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.
What is the best restaurant in Texas right this minute?
I fell in love the first time I ate at Le Rêve. Not with my date, mind you. I was smitten with the little San Antonio restaurant itself—the chic, understated room, the hawklike intensity of its young chef-owner, Andrew Weissman, and the utterly sublime contemporary French food that emerged from its kitchen. I have eaten at Le Rêve many times since that first meal four years ago, and nothing has cooled my ardor. What seduces me? A glorious heap of tempura-light fried sweetbreads cozied up to spinach zapped with truffle oil; the most luxurious foie gras I've ever tasted, decadently steeped in cognac for hours, then sautéed in pure duck fat; a trio of tiny, perfect crèmes brûlées—espresso, dark chocolate, and Madagascar vanilla—astonishing in their lightness and capped with crackly panes of burnt sugar. In June 2000 this magazine's Restaurant Guide gave Le Rêve one star; then, six months later, two stars. This month we award it a third star, elevating it to the rarefied company of Houston's Cafe Annie. "Le Rêve" means "the Dream," and it is.
I admit it: I only care about the next new thing. What good restaurants opened last year?
In Dallas, Hotel ZaZa's Dragonfly finally spread its glossy wings in December. Looking like the inner sanctum of a sultan's palace, the dining room is swathed in acres of gauzy, glittery crimson fabric and aglow in the light of beaded lamps. The food, by Jeff Moschetti, with input from Dallas über-chef Stephan Pyles, globe-hops from East Asia to North Africa with dishes like a silky filet of black cod in miso broth and a tajine of Moroccan lamb with cinnamon and preserved lemon. Two early visits varied from middling to magnificent; consistency would be nice. The West Village, the hottest shopping-and-noshing area in Dallas at the moment, added several new options last year. Paris Vendôme—a vast brasserie where well-behaved pooches are welcome in the courtyard, just as they are in France—has won me with Gruyère-capped French onion soup and a pretty, caramel-drenched puff-pastry apple galette, prepared under the watchful eyes of Chris Ward and James Johnson. I love the looks of two other new places. The first is Tom Tom Noodle House, where blond-wood walls and a dramatically curving counter bathed in red light pulse to a techno-pop beat. People are waiting in line for Peter Heise's up-to-the-minute rice and noodle bowls, although some of them are oddly sweet. And at Nikita, Lisa Lawson's snacky, salady menu, while good enough, isn't the point. What is? The vibe—a high-camp take on Russia through the ages, with low tables and tall candelabra surrounded by abstract artwork and murals (are those cossack horsemen?), all in a mysterious, smoky basement lounge. Although you can eat upstairs, downstairs is the place to be.
Jefe James Neel at Dallas' Bistro Latino, a casual, perky pan-Latin and Caribbean spot, is on a roll. Each of his small chile-rubbed salmon filets comes with a short, jaunty stalk of sugarcane jabbed in one corner to create—¡olé!—a salmon chop, bolstered by green papaya slaw. Just out of the starting gate, Hattie's is coming on strong and helping to put the trendy Bishop Arts District on the culinary map. Lisa Kelley's knock-'em, sock-'em flavors, showcased in such dishes as blue-cheese-stuffed, prosciutto-wrapped figs, are balanced by gentler follow-ups like flourless chocolate cake with orange crème anglaise. Part of the city's downtown revival, the Metropolitan does the Pottery Barnyuppie look (oak floors, white slipcovers, tiny candles) to perfection; chef Sara Horowitz is getting attention for a menu that bounces from rolled salmon on pearl couscous to Vietnamese-style lettuce wraps plumped with grilled chicken. The most laid-back of the year's newcomers, the M Grill and Tap rocks when the TVs are turned on to catch a big ball game (not that often) and acts like a grown-up when they're not. Cherif Brahmi's better-than-decent menu of meat loaf, pork chops, filet mignon, and poorboys includes the best molten chocolate cake I've had in Dallas.
Houston has also been fertile ground for openings. My fantasy meal at the Riviera Grill—in the ultrasleek, newly remodeled Sam Houston Hotel—includes a room at the inn for a postprandial nap (or whatever). Until chef John Sheely arranges this amenity, I'll rely on the Grill's roasted sweetbreads with red-onion marmalade to send me to dreamland. At cutting-edge Mexico Citystyle restaurant Hugo's, Hugo Ortega is feeding the multitudes with inventive variations on regional Mexican dishes: rabbit gorditas, miraculously ungreasy cabrito (served with a mound of spunky, oniony nopal salad), and seductive almond-crusted coconut tarts made by his pastry-chef brother, Ruben Ortega, all in a tall, torchère-lit space. Speaking of soaring spaces, let us not forget glam queen Trevisio, looking like a flashback to the mad-money nineties. The view and the mood are best at night, when the sky outside is as deep a blue as the shimmering water wall at the restaurant's entrance. Alan Ashkinaze's mod-Italian menu has created at least one instant classic, sea scallops perched on warm asparagus atop a mellow little tomato compote, all drizzled with Parmesan vinaigrette.
