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will_5198

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  1. Ramen Del Barrio The more you dine out, the more your prejudgments fall in line with the meals you have. Or rather, each new restaurant seems to match another entry in your encyclopedia of food experiences, in either a comforting or nondescript way. Then some meals just smack you in the face. Ramen Del Barrio is giving open palms and backhands from a small food stall inside an Asian supermarket, cooking Japanese food through a Mexican filter (or maybe the other way around). There are no shortcuts from either side, which is what makes the food irresistible. I was sold on the carnitas tonkotsu ($14.50) just by seeing those two words in succession, and the end product is somehow more impressive than I imagined. Replacing chashu with a mix of pork belly, shoulder, the actual stomach, and crispy skin (that keeps its texture in broth) is a simple and divine substitution, making me instantly forget the majority of chashu I've ever eaten with ramen. It works because the carnitas on their own would be superlative in any Mexican taqueria or restaurant; I wanted to order a side of them on their own and make tacos. Then the toppings? Sautéed onions. Chile toreado. Cilantro and lime. Garlic oil. Hell yes to all of that. Milky, collagen-filled pork broth was built to handle all those emphatic flavors, dispersed among noodles that had the perfect just-past-al-dente texture for me. A partnering bowl of cochinita pibil tonkotsu ($15) was more Mexican-forward and could have qualified as a native soup if not for the bouncy noodles. I'm very selective about menudo and rarely eat it at restaurants -- I prefer honeycomb only, and also feel that most places don't soak the tripe in lime overnight -- but their version of menudo tokonstu ($14.50) with hominy looked excellent coming out of the kitchen. But wait, there are tacos too! The tacos are yakitori-style, served with their skewer on a large format, sturdy corn tortilla that's been well-glazed with oil and griddle heat. Charred octopus "al pastor" ($7) was tender and excellent, but somehow outshined by a simple chicken thigh. Usually chicken is the worst protein you could order for a taco, yet their pollo asado with piloncillo tare ($5) was an outlier; marinated and grilled to umami-perfection. While most Mexican-Japanese fusion I've seen in Texas has been Maruchan dipped in birria consommé and served as ramen (delicious in its own right), this was the first place that really committed to marrying both cuisines. This was not in my personal dining almanac. This was a restaurant that surprised me at every bite. This was one of the best meals I had in 2023. Above (L): Carnitas tonkotsu was sublime. (R): Cochinita pibil tonkotsu was nearly as good. Above (L): Tacos cannot be forgotten with your order. (R): The unassuming food stall inside a grocery store has become a lot more popular lately. We went in mid-December and there was a bit of a line all the way up until close (7 pm). The last month or two, it seems they are selling out either by lunchtime or early dinner. I believe they are at capacity for what they can make daily without moving to a bigger kitchen/location.
  2. Uchi Dallas If you've researched the best dining options in Austin over the last 20 years, I'm sure the name Uchi come has up. Chef-owner Tyson Cole, a white guy doing sushi fusion dishes with Texan ingredients in a small house off South Lamar -- what could be more Austin than that? I'm not being sardonic; Uchi is actually good. So good it spawned an offshoot, Uchiko, which was just as popular. Then another Uchi in Houston. Then one in Dallas. The experience at each of them is largely the same, thanks to a core menu of dishes that won Cole a James Beard Award (2011) and a service training program that maximizes hospitality. While not exciting, the consistency is valuable in its own way -- my better half appreciates the familiarity, so the Dallas outpost is part of our special occasion rotation. Small plates are the reason to go to Uchi, and they have dialed in the majority of them thanks to literal decades of fine-tuning (also why Uchi is a restaurant with diminishing returns for people like me; 80 percent of the menu is completely static). The hama chili ($23) is one everyone should have at least once; while likely more profound a long time ago, the sashimi of yellowtail with orange supremes, ponzu and chili is the sweet-salt-heat trio that never goes out of style. Also a big fan of the kinoko nabe ($19.50), a bowl served steaming hot and filled with mushrooms, soft rice, crispy rice and a fresh egg yolk dispersed throughout. Simple deliciousness. Nigiri can be tasty if at times overwrought or lacking precision; this is more of an elevated sushi factory than artisan counter. Still, get the foie gras nigiri ($13). A single bite of seared foie, brushed with a sweet glaze and cut with the vinegar of the rice is the best thing on the menu. Their daily Toyosu selections look tempting, but your funds are better reserved for another sushi restaurant if you want the purest representations of Japanese fish. Do not pass on dessert, however. Fried milk ($12.50) is maybe their most well-known dish; a fancy version that I'll assume was inspired by Cantonese cuisine and delivered with accompaniments that will remind you of American breakfast cereal. It works. I did think the honey toast with cashew praline and honey ice cream ($10.50) eclipsed the fried milk on my last visit, maybe because it was newer, but