palace must have gotten to know one another, since today when they open their first pizzeria outside of Louisiana, it’s as a partnership. At last night’s practice-makes-perfect soft opening, Alex Brennan-Martin of Brennan’s of Houston, Ti Adelaide Martin of Commander’s and Darryl Reginelli of YouKnowWhat were on hand to greet whoever wandered in. I was one of those who wandered in.

At first blush, a family-friendly pizza place might seem an odd choice for the Brennans, a legendary restaurant family best known for fine dining, not only with variations on same in New Orleans but in other major tourism cities as well. Family matriach Ella Brennan taught the entire gang to think big, beginning when she helped open Brennan’s of Houston three-plus decades ago. But considering the long-forming “casualization” trend in all dining, joining forces with a successful New Orleans-based brand (seven pizza-happy eateries there, plus two more in Baton Rouge) makes all the sense in the world.

“I’ll put it to you in one word,” says Alex Brennan-Martin, when asked about all the kids making themselves at home on soft-opening night. “Pizza.” Indeed. even though I greatly enjoyed the hot-melty version of the New Orleans muffaletta pictured at the very top, pizza is clearly the big deal at Reginelli’s. Different tables had many different things, but EVERY table had a pizza. The crusts are medium-thick (or is that medium-thin?) and happily packed with salty-earthy flavor. Toppings range from eleven combinations with catchy names to the dozens or probably hundreds of possible mixtures listed as ingredients under Custom Pizzas. The one pictured here is the Classic Combo.

The thing is, great Italian-American food is seldom light. And neither is great New Orleans food, especially by the time the Brennans get through with it. Thus you end up with wonders like this lush and soul-satisfying spinach and artichoke dip - the kind of thing everybody’s Aunt Lucy brings to parties in New Orleans, except way better. This dip has the nerve to be topped with melted mozzarella - Reginelli’s is a pizzeria, after all - and shows up with toasted foccacia crostini for the dipping or spooning or full-immersion baptism. It’s up to you.

As a card-carrying Maker of Good Hummus myself, I seldom find hummus I like better than mine made with chick peas, caramelized onion, tomato, tahini, olive oil and lemon juice; but Reginelli’s might be serving such a thing. They call it Tuscan Hummus, as good a name as any since they puree the chick peas Italians know as ceci along with Tuscan white beans (cannellini?) into a dip that’s amazing. In return for paying $1 more, you can get your hummus “dressed” (a joke: like a po-boy in New Orleans, get it?), and that brings on feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, roasted red peppers and calamata olives. Now that’s $1 very well spent!

If, for some crazy reason, you’re looking to have “just a salad” at Reginelli’s, there are several that are trying hard to be your entree: chicken salad, deli salad, etc. But my favorite so far is indeed “just a salad,” except that it’s terrific. Reginelli’s version of the classic tomato-mozzarella-basil Caprese (ca-PRAY-zay, please, meaning in the style of Capri) is all that and more, given a punch in your mouth by the inclusion of richly layered “balsamic basil oil.”

Like many restaurants that have the whole pizza thing going on, Reginelli’s is able to spin off ingredients and equipment into a host of other dishes. There are foccacia sandwiches (such as the muffaletta, amicably divorced from the original round Sicilian loaf that gave the sandwich its name), and there are “pita press sandwiches,” resembling Italian panini that just got back from a tour of the eastern Mediterranean and/or Middle East. I was most excited, though, to sample the pizza-inside-out calzone. This is the Petie’s Special, with crumbled meatballs, marinara, mozzarella and ricotta. It’s true what you’ve heard: I’ve never met a meatball I didn’t like.

Reginelli’s doesn’t serve the kind of food that leaves you with “room for dessert,” but then again, neither does Commander’s Palace, Mr. B’s Bistro or our own Brennan’s of Houston. We simply order dessert anyway and figure out where to put it, usually in close proximity to our hips. I sampled the strawberry cheesecake but was even more impressed with what seem to be tiramisu balls, or maybe (to sound better) tiramisu scoops. All the components of the classic “pick me up” are in attendance, just turned a little upside down. You’ll want to try this!

And finally… a word about wine at the new Reginelli’s, located on Kingsride just off Gessner near the Memorial City Mall (with more locations surely to come). All the wines are cleverly listed on two sides of a wine bottle, as you can see. All were picked by the wine director at Commander’s Palace. And all fit into the affordable frame of $19 to $31, nearly all bottle prices starting with a 2. I think the Brennans were the first people who ever told me that if you reduce your markup on wine, tables will regularly order a second bottle. Good advice for my life, way back then in New Orleans. Good advice for today in Houston, especially at the new Reginelli’s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good times and bad, Bruce Molzan of the bizarrely named Ruggles has been one of Houston’s highest profile chefs for many years now. And based on his talent for inspiring violently oppposed opinions, you never quite know what the guy might do next. With the last vestiges of his involvement with Ruggles fading (apparently, maybe) and the iconic Ruggles Grill in Montrose now bulldozed, he has hooked up with two of his biggest fans to create a restaurant called Corner Table in the spawling River Oaks complex known forever as the Brownstone.

