Sandbar

What would you order for you last meal?

Would you go heavy on the trans-fats – as John Wayne Gacy did – and ask for a dozen deep-fried shrimp, a bucket of original recipe KFC, French fries, and a pound of strawberries? Would you risk eternal brain freeze (Timothy McVeigh) and order up two pints of mint chocolate chip? Or maybe you’d try to kiss up to the big guy in the sky and receive holy communion (bread and wine) like Joan of Arc.

I’d go to Sandbar and order three servings of the fish ceviche.

It seems that I’ve developed an allergy to fish at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.

Wonderful.

Spec-freaking-tacular.

The only thing that I have to be thankful for is that my last real seafood meal was a leisurely, two-bottle-of-Chardonnay lunch at Sandbar followed by a stroll down the river with good friends. Unfortunately, the leisurely stroll down the river quickly became a worried walk back up the river with a full-body rash, then a hurried drive to the MedClinic and a shot of Benadryl in my ass. Good times.

If it seems like I’m bitter, it’s because I am. Sandbar serves seafood, and little else, which means that they might as well have just put my picture on the door with a big X through it saying “Do Not Take Checks from This Man”. But you should go and here are four good reasons:

• The ceviche. They understand. It is perfectly balanced raw fish mixed in the lime juice for the exactly correct amount of time. The flavors aren’t as overpowering as the ceviche I’ve had in Peru, but it feels as though they’ve taken the same note and turned it into a symphony.
• The service. Belying the Chuck Taylors and the blue jeans, you’ll never find a waiter being too informal, yet they never feel cold or impersonal. That balance is very rare in SA, however it’s always present in Weissman’s restaurants.
• The taste of Le Reve. Order the Lobster Bisque (if you can) and you’ll find the fresh dinner rolls every bit as sublime as they were when you ate them at the now-defunct Le Reve. If you catch the onion tart on the appetizer menu, give it a shot and you’ll be rewarded with a dish that tastes just as good in the bright light of a Saturday lunch. Even the furniture looks oddly familiar…
• The oysters. East coast? West coast? You don’t have to declare your loyalty to Biggie Smalls or Tupac; just be promiscuous. Order a half dozen of each and you’ll be tallying your table mates' consumption more closely than Kobayashi's Coney Island judge.

Just go. Do it for me. Do it for all of the 0.2% of the American population that shares in my unusual food allergy.

Food: 5 Cuy
Service: 5 Cuy
Ambiance: 4.5 Cuy
Value: 4 Cuy

Overall:

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If you met her while reaching for the last piece of organic fennel at the Pearl Farmer's Market, offer to buy her lunch at Sandbar for her trouble. Your classy, yet understated style will get you riding in her BMW 3-series in no time.

Insignia

As if I didn’t have enough reasons to want to move downtown.

Jason Dady just added one more: Insignia in the Fairmont Hotel. We were fortunate enough to attend the soft opening thanks to a friend’s close eye on Dady’s Twitter feed, but I’ll keep it short and sweet since it isn’t fair to review the soft opening for two reasons:

1. It was free (except for the booze), and I turn into a sycophantic schoolgirl when there’s free food involved. I’ve even feigned interest in Air Conditioning Engineering for a full 45 minutes just for mediocre free pizza. Never again.
   
2. The soft opening was intended as a rehearsal for everyone involved. I played my part as the well-fed patron.

I felt especially legit because there was an actual, honest-to-god food critic sitting at the bar doing her thing. Check out her review here, and notice the handsome devil slouched over the table in the far right of the picture.

Anyway, I’ll certainly be going back to try it again and let you know, but since we’re on the subject I figure I’d drop this picture from a recent trip to one of Dady's other restaurants (Bin 555).

It was a very tasty foie gras (aka a force-fed duck’s liver) with a blueberry gastrique over a deconstructed blueberry muffin (aka muffin crumbs).

Le Rêve

Every cloud has a silver lining.

World War II brought us nuclear power and the jet engine. The black plague set the stage for the Renaissance. David Hasselhoff created Baywatch.

Le Rêve is closing in eight days and every table is booked solid. Swine flu is spreading across the country at ever-increasing rates. Oh – just in case you forgot – we’re struggling through one of the worst recessions in history. The clouds look ominous today.

As a public service I feel that it's my patriotic duty to illustrate my October 2nd dining experience. Although in light of the impending closure I’ll admit that my review is a bit like describing a bacon cheeseburger to an orthodox Jew – it’s really good and you can’t have it.

Le Rêve is easy to miss, as the most notable feature is an unremarkable valet podium across the street from a Greyhound station. It almost makes you feel special to know that it’s there, like it’s some sort of prohibition era speakeasy serving illicit French cuisine.