it is another pricier version of an Asian dessert that makes a perfect finish to the meal. Service is a highlight at all of the Uchi-related restaurants, and definite credit is due to cultivating an approachable, knowledgeable and generous service model across different cities. Each time we've gone to Uchi we have received at least one unordered dish "as a gift" -- we don't order wine and average a visit less than once a year -- which makes it feel as if the VIP treatment extends to everyone. Cole's restaurants are extremely scalable and he has taken his time so far. He opened Uchi Denver in 2018, Uchi Miami in 2021, and Uchi Los Angeles just launched at the end of 2023. New York City is planned for 2025. Los Angeles and New York City will be his biggest tests, and if Cole can conquer those, I can envision Uchi spreading further and becoming the millennial's version of Nobu. Above: Hama chili is one of their classics. Madai crudo is also another stalwart, on the menu for years. Above: Foie gras nigiri with a half glass of dessert wine gifted as a pairing. Walu walu, their escolar dish. Above: Wagyu coulotte was extremely precious at its price, but the brussels sprouts chimichurri and miso egg foam were great additions. Banana cake with a little Kahlua, coffee and white chocolate ice cream is a basic but killer dessert. Above: Fried milk, which I'm fairly sure started at Uchiko, not Uchi. I remember being at Uchiko over a decade ago and everyone at the sushi bar imploring me to order it. Honey toast with the cashew praline was my favorite new dessert addition.
  3. Interstellar BBQ This is the culmination of the "craft" barbecue scene. Opened in 2019 at a strip mall that is barely within the northernmost city limits, Interstellar BBQ took all the lessons of the current barbecue renaissance and went to perfect them. In less than two years, those efforts had them earned them the number two ranking in the entire state (as deemed by the most recent Texas Monthly Top 50 list). The line on a rainy Friday was not insignificant but only 30-ish deep when the doors opened, which is much more tolerable than the 2.5-4 hours you would spend at Franklin, Goldee's or Snow's. I imagine weekends are worse, but still likely manageable if you get there 45 minutes before opening. A wonderful staff member walked down the line to take coffee orders, and in our case returned with an above-average espresso. Once at the cutting block you realize Interstellar has a truly extensive menu -- ten different meat options, seven different sides, as well as tacos and sandwiches. While not limiting themselves to the Texas trinity, those three were all nailed: the brisket ($34 per pound) had a terrifically seasoned, dark and crisp bark, with fat well-trimmed and rendered throughout; pork spare ribs ($28 per pound) were textbook, with a little more spice than usual; a beef kielbasa ($6) and jalapeno popper sausage ($6) were both unctuous links with snappy cases and smoked perfectly. It's the additional meats that elevate Interstellar from tradition. Peach tea-glazed pork belly ($30 per pound) is extremely rich and maybe too sweet for some, but I appreciated the near-candied bites. Jonny White of Goldee's had a lot of praise for Interstellar's pork belly in the past, and I don't think it is a coincidence that Goldee's now offers their own version (with peach glaze on the side, so you can control the sweetness). Turkey ($28 per pound) is bathed in local beer and herbs before hitting the offset, and the reward for that extra effort is a white meat that is leagues flavorful than most versions. A Frito pie sausage ($7) was as good as the other two sausages, if not that different from the cheesy standard that is jalapeno and cheddar. The two meats that blew me away, however, were the Friday special of barbecue duck ($32 per pound) and menu standard lamb shoulder ($34 per pound). The former was perfection; the most tender smoked duck with a cherry reduction on top. The latter was the most craveable item on my tray -- love lamb, love it better smoked, and the mix of salt-sugar-vinegar gave me a flashback to North Carolina. Sides are done with the same intention as the meats: mac and cheese with the flourishes of toasted panko and gouda, a creamy jalapeno coleslaw that has a gentle bite, the soupy, meaty barbecue beans that taste like a forbidden Texan version of chili, and the must-order, their smoked scalloped potatoes. I love a good potato gratin, but when you throw them on the grates and let smoke crisp up the top and penetrate every layer of cream and cheese? Unbelievably good. There is much to lament in regards to modern-day barbecue: the Disneyworld wait times that have squeezed out locals, the price of brisket tripling over the past decade, the insistence to pit barbecue places against each other and take pride in putting certain places down. Yet after a meal at Interstellar, you remember that the proliferation of Texas-style barbecue (warts and all) from coast to coast, and even across countries, has happened for a reason. There is nothing else quite like it. Platter of meats. Clock-wise from top: barbecue duck, three sausages, pork belly, turkey, lamb shoulder, brisket, pork ribs (and tomato-zucchini salad). Clock-wise from top: jalapeno slaw, Anson Mill grits, mac and gouda, potato salad, smoked scalloped potatoes. Right: A proper banana pudding should always have Nilla wafers (their version also had a sort of caramel, dulce de leche swirl inside). Owner John Bates was talking to every table and the entire staff were extremely hospitable.
