Where to Eat Now
The Dow may be in the tank, but you still have to eat, right? Whether you're hungry for a scene or a sauce Véronique, here are places that will comfort you with Chianti-braised short ribs, truffle-oil-spiked grits, and—a sign of the times?—a dessert called Evil Chocolate Overlord.
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I fantasize about chefs the way other people fantasize about Halle Barry or Brad Pitt. Who are the famous names in Texas?
The members of the fabled Texas Mafia—Robert Del Grande, of Houston's Cafe Annie, Dean Fearing, of the Mansion on Turtle Creek in Dallas, and Dallas' Stephan Pyles, who left Star Canyon in 2000 and is currently planning to open his own place within a year—are still the names to conjure with. But a new generation is stepping up to the plate. In Dallas, Kent Rathbun, of Abacus, is a master of complexity who offers Asian, Mediterranean, and contemporary American motifs in dishes like roasted duck with rice-paper pancakes and blackberry hoisin sauce and grilled venison with a huckleberry demi-glace. The phrase "I don't know how he does it all" must have been invented for Chris Ward, the city's poster boy for overachievement. The hard-traveling chef cum guru for the M Crowd restaurant group can be seen at—take your pick—the Mercury Grill (purveyor of Mediterranean and New American food in a sleek New Yorkish setting, below); its younger sibling, the Mercury (soon to be retooled as a steakhouse with a Central American accent); Paris Vendôme; and Citizen (an Asian restaurant and sushi bar). As we all know, the words "famous chef" and "self-effacing" are not often found in the same sentence, but there's no other way to describe Sharon Hage. At tiny, gleaming York Street, she works her magic on the likes of humble oxtail (braised in a sprightly tamarind broth) and gives makeovers to nerdy vegetables like salsify, radishes, and cauliflower, turning them into something rich and strange.
Two of Houston's big-name chefs, Tim Keating and John Sheely, had babies this year— respectively, Quattro and the Riviera Grill. At swank, mahogany-paneled Cafe Annie, young executive chef Ben Berryhill is coming into his own, producing the most highly evolved Southwestern cuisine in the state, like cocoa-rubbed roast chicken with barbecue-seasoned sweet potatoes and caramelized pumpkin seeds. Saints and sinners alike worship at Mark's, the New American culinary shrine that Mark Cox has created in the dazzlingly deconsecrated sanctuary of an old church. Personally, I am seeking forgiveness for stealing bites of a friend's roasted chicken breast and truffle-oil-spiked grits on my last visit, when I had a perfectly delicious molasses-and-bourbon-glazed pork tenderloin on my own plate.
In San Antonio, besides catching a glimpse of Andrew Weissman at Le Rêve, chef groupies should breeze into Biga on the Banks to see what Bruce Auden is up to. His modern, expansive glass-walled space on the river wows me every time, though occasionally the complex global menu (Hunan barbecued salmon, "Close-to-Bouillabaisse" fish stew, achiote-spiced Texas lamb) exhausts as much as it exhilarates.
Even before George W. Bush gave spare, art-filled Jeffrey's in Austin the presidential seal of approval, David Garrido was firmly entrenched in the who's who of chefdom. His decision to switch from Southwestern to Mediterranean- and Asian-tinged dishes—hooray!—is the breath of fresh air the restaurant has needed. On the other hand, Jeff Blank will probably never completely abandon the happy marriage of Southwestern cuisine and game that is his trademark at Hudson's on the Bend. But somehow—out in the country, in the breezy old limestone ranch house surrounded by herb gardens—the whole thing works, especially the crackly, crunchy trout with mango-habanero aioli.
In Fort Worth, go hang out at the Chisholm Club. Sooner or later, good-looking Grady Spears, who's the same lovable, overgrown kid he's always been, will drop by to say hi.
Okay, we know what's new and who's hot. What else do you love?
In Dallas, I could eat at Suze every day, wedged in at one of the little tables in the dusty-rose dining room feasting on the Middle Eastern plate—a medley of lush, sesame-oil-laced hummus, hushpuppy-like fried falafel, and feta-spiked artichoke dip—or chef Gilbert Garza's paper-thin pappardelle in an intense veal bolognese sauce (a dish that made the cover of the September 2002 Bon Appétit). The original Mercury Grill, always sophisticated, still beguiles me. I wear pearls and a skinny black dress, order chef Delfino Lujano's arugula-and-shaved-Parmesan salad with beef carpaccio, and feel like Audrey Hepburn in Charade. The polar opposite of this experience is braving Deep Ellum's raffish young nighttime hordes to dine at the Green Room, with its puckish putti painted on yellow walls. Marc Cassel's dishes, like pork tenderloin with a lively cayenne-apple glaze, never bore me. Then it's on to Ciudad D.F., a thoroughly modern hacienda, for Joanne Bondy's smart, tradition-tweaking renditions of classic Mexican dishes, like crisp empanadas made with masa instead of pastry and filled with ancho-seasoned tenderloin tips (a lusty cascabel-chile salsa at the ready). After painting the town red, I would totter in for brunch the next morning at warm, welcoming La Duni, a classy South American cafe owned by husband and wife Espartaco and Dunia Borga. All is made right by a bracing cup of café con leche, a plate of Venezuelan-style arepas (little tuffets of fluffy white-corn masa fried to a golden brown), and the sun streaming through the skylight.