Every time I walk through the door I am struck by the tiny size of the restaurant. There are just twelve tables seated with staggered reservations to allow Chef Weissman to keep up in the diminutive kitchen. Don’t worry about lingering too long over your dinner – the table is yours for the evening. That’s a good thing, because you’re in for a 3+ hour affair.

“Affair” is a good word for it. Every time we go there are always exclamations of joy, lustful facial expressions, and anyone dieting will certainly be cheating. If the food was any better Le Rêve would be condemned by the National Organization of Women.

We ordered a four course meal with wine pairings and it was worth every penny of the ~$200 per person ($90 food / $70ish wine / $40ish tip). Don’t skimp on the wine pairings; Le Rêve’s sommelier will make it worth your dough. Not only can he select wines that make love to the paired food, he explains each glass in a way that never feels condescending or patronizing – an impressive feat for such a knowledgeable young man.

The rest of the staff follow suit, and there weren't any prepubescent college kids working the tables. Each team member performed their tasks with the logistical precision of a Navy Seal and the demeanor of a Tibetan monk. There was never any indication of the complex timing and stress inevitably occurring just a few feet away in the kitchen.

This caliber of service was leagues above anything else in San Antonio and will be sorely missed. Little touches made all the difference. A champagne toast started your meal. Tiny ottomans kept the ladies’ (or men’s, if you’re European like that) purses off the floor. A fresh napkin (either white or black – depending on the color of your pants) was placed on your lap each time you sit down. Complimentary tasting samples excited your palate between courses. And the valet placed cookies with a thank-you from the chef in your car. For three hours you felt like Megan Fox at a comic book convention.

The food makes you feel as special as the service.

Exhibit A: An Ice Cream Sandwich

If you are thinking “Big deal. I’ve had an ice cream sandwich before” then you don’t get it. This ice cream sandwich is as much a Blue Bell as a Lotus 25 is a Camaro. It’s bespoke. It’s one man’s vision, and there is no need to compromise anything because it started from scratch. My hat goes off to Colin Chapman and Andrew Weismann. These aren’t men who use axles from trucks or pie crusts from Sara Lee.

I’ve been thinking of ways to describe the food and decided that I can’t do it justice. So I won’t bore you by saying how every flavor is balanced and engaging. And I won’t say that the each bite is as memorable and thought provoking as a trip to the Guggenheim. I’ll save you from page after page of descriptive food porn because, after all, Le Rêve is closing in only eight days. And I wouldn’t want to torture you like that.

So where is the silver lining? Tables are booked, swine flu is looming, and we’re all just a bank failure away from abject poverty. But you never know – there just might be a blue-blood with a Le Rêve reservation contracting swine flu in his foreclosed home at this very moment.

Embrace your schadenfreude and enjoy a wonderful meal.

Food: 5 Cuy

Service: 5 Cuy
Ambiance: 4.5 Cuy
Value: 4.5 Cuy

Overall:

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Have you found the perfect woman? You know...the one with the smokin' hot body, a great personality and the impossible-to-get reservations for Le Reve?

Marry her. Now.

Bin 555

“It’s small.”

“How small?”

“Tiny. I mean comically tiny. So tiny that I had the urge to take a picture of it next to quarter for scale.”

“Really?! And you just popped it in your mouth?”

“I was dying to. It was just so...cute.”

“How was it?”

“It was over too quickly and made a mess. But those fleeting moments. Oh. My. God.”

“Wow. So is it true – ya know – that it’s not the size of the mini-slider that counts? Is it really ‘the way you mix the sloppy joe’?”

Absolutely – and Bin 555 knows how to mix a sloppy joe. Don’t be discouraged by the diminutive size, as it was merely an inexpensive ($4) prelude to bigger things. Oh, and get your mind out of the gutter.

Bin 555 is in Artisan’s Alley on Bitters road, creating a nice ambiance if you’re a voyeur who likes watching talented artsy-types at work. Perhaps you’re looking for a nice Bed, Bath, and Lingerie Boutique (isn’t everyone?) before you grab some dinner. Or maybe you need to buy some jewelry to set the mood first. In either event you’re covered (or uncovered, depending on what you end up buying).

I didn’t need jewelry to set the mood because I started the evening with a rockin’ tomato bisque and a bottle of chardonnay. The bottle was for the table – I swear. This place is great for relaxing with a bottle of wine, with 55 bottles for 55 dollars. Before you get too excited, I should mention that it’s $55 for each bottle, not all 55. I know…just when you think you’ve found a better deal than two buck chuck, I go and pull the rug out from under you. My apologies.

I followed up the soup with the aforementioned sloppy joe sliders, which were spectacular. The bread was a little mundane, but it was only noticeable when juxtaposed against such a splendid filling.