If you approach the development by Corner Entertainment’s mother-and-daughter ownership from Westheimer, please don’t give up looking for the restaurant. It’s tucked around the back. Then again, it is a River Oaks eatery, which means there’s valet parking a few feet from the entrance. And if you’re expecting some humble little space doing culinary penance for the checkered past of Ruggles, think again. Corner Table isn’t small, and it fits comfortably into an ambitious complex of wine bar and nightclub, which fits comfortabably into an ambitious complex of retail. A large patio outside the stylish dining room should be opening soon, with an eye particularly on Sunday brunch.

Bruce Molzan didn’t become, well, Bruce Molzan without serving some good-to-great food. He takes interesting new tacks with Corner Table - including more gluten-free items and a more-than-sideways glance at the paleo “trend.” He also does a lot of things that many other places are doing but does them exceedingly well. Fine examples are the snapper dinner special pictured at the very top, and the apparently mandatory pork belly above. There are a lot of flavors going on in both, all skillfully balanced - and, in keeping with paleo, few to no glutens, grains, dairy or legumes.

One of my favorites dishes at Corner Table is fried calamari. Then again, one of my favorite dishes at a whole lot of tables is fried calamari. In lieu of marinara sauce, however, there’s a tendency here to look toward Asia more than Italy. Fresh lemon, jalapeno, cilantro and ginger miso aioli are enough to make us wonder how we ever said the words “fried calamari” and ended up somewhere between Japan and Thailand.

As a food writer cursed with too many “chef-driven restaurants” (and perhaps as a Santa who’s struggled with too many “some assembly required” Christmas dawns), I automatically hate any dish that comes with instructions. The instant any server says, “The chef recommends…” or “The chef prefers…,” I’m halfway out the door. Still, this jarred goat cheese affair does ultimately allow each of us to load up crisp-toasted French bread exactly as we see fit. It was memorably described by the Corner Table staff as a “stacked experience.” By the time I got penalized for piling on, that it was.

One thing that’s not gluten-free (unless you pay $2 extra to make it so) is the pizza. And though I might put a tad more salt into the crust to make it sing, no fewer than ten variations come out of Corner Table’s wood-burning oven ready to surprise and delight - which, by the way, are my two favorite things for food to do. We opted for the house-made Italian sausage with caramelized onion and garlic and grilled peppers, but Molzan pulls a Wolfgang Puck-Spago thing with pizzas devoted to beef short rib, pulled pork, local potatoes and even a “French” pizza built around duck confit, pear, Gruyere and bechamel.

At some points, the whole “paleo” thing gets very odd - but the flavor results are impressive nonetheless. Corner Table seems committed to serving all the most popular non-paleo items, but simply engineering them to be that or gluten-free or whatever. This, for instance, is a magnificent seafood paella, except it shows up without any rice. Kudos to Molzan and Co. for creating something decidedly rice-like out of grated cauliflower - surely nothing our ancient ancestors could have pulled off - then outfitting it with chorizo, organic chicken, salmon, shrimp and mussels. I’m not sure where these ancient ancestors were supposed to have lived, but it must have at least resembled sunny Spain by the sea.

With these Corner Table chicken enchiladas, it’s pretty much the same story. The tortillas are crafted from something described as “coconut flour,” which I’ve never spotted in or near any actual coconut, yet they are good tortillas. The minced or ground chicken inside is delicious, as is the spicy sauce/puree of organic tomatoes and cilantro. On the menu, there’s also one or two items that use spaghetti squash where actual spaghetti is supposed to be. As a lifelong pasta lover, I might be tempted to draw the line right there.

On the night we dined at Corner Table, they were trying out a new dessert - a so-called “stout cake,” which didn’t so much describe its dimensions as its content and accompaniment. “Oh, like Guinness,” I said, and our server grinned gratefully. Apparently customers were having trouble “getting” the concept. So… as explained, there’s stout beer (like Guinness) kicking up the chocolate in the cake, and then also appearing in that espresso cup on the side. Happily, nobody gave me instructions about eating a forkful of cake with my right hand while using my left to lift the stout to my lips at a 45-degree angle. “The chef prefers…”

Corner Table makes its biggest “customer rules” statement with this burgeoning hotel-style dessert tray. Personally, I think the kitchen is trying too hard to produce too many desserts. All that we sampled were made in-house and were good, but in time I’d recommend fewer items that happen to be home runs. You name it, it’s on here - from strawberry shortcake to carrot cake to creme brulee to tiramisu to tres leches to… oh come on. It might be one of those things Corner Table figures out as it goes. Then again, if Bruce Molzan doesn’t know his customers after all those years of all those Ruggles, I’m not sure who does or who ever can.