The restaurant jungle culls out losers the way a tiger runs down a lollygagging antelope. That Monica Pope's Boulevard Bistrot, in Houston, is thriving after almost nine years is a tribute to this comfy, casual space with its tiled floor and jazzy menu that offers riffs on classics, like beef ribs "Stroganoff" with red-wine broth, asparagus tagliatelle, and a token teaspoon of sour cream. A hop, skip, and a jump from the Bistrot, Aries rose to the city's top ranks in only two and a half years. I feel like hugging myself and chef Scott Tycer when I sit down to his moist, couscous-filled chicken breast in pesto broth or the city's best-named dessert, Evil Chocolate Overlord, a dark fantasy of creamy mousse and chocolate spikes. Every foodie in town has trekked to Indika to sample Anita Jaisinghani's ground-breaking neo-Indian entrées like lamb curry with sautéed okra; but how many know that she's also a pastry chef, and that her desserts, such as warm cardamom shortbread cookies and cotton-candy-light bread pudding with toasted cashews and swirls of chocolate, are beyond fabulous? La Vista's chef-owner, Greg Gordon, does the gourmet-on-a-budget thing better than almost anyone. I get a kick out of his slangy menu ("Big Fat Chicken"), BYOB policy, and rustic, robust Mediterranean and American dishes like earthy venison ragoût and beef tenderloin with a cherry-apricot port-wine sauce. Over at three-year-old Da Marco, Marco Wiles is performing culinary prestidigitation, Italian style, in the kitchen of this revamped brick cottage. Sitting in the sunburst-yellow dining room, I regress to childhood at the slightest whiff of his sophisticated comfort food, like meltingly tender nine-hour-roasted veal breast. His sweet, almond-shingled panna cotta—"cooked cream"—is a new twist on an oft-mistreated dessert.
Recently promoted to executive chef at Silo, in San Antonio, Gus Ortiz has made a seamless transition. In his salad of mixed lettuces, a super sherry vinaigrette sings close harmony with jammy figs; his chocolate soufflé cake is so light he must have injected it with air—for my money, this is one of the best-executed menus in the city. Take a deep breath, plunge into the stream of camera-toting River Walkers, and make your way to Boudro's. I'll park myself in its cavelike interior or, on a cool day, snuggle up on the terrace under a thoughtfully provided Mexican blanket if I can just have more of chef Nelson Gonzales' sweet grilled baby lobster tails with tender, tomatoey crêpes. If I had a great aunt who was revising her will, I would take her to L'Etoile. It is quiet and eminently civilized (especially now that it's had a bit of a redo), and chef Thierry Burkle does traditional French with finesse. His redfish Véronique, in a grape-studded white wine butter sauce, is a marvel. One of the nicest meals I've had in San Antonio was at stately Las Canarias, in La Mansión del Rio Hotel. I'll cease all griping about the killer straight-backed Spanish chairs if Scott Cohen plies me with his squash blossom soup (dark as night with bits of Mexican corn-ear fungus) or scallops atop a lovely port winegrapefruit reduction (amazingly, at once unctuous and bracing).
In Austin, the race is on among a phalanx of newbies that have raised the bar when it comes to fine dining. Wink may be small, but Stewart Scruggs's talent is large. Witness a recent triumph: his golden roasted chick- en breast on glorious white-polenta mush. Equally impressive are the skills of pastry chef and co-owner Mark Paul, for whose crisp, lemon-curd-filled meringue cups I would happily walk on nails. Who cares if you have to be shoehorned into Wink's tiny, latte-colored room? The place is exciting. So is another little gem, Jean Luc's Bistro, which is so much prettier now that they've covered the ugly concrete beams and painted the whole space eggshell white. Shawn Cirkiel's silky butternut-squash-and-wild-sage soup and great, hammy duck confit with lentils in a candied-grapefruit veal jus have erased the memory of some early flubs. I also find myself cheering for quirky Starlite, with its bizarre amalgam of stripped-wood walls, crystal chandeliers, and June Cleaver wallpaper. When chef Joshua Hines is on—beautifully simple chicken breast suffused with the scent of rosemary, sweet-potato gnocchi in nutmeg cream sauce topped with morsels of duck confit—he's on. When I'm not up to deconstructing the work of an ambitious young kitchen god, I fall back on old friends like the 34th Street Cafe. In its arty but comfy setting, I can hunker down with a book and demolish, unbothered, chef Julio Dominguez's roasted poblano stuffed with sprightly ground lamb and golden raisins on guajillo chile sauce. Or I go to Mars—not the red planet but the scarlet restaurant. Somehow, its tiny kitchen manages to send forth a dizzying array of Asian cuisines; I'm especially fond of chef John Bullington's generously varied Indian and Middle Eastern sampler platters. A regular stopover on my neurotic quest for culinary nirvana, urbane Louie's 106 looks more imposing than it feels. I've had Frank Bellino's grand pile of mussels in white-wine broth and his luscious rotisserie chicken with sautéed spinach more times than I can count. For those days when the old bank account is perilously low, I head out to El Mesón for Marisela Godinez's homey quesadillas of huitlacoche or slow-cooked cochinita pibil; this colorful, unadorned plywood building on a bare industrial strip is the best new interior-Mexican restaurant in Austin.
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