  4. Cry Wolf To me, a great restaurant has a lifespan that almost always includes a peak. A span of years where it was never quite this good before, and will never be quite as good again. The golden era. Cry Wolf is in its peak. And I feel like everyone eating there knows that the good old days are happening right now. That doesn't mean it’s a perfect restaurant. There are only 32 seats, crammed between a banquet and opposing long bar (you can easily see the skeletal remains of the previous occupant, a Subway). It's not the most comfortable dining room during Texas' sixth-month summer, as the fire-burning grill and open kitchen wage war with an aging A/C unit. The menu changes weekly, with great dishes disappearing before they are dialed in and replaced by an item that may be a work in progress. But all that doesn't really matter to me, because the imperfection of Cry Wolf is what makes it exciting -- chef-owner Ross Demers and his team are cooking what they like from day to day, served affably with no pretense, and they hope you enjoy it as much as they do. Cured hiramasa with kumquat puree, smashed green figs and serrano ($17) was a reminder why you love crudos; all the familiar sweet-heat-citrus notes dialed up in a unique way. Pan seared Windy Meadows chicken hearts ($15) featured one of my favorite combinations ever -- offal and couscous. A marriage that will never be divorced and made even stronger with good stuffs like capers and caramelized shallots thrown in. Pastas are always on the menu and always a must. Agnolotti with mushroom sherry cream sauce ($21) was a little salty due to a slightly over-reduced sauce, but the flavors were otherwise on point. More deft and subtle was the butter poached Hawaiian ebi with sauce of head schmaltz ($29), a precious dish you would see at a Michelin-starred restaurant and not be out of place. The sweetest and juiciest shrimp with fried shrimp head crackers to snack on. As usual for many restaurants, mains were less interesting but hit their marks. Seared Gulf redfish with mussel etouffee and escargot dirty rice ($38) was a standard filet of fish done well, outshined by the impressive dirty rice. I would not usually order steak at this kind of restaurant, but was sold on (The Last Ever) A Bar N Ranch ribeye ($61) because Demers told us his supplier was being bought out by a huge Japanese company and he probably wouldn't get these anymore. It was a delicious quality steak cooked properly, but the glace over the smoky bits of burnt mushroom were really the highlights for me. No official dessert program, but black sesame horchata mini paletas were enjoyable parting sweets. Cry Wolf is in its golden era. And no one knows how long that will remain true -- some restaurants capture this moment and distill it over time, curating the setlist and playing the greatest hits every night. Other restaurants fade to close, voluntarily or involuntarily, and there is no reunion tour. But all that matters is right now. Because right now this place fucking rules. -Epilogue- The above words were written after a meal in late August. Cry Wolf permanently closed two months later. Above: Cry Wolf with a packed house on a Sunday night. Half the seating is facing the open kitchen on a long bar, with the end-most seats next to Chef Demers and the pass. Above: Hiramasa crudo, smashed figs, kumquat puree. Agnolotti. Above: Redfish with charred onion, etouffee, dirty rice and okra. Ribeye, charred maitake, Hungarian banana peppers. The open kitchen at Cry Wolf. Not unusual to see many Dallas chefs on their days off eating here.
  5. Hestia This place is…interesting. Hestia is the second Austin restaurant from chefs Kevin Fink and Tavel Bristol-Joseph, after their success with Emmer and Rye. Apparently in the last 10 years it was decided that every major US city needed an open hearth, fine dining concept, and Hestia filled that gap in Austin as of 2019. Located in the southern part of downtown, a block from Google's offices, this is a sleek, dark and loud restaurant. A "raise your voice across a two-top" kind of loud, even at 9:30 pm on a Thursday night. The noise does not hamper the service though, which was consistently enthusiastic across the army of staff that is typical at this price-point (had to be over six different people touch our table, and we only had desserts and coffee). I can see people thinking they are trying too hard, but I will take that over indifference any time I dine out. Tasting menus are not so much my playlist anymore (Hestia's is $195 per person) and we had eaten dinner somewhere else -- this visit was strictly about desserts, which read interestingly. Bristol-Joseph is a pastry chef by trade, and most of the desserts I've seen