Exit De Ville, enter Quattro: Walking into the main restaurant at Four Seasons Hotel Houston's after its $3 mil, head-to-toe makeover was like discovering that Carole Lombard had miraculously morphed into Gwyneth Paltrow. Tim Keating's food now has a contemporary American-Italian bent, and his fabulous asparagus risotto, sparked with lemon and capers, is a legend in its own time. On those days when I can't bear to dress up for dinner, I go straight to Laurier, where whatever I'm wearing looks fine against walls painted in Crayola-bright red, blue, and yellow. Hooray for chef Gary Fuller's smart but not overworked creations, like a crab cake with a toasty exterior and moist interior on a puddle of tomato beurre blanc. Retrofitted from its days as the restaurant Quasimodo, the Mockingbird Bistro still sports the odd gargoyle poised gleefully overhead. The lusty, moderately priced Mediterranean and American fare—irresistibly fatty beef short ribs, fluffy batter-fried oysters, roasted-beet-and-walnut salad—guarantees that I'll be back to explore John Sheely's menu (yes, he's been a busy boy this year).
In my book, nibbling beats gorging any day. That's why in San Antonio, my new love is Saffron. Warmed by its russet and terra-cotta colors, I snack on Tito Aybar's multinational tapas, which include pâtés, a great lamb-and-Spanish-chorizo mini-cassoulet, and serrano ham with cool melon and tangerine slices. Hip newcomer Azuca sways to a Central and South American beat under blown-glass light fixtures that look like a flock of wayward balloons. The thinnest of plantain strips make a fitting crust for chef Rene Fernandez's nicely turned out salmon filet moistened with cilantro crab butter. Just down the street, China Latina isn't Latin at all but pan-Asian. Its pale lettuce-green interior and towering wall of smooth black river rocks lowers my blood pressure, while a plate of jewel-like sushi and an order of chef Luis Amaya's Triple Delight (chicken, shrimp, and beef with vegetables in a mellow brown sauce) soothe my savage appetite. And now, the million-dollar question: Will shabby-chic little Club Cohiba be the restaurant that finally sticks at the cool Havana Riverwalk Inn? I wouldn't be surprised. At night, you can actually talk over the jazzy background music while picking at Beau Smith's tapas, like lemony shrimp sprinkled with cilantro or mushrooms sautéed with sherry and toasted garlic.
Some restaurants spend a fortune and never get a handle on their customer base. In Austin, Lambert's had the city's schizo zeitgeist nailed from day one. That's why the wine comes in tumblers ("Hey, we're just folks") but the fare is global and sophisticated ("We're going to impress the pants off you"). Sure enough, chef-owner Lou Lambert's menu knocks me out, especially his snowy poached halibut filet in tomato-garlic broth on a pillow of polenta. Frisky order-at-the-counter newcomer Noodle-ism has "chain prototype" written all over it—and that's a compliment. The slick looks (red parasols and black-granite tabletops) and Jeff Liu's savvy menu (permutations of pasta and noodles from Sicily to Shanghai) could make a go of it anywhere. When I drop by for lunch, which is often, I like to have the Malaysian coconut-milk seafood ramen in a hot-and-sour broth fuel-injected with lemongrass.
The only thing that Café Modern (see "Pat's Pick," page 146) absolutely had to do was provide a recharging station for visitors to Fort Worth's stupendous new Modern Art Museum. Instead, the curvy, swooping space has surpassed that goal and kept on going. Art lovers are queuing up for chef Mathew Freistadt's grilled salmon gilded with citrus butter—not to mention crème brûlée with a white-chocolate truffle tucked inside. The day that a steakhouse fails in Fort Worth is the day that hell freezes over. So no one should be surprised that the Silver Fox is jammed with carnivorous scenesters who demand no more, or less, than U.S. Prime steaks, plus Asif Raza's veal chops, crab cakes, and the like. Finally, finally, after a two-year absence, restaurateur Grady Spears is back on the map with his new baby, the Chisholm Club. Chef Brian Olenjack is cooking Western dishes that are reminiscent of those Spears himself cooked when he was at Reata (crusty, tender chicken-fried venison) and has added new ones (lush sweetbreads with a punchy pico de gallo). But the earlier cowboy shtick has thankfully been toned down: Those gleaming black chaps on the wall? They're steel, not cowhide. (In Texas, we call that sculpture, son.) And for the record, Reata reopened last year where the old Caravan of Dreams used to be, on three floors improbably capped by a geodesic dome. Somebody please tell me: Is it a restaurant or a lavish cowboy theme park with an upscale steakhouse attached?
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