listed across the eight restaurants he and Fink partner on seem worth trying. Descriptions and words and pictures only go so far, of course. The chocolate fondant ($15) was a strong start -- not the lava cake I've experienced before, but instead a sort of chocolate canelé sandwiched between fancy cocoa and hazelnut crackers and topped with a dark cherry sauce. Classic flavors, interesting presentation; a success. The buñuelo ($14) also hit the refined and tasty marks nicely. Shaped like the Mexican classic and fried to movie stunt glass crispiness, with roasted flavor imparted by smoke and a little savory balance by the thyme ice cream. Well-done. Things got a bit off track after that. I've seen more instances of sourdough ice cream ($14) listed on menus nationally, and Hestia's version is well-regarded online. I did not get that same experience. Dusted in a black fermented tomato powder (it basically resembles a piece of coal) with tomato jam and shoyu caramel inside, I can appreciate the "pan con tomate" vision but one of the elements was almost unpalatably salty. And I really like sodium. Kakigori ($20) did not have the same kind of fatal flaw, it was just too nondescript. Asian food of all types is much more ubiquitous these days, so maybe that was part of it, but I didn't think the inner layer of horchata ice cream or bits of salted apple were that compelling. I will say I prefer bingsu, if that matters. So some hits, and some misses. I have a feeling their savory menu has the same variances -- which leaves me thinking you could have a very good meal here, or one that makes you wonder how you ended up paying $20 for shaved ice. Above (left): Chocolate fondant, cocoa sable, hazelnut croquant, cherry, vanilla milk gel. Right: Bunuelo, roasted white chocolate mousse, apple butter, burnt thyme ice cream. Above (left): Kakigori, horchata ice cream, salted cream, apple. Right: pear (or maybe it was apple, no notes and not online) sorbet from the tasting menu since we were just doing desserts. It was pleasant. They even offered to bring out the Basque cheesecake from their next door bar, Kalimotxo, which was an appreciated gesture (too full).
  6. If I had one meal to eat in San Antonio right now, I would go to brunch at Cullum's Attaboy. I'm in love with everything about it: the small old house that it occupies, the diner-style open kitchen where the cooks also play the role of servers, the tight and enthralling menu of simple delights, and the fact you can get real truffles shaved over nearly anything. Everything put on the table has an attention to detail that any food enthusiast can appreciate, which is my favorite type of cooking -- small perfections that layer upon themselves, and create dishes that are both directly and subtly astounding. Take the pancakes for example. They are fluffy without being overly so. The outside is griddle-caramelized to just the right point, with the slightest of crunches on the edges. There is a hint of orange zest in every bite, enough to balance out the richness without being orange-flavored. They are divine, and that is coming from a waffle person. Better yet, their French omelette. Cooked to the consistency I imagine Escoffier had in mind, folded over with the most delicate skin, massaged with butter and a ladle of their sublime hollandaise. To top it off, a light rainfall of shaved truffle (+$10), which is one of the best upcharges I can remember. Having been disappointed enough times by white and black truffles over various seasons at a number of restaurants, I have sort of given up on chasing truffle highs at this point in life. But the ones served here were some of the most flavorful I have ever had, the aroma hitting me as soon as the plate touched the table. A perfect omelette turned immaculate. There were a number of menu items I instantly regretted not being able to try -- baked tomato French toast, escargot, bavette and eggs, pastrami, their numerous burgers and egg sandwiches -- and if I lived in the area I can't imagine not being here at least twice a month. So yes, I'm a fan of Cullum's Attaboy. To me, the most Palena-esque restaurant I have found in Texas -- not the cuisine itself, but the exacting detail that makes a timeworn dish taste like you are eating it for the first time. Above (left): The open kitchen at Cullum's Attaboy. Your order is placed at the counter, grab a table number and coffee/water is self-serve. Food will then be brought out by the cooks themselves. Right: Champagne-poached scallop with trout roe, dill and textbook hollandaise. Pure deliciousness. Above (left): Omelette masterpiece. Frisee was perfectly dressed with a light champagne vinaigrette. Right: The only pancakes I'd skip a waffle for.
  7. El Pastor Es Mi Señor Ever since I experienced them in Mexico, tacos al pastor -- from a trompo -- are my favorite style of taco. The harmony of flame-coddled pork, different textures when cut from the spit, spice and earthiness of adobo, sweetness from pineapple -- all together, one of the great food combinations in history. The tacos al pastor at El Pastor Es Mi Señor, while not impeccable, definitely scratched my itch for a true version of the classic. Nailed perfectly was the texture of meat, with various bits of doneness and flavor that can only be imparted from fire. Beautiful small cuts of slightly charred pineapple are added on each taco, opposed to a freezing cold slice from a reach-in or none at all. The double corn tortillas do their job without being distracting. All in all, the mouthfeel of each bite is my memory from Mexico. What could take these tacos to a higher level, and I've only been once so this may be isolated, is just a touch more salt on the pork itself or in the salsas (both roja and verde were surprisingly mild in the chili department, as well). That was literally the only aspect I was missing. Nevertheless, absolutely worth the late-night stop and a fine example of a taco-style not abundant in Texas. Above: Al pastor tacos smothered in salsa roja (left). Nothing better than seeing the open lights of a taqueria at night (right). Pollos Asados Los Norteños If you've been to Texas this place is similar to the Pollo Regio chain, but much better. Whole and half grilled chickens, absolutely hammered bright orange with adobo (I mean that lovingly) and juicier than ever imaginable. The chicken is accompanied by rice, an entire half of a grilled onion, a grilled jalapeno, store-bought tortillas that do the job, and you must add the perfectly cooked charro beans (the best $1.50 you'll spend) to round out the meal. The best part, though? Their green sauce. Pour it on everything. I believe Jesus forgot a line when it comes to communion, as more people would be in church if this salsa was passed out with unleavened bread. Friendly table service, no gimmicks and delectable food at a great price. A restaurant that reminds me why I always enjoy eating in San Antonio. Above: Half-grilled chicken combo (left). Accompaniments (right). Taquitos West Avenue Midway through its second decade of operation, I imparted from the lines that this place is a San Antonio institution. Open until 3 am on weekends, the line was 25-deep at midnight on a Saturday, everyone waiting to approach the glassed-in taquero station. Once at the front, you become witness to the mountains of different meats and oversized rotating trompo, and your order is made almost instantly -- powered by the muscle memory of a thousand tacos a day and bare hands flavored by the permeation of meat drippings, lime juice, and the smell of corn tortillas. You walk away from the window with your taco-laden styrofoam plate (we all know tacos taste better on a styrofoam plate) and try to pay, but the man at the outside register tells you to pay after you finish eating, under some kind of odd honor system that expedites the line. Finding a small stool and table in the crowd, you dress your plate with a little salsa verde, or even hotter salsa roja, and you are now in your happy place. These are the kind of tacos I love to eat. This is the kind of place that will make you love tacos. Above: Taquitos West Avenue (left). Al pastor (cooked on a trompo but finished and held on the griddle, so missing the best parts), chorizo, tripa dorada (fried tripe and one of my favorite tacos if done right; this was above average), suadero, cabeza (probably the least successful for me), lengua (not a lover of this cut but very good here) and bistek.
  8. Maybe my timing? The handful of times I have gone were in the late lunch or very early dinner hour because I do not want to be in Uptown after 6 pm. I have never been on a weekend or even around 7 pm on a weeknight because they (and everywhere off McKinney Avenue) are indeed slammed.
  9. Las Palmas Dallas The best Tex-Mex restaurant in Dallas? Opened by a pair of brothers who had only run bars and steakhouses before, with a menu designed by a Mexican consulting chef for press release authenticity, my instincts were against it from the start. We have plenty of Tex-Mex* restaurants, most of which fit in the same quality tier, just with different wrapping paper. *Note: Tex-Mex is a different category altogether from Mexican. Three years into their run, and Las Palmas is winning me over. The owners were going for a 1990's style aesthetic, and they dialed it in -- stepping into the (overly) dark dining room is like walking through a Stargate back to those times. Which is appreciated, as Tex-Mex dining rooms have trended towards a tepid, Crate and Barrel aesthetic for the last two decades. Chips and salsa are the standard precursor for how a meal is going to turn, and the fried tortillas here are fresh, non-oily, and accompanied by a pair of balanced salsas (roja, verde) with roasted components. The watery margaritas are disappointing, at least during happy hour, so stick with a Modelo if you can. An appetizer of brisket flautas ($15) is exactly the kind of Tex-Mex I want; little crispy rolls of shredded beef to be dipped in sour cream, guacamole and salsa. Carnitas fajitas ($22) is an oxymoron you don't usually see, but braised pork finished on a grill works. Hand-pull tender and many degrees more flavorful than chicken. I prefer it over the "wagyu" beef fajitas, but whatever your choice, you are going to get actual char flavor -- from the meat to the blistered onions and peppers (a first-world annoyance when fajitas veggies are not cooked through; not the case here). Special mention of the fresh flour and corn tortillas offered on the side; these are *way* better than they needed to be, and would compete nicely against most traditional Mexican restaurants in the city. Rice and beans are both very good versions of the traditional staples. So to answer the first question -- yeah, I'm leaning that way. I've eaten at most of them in Dallas proper, and right now this is the Tex-Mex restaurant I'd most be inclined to return. Even with it being in Uptown. Left: The entrance to Las Palmas. A long time ago this was Stephan Pyles' Baby Routh restaurant, where a young Bobby Flay once worked. Right: Beautiful chips and salsas. Left: Brisket flautas. Middle: Sizzling pork carnitas fajitas, doused in bone marrow butter. Right: Lovable Tex-Mex sides.
  10. Bardot Brasserie With both of Robuchon's restaurants and Guy Savoy all closed for summer break, Mizumi closed for renovations, as well as a desire for somewhere more unique than a steakhouse (Bazaar Meat included), it took a bit of hunting to find my preferred "blowout" meal on our last night in Las Vegas. While there were enticing options an Uber trip away, for various reasons we decided to stay on the strip, and Bardot Brasserie was the winner of the online menu contest. Part of a quiet corner on the second floor of the Aria, neighbored by Jean Georges Steakhouse and Carbone, I'm not usually taken aback by restaurant interiors -- but this is a particularly handsome one. Dark wooden walls with light marble floors, golden accents tastefully accentuating, an absolute showpiece bar and the perfect level of lighting. Contemporary yet timeless. While technically a Michael Mina restaurant, Bardot stands on its own after eight years. Mina seemed to let former executive chef Josh Smith lead the way for most of that time period, and although he has passed the baton a few times since 2020 (Smith moved to the Wynn's Delilah two years ago, taking a few of his signature dishes with him), the windowed view into Bardot's kitchen showed a brigade handling a high volume of dishes with seemingly ease. After convincing our waiter that we could handle the amount of items ordered, and settling into our $20 cocktails, a warm mini baguette soon hit the table with soft butter on the side. I'm always glad to see bread service at restaurants and this was a capable starting point. A plate of ouefs mimosa ($22) set the tone for the style of the meal -- four deviled eggs topped with caviar and chive; these would be classically derived dishes with an obvious or hidden luxury. Shrimp cocktail ($24) is another standard that is often boring, but the shrimp were especially sweet, served at the right temperature, and with the namesake sauce and remoulade both well-done. Fromage de tete ($14) was indulgent without being heavy, spreading nicely with a bit of Espelette aioli over grilled bread. Bardot seems to alternate between hot and cold foie gras preparations, so excitement was raised to see the latter on their current menu. Foie gras parfait with strawberry gelee, compote and almond crumble ($33) was ridiculous and perfect: the creamiest, smoothest bar of liver contrasted by the right level of sweetness from the fruit, with texture from the almonds and toasted mini-brioche. Traditional and modern, I would put it up there with the best plates I've ever had. This was as good as dining out gets. Recovering from the standing eight-count after the foie, I remembered that my true mission at Bardot was to conquer one objective: the beef wellington. The Bardot Wellington ($179) is nearly a pound of prime filet, split over four large slices and meant to be shared (as our waiter reminded us, once he took down our course progression). Having long anticipated but never eaten a beef wellington, I cannot accurately judge Bardot's version to any others -- I can only say it was exactly what I assumed it would be. Crisp puff pastry with a golden-egg tan, Bayonne ham replacing the prosciutto, and a fine thread of duxelles around an excellent quality tenderloin cooked medium rare (closer to the latter). Although the accompanying sauce perigourdine wasn't that potent and side of pommes puree simply a palate cleanser (restaurant mashed potatoes are generally disappointing), the wellington stood on its own deliciousness and I managed to finish it all (my better half enjoyed a pleasant-looking salmon a la Francaise with pea puree, snow peas and snap peas; $52). If I ever have a superior beef wellington in my life I will be both surprised and pleased. Sides are steakhouse-style, although do save room for the macaroni and mimolette gratin ($19). I am not a mac and cheese enthusiast but this is elevated fantastically. Finishing in the same manner as the start, the dessert menu was intriguingly classic and it was hard not to double down on my puff pastry tasting menu with a warm almond pithivier ($29). Refraining, we split a Grand Marnier soufflé with crème anglaise, peaches and brown butter ice cream ($16). All accompaniments were dumped into the soufflé upon presentation, which was mildly unfortunate as I am a soufflé minimalist. Flavorful nonetheless. I believe visitors to Las Vegas enter into a pact, knowing the city itself is designed to overstimulate and overpromise while extracting funds in the quickest timeline possible. The visitors agree to this, hoping to catch the fortune of a slot machine CPU and if not, at least they will have an enjoyable time parting ways with their money. It was that frame of mind that I ate at Bardot. It was grand. It was seductively expensive. It was expertly delicious. Bardot was the Las Vegas I wanted to be at. Ouefs mimosa and fromage de tete. Above-average shrimp cocktail; perfect foie gras. Very rare but delicious beef wellington. Fancy macaroni and cheese.
  11. Attending a work conference at the Aria (not a fan of their food hall) and staying at Vdara (no real restaurants on-site), we spent a good deal of time at the Cosmopolitan for in-between meals. A somewhat treacherous walk from Vdara and through the Cosmo parking garage should be soon remedied as they connect the indoor walkway between Vdara, the Bellagio and the Cosmo into one; construction was already underway as the brand partnership Marriott and MGM has apparently been long in the making, despite the recent announcement. Once on the second floor, the Cosmopolitan's Block 16 Food Hall -- a collection of name-branded, regional take-out franchises -- became a mainstay for us due to the relative value and ease of access. Lardo was my first meal in the city, and the PBLT ($16.50) was as simple as described: sliced pork belly, tomato, lettuce and mayo served on a crusty bread that isn't overwhelmed by its fillings. A side of fries ($5.50) was fine, liberally covered with fried sage, rosemary and bits of toasted parmesan. Hattie B's is also a member, if you are in the need for a juicy hot chicken sandwich ($16, one side included). We have an outpost in Dallas but it was still a pleasant sandwich done right: buttered and toasted bun, the heat level cut with coleslaw and pickles (and you can get one without any spice at all, if that's not your thing). Red skin potato salad was mayonnaise-based yet oddly refreshing. Eggslut did indeed have a crowd, although the line moves fast enough. The bacon, egg and cheese ($10.50) and sausage, egg and cheese ($10.50) sandwiches were everything promised, jazzed-up Americana within a warm brioche bun. The eggs are jammy and runny at the same time, with the ratio and proportions of other ingredients just right. The truffle hashbrowns ($6) are your typical misnomer, yet still damn crispy and delicious. I enjoy arugula so the side salad ($5.75) with a few specs of Manchego hit the spot. There was also David Chang's attempt at shawarma, a New Orleans donut shop and a handroll sushi counter within the food hall, if so inclined. I wasn't impressed with the greatest (tired) hits of Chang and Andres as far as the Cosmo's sit-down restaurants went, but I did find late night salvation at two other eateries within the hotel. Secret Pizza is not so hidden, look for a long hallway on the third floor without signage. Although portraying a New York-style pizzeria in décor and menu, the foldable slices ($6) should not be expected to deliver East Coast promises. However, for a quick meal after-hours (open until 4 a.m.) the pizza was satisfying and about as good a cost-ratio you are going to find within the walls of an Autograph Collection hotel on Las Vegas Boulevard. The Henry was actually a little harder for me to find, nestled in a first floor corner between the haze of cigarette smoke and flashing slots machines. A mini-diner (an oxymoron in a luxury hotel) that opens at 10 pm and serves through the night until lunch, we were happy to find gregarious service and well-cooked hangover food while recovering from a late night and Dubai-level heat indexes outside. Tater tot nachos ($16) were topped with braised short rib and the typical accoutrements, working really well together -- I discovered I prefer mushy potatoes in nacho cheese over mushy chips. The Henry breakfast ($20) was the All-Star classic of eggs, protein, hashbrowns and toast, all of which done adequately. Breakfast sandwiches from Eggslut Pork belly, lettuce and tomato at Lardo Tater tot nachos at The Henry Bacchanal Buffet at Caesars Palace Being my inaugural trip to Las Vegas I had the antiquated notion we needed to try a buffet, which is how we ended up at Bacchanal for lunch ($65 per person). Reservations on a Monday were easy enough to secure, and though I didn't see much of a queue at the entrance I would recommend saving your place online. Once through the amusement park-esque screening process the dining area is largely sleek -- however, beware of the truly dreadful banquette two-tops that you should request to avoid if assigned to. While the food was plentiful, at the end of day (or 90 minutes, since they are timing you) a buffet is still a collection of hot-held cuisine with varying levels of quality. I did enjoy a large slice of prime rib, seemingly requisite for a Vegas buffet, and the Asian section was probably the most enjoyable variety of food. Lechon and roast duck sounded better than they were, but the shumai wasn't half bad, I love Chinese-American takeout (I go where General Tso leads me) and the little poke bowls (tuna and sushi) were certainly craveable. If you are in the mood for Mexican there is a rotating birria taco section, pozole, tostadas, mini-churros and so on -- what I sampled was good, but I generally refrained since better can be found back home in Texas. The shellfish was a solid collection (shrimp, Jonah crab claws, mussels, clams and a crawfish boil) but none were a particularly memorable edition of their species. Many of the dishes are small plates, which is not my preferred style of buffet eating -- I enjoyed the mini loco moco and Sonoran street dogs, less so the watery shrimp ceviche and salty arancini. Your own experiences will probably change drastically based on the freshness when you encounter the same items. Fortunately the meal ended strongly. Desserts lend themselves much better to miniature portions, and nearly everything sampled from the dessert bar was a winner. Many of the items were different flavored panna cottas or custards, with Vietnamese coffee-chocolate and lemon-blueberry being standouts. So is the Bacchanal worth it? I would not spring for the "crab leg" upcharge ($85 per person) based on the seafood sampled, but I enjoyed the meal and the buffet felt like many other things in Vegas -- an experience you pay a premium for. I don't think it is a "must-do" when in the city, but all said if I'm ever back in Vegas I'd probably try the Wynn's buffet to compare.
  12. Zavala's Barbecue Since moving to Texas over a decade ago, the majority of my favorite barbecue experiences have been special occasions. The occasion being, a planned trip out of your way, solely to eat at an acclaimed barbecue establishment, in which you wait in an hours-long line to order the entire menu in one shot and never finish the entire tray. Crossed off the list, to say you have been here or there and can rate them properly on the internet or among strangers in the next barbecue line you stand in. And I love all of that. But Zavala's Barbecue showed me a new type of barbecue experience. The kind where you become a regular, where you're only a 10-minute drive away, where you never really have to wait in a long line, where you have eaten nearly every special and regular menu item a dozen times over. This personal convenience does not equate to lesser barbecue -- they made the cut on the most recent Texas Monthly top 50 list, for those counting -- and I'm sure there are plenty of customers who do in fact make a special detour to their Grand Prairie address. To those looking to make it a special occasion, I'd say their very black-peppered brisket has always been good but has come a long way in the past year or so (I prefer their lean over their moist). Not the rarefied air of the very best places across the state, but nothing you wouldn't be happy to see on your butcher paper. Their pork ribs, however, are one of my favorite versions anywhere. Love a spare rib that has a beautiful crust without being over-glazed or sugared up, while still being tender enough that every bite leaves a clean bone. The best ribs I've ever eaten in Texas have come from City Market, Goldee's and La Barbecue -- Zavala's, on top of their game, can compete with any of those three. Sausages are all enjoyable, from the spicier pizza pepper (ie crushed red pepper) links to my favorite, the boudin (filled with rice and brisket scraps). Turkey and pulled pork are tasty but can be skipped, like nearly all Texas barbecue spots. As for the sides, those lean more Mexican: pico de gallo on the side instead of pickles and onions, flour tortillas (not made in-house, regrettably) instead of white bread, cheesy hominy instead of macaroni. One of their signature items is a Sloppy Juan, which is chopped brisket doused in barbecue sauce and wrapped in a large tortilla (taking the place of a regular chopped brisket sandwich). Or just get some of their beef cheek when they have it, top it with pico, their intense salsa verde, and make your own taco that'll be even better. Shout-out to their potato salad by the way. It's more of a German version, served warm, mayo-heavy and loaded with bacon bits and green onion. I am a potato salad person and this one touches my heart. So yeah, Zavala's is the home team. From the owners (Joe Zavala and wife Christan, who herself runs a coffee shop up the street called Mas Coffee, serving the same barbecue as breakfast tacos) to every single person I've met working there, they all have been nothing but gracious and hospitable on each visit. I've even run into the pit crew at least three or four times while in line at Goldee's on a Sunday (mutual respect and a long history, as Goldee's did one of their pre-restaurant pop-ups at Zavala's). I never knew I needed a neighborhood barbecue restaurant. But every barbecue lover should be lucky enough to find one for themselves. Ribs and pork steak special. They just added a direct fire pit and should be doing more pork steaks and even whole hog. DIY brisket taco. Favorite potato salad. Spicy coleslaw, pork ribs and beef cheek. Future tacos. Steak fajita night special.
  13. My preference is to drive past Franklin on the way to Micklethwait. My one and only visit to Franklin, over 10 years ago, set a new standard for what brisket could taste like. Many barbecue meals later, the brisket at Franklin would still rank among the best I've ever eaten, along with Truth and Goldee's (other meats and sides are a different story). But in the times I've been to Austin since, I haven't felt the need to return -- not because I have any insight on the quality improving/declining, or think it's overrated. There are just so many other excellent barbecue restaurants to try (due in part to Aaron Franklin).
  14. Terry Black's is where I would recommend most non-Texan visitors go to experience Central Texas-style barbecue. They have locations in Dallas and Lockhart as well, with more to come -- one of the owners mentioned they bought several pieces of land when interest rates were lower, and are sitting on them while construction costs remain high. I do know they own a prime spot in Fort Worth off 7th Street. Why go to Terry Black's? Because the cooking is very uniform for their amount of production, they have all-day hours without a waning selection, and they still maintain that proper Texan barbecue ambiance/style, the owners being a part of Lockhart royalty (their uncle is the owner of Black's, although they have been publicly feuding for over a decade). Their brisket is quality, ribs are solid, the sausage is better than many acclaimed places, the turkey is impossibly moist (I am assuming a heavy brine, although it does lose a bit of the small flavor that turkey has due to the moisture) and sides are homestyle but varied. Anyone that has never had Texas barbecue can go to Terry Black's and understand what it is after eating there, without waiting in an obscene line or making a Canterbury-esque pilgrimage.
  15. My favorite limited series since True Detective S1, and one of my favorites of all time. I agree that you aren't really sure which way it will go after two episodes, but the third is a masterpiece and seven has my heart for one specific reason (anybody who loves episode seven probably has that same reason). And the ending was one of the most affecting final 10 minutes of television.
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