Now I found myself in a tight spot. I had a heavy lunch and thought I wasn’t hungry – so I figured I would keep it light and stick to an appetizer. Big mistake. Thankfully the rest of the table wasn’t so short-sighted and I had the opportunity to try some tasty pizza, a few pommes frites (delicious despite the pretentious name), and a splendid maple-syrup meatball.

I know, I know…maple syrup and meatballs sounds like an odd combo which begs the question: How was such a dish was conceived? I’m glad you asked so that I can segue into my imaginary explanation.

The chef goes on a bender and joins his buddies at IHOP for the ritualistic after-party meal. In a moment of absent mindedness after ordering a plate of spaghetti (it’s my imaginary situation – let the man order spaghetti!), he instinctively reaches for the syrup and makes a serendipitous mistake which can only be likened to the discovery of penicillin. Even in the chef’s drunken haze, he realized the promise of such a dish and made a mental note to improve upon it the following day – and a legend was born.

The result was quite tasty. The following inevitable coffee and Courvoisier (and s'mores!) led to Mr. Burns impressions and the evening was complete.

Who says engineers don’t have imaginations?

Food: 4.5 Cuy
Service: 4 Cuy
Ambiance: 4.5 Cuy
Value: 4 Cuy

Overall:

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Not sure if you’ve got enough conversation to make it past the first course? Try this place and if things go well – or especially if they don’t – you can always order a second (third?) bottle of wine until the kitchen staff kicks the two of you to the curb.

Cascabel

After years of searching, I was finally able to track down the rarest of dining establishments in San Antonio - a Mexican Restaurant.

Located at 1000 S. St Mary's this unusual and delicate beast was found tucked behind a metal gate, presumably to prevent it from unleashing flavorful tortillas on humanity.

But seriously - just type "Mexican Restaurant" into Google maps and you'll get a picture of San Antonio resembling the face of an adolescent band nerd. (And no, you can't see my freshman marching band portrait. Sequins, saxophones, and acne are not a flattering combination. Just ask Kenny G.)

Not that I would criticize San Antonio's overabundance of Mexican Restaurants - I love enchilades verdes as much as the next guy - but it makes you wonder how Cascabel sets itself apart.

I'm glad you asked.

Well, for starters, you can't order a margarita. There's a school across the street (Bonham Elementary) and it seems the legislators are afraid a 9-year-old is going to saunter across S. St Mary's and chug a Corona before recess. It's either that or, more logically, they're trying to keep drunks away from children. So it's BYOB, which means you'll be strolling past the school yard with your "forty" in a brown paper bag.

The patio has the same laid-back atmosphere as a friend's backyard, complete with a skipping CD player repeating the same note from the mariachi's trumpet. I went home with the urge to make a spanish guitar techno remix, but was saddened to discover that someone beat me to it. The ornate cast aluminum tables look nice, but they also turn the simple task of setting down your beer into a sobriety test. Although I paid for parking, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Cascabel wasn't crowded on First Friday.

Mexican restaurants tend to be judged by the quantity and quality of their food, and I was surprised to find Cascabel lacking in the former. It's odd - who's heard of a mexican restaurant with small (and by "small" I mean "appropriately sized for a normal adult") portions? It seems strange, but I enjoyed leaving the table without the post-dinner bloat that follows most of our Friday meals.

The quality was good, and the value was great (nine of us ate for less than a total of $90*). Don't let the swine flu turn you off to their pork dishes, as these guys make a mean pulled-pork torta and a spicy pork chili specialty known as the Puerco Cascabel. Nothing stuck out in my head as being a future craving, but with most dishes priced at $7 you get quite a deal.

So next time I'm in Southtown craving mexican food, I'll do the following:

1. Check my wallet to see if I can afford Azuca
   
2. Damn the current economic climate and mumble about the recession


3. Head toward Rosario's


4. Remember that Cascabel exists (Aha!)


5. Buy a 40 oz bottle of Lone Star at the convenience store


6. Enjoy a nice meal at Cascabel for a reasonable price


7. Offer alcohol to a third grader (I'm joking officer!)
   

And I suggest you do the same! um...well... minus that last part. It turns out you can go to jail for that.

Food: 3.5 Cuy

Ambiance: 3 Cuy

Service: 3.5 Cuy

Value: 4.5 Cuy

Overall:

After six dates she still won't let you get to second base? Save your money for lapdances and go dutch at Cascabel. It's good to know that some things are tasty and a good value. And who knows, she might be impressed by your new casual style and finally let you graze a boob. Whatev.

*Rich - I think I still owe you twenty bucks

The Lodge Restaurant of Castle Hills

Did you ever go to a dinner party with your parents when you were young? Perhaps one at the house of your father’s wealthy friend?

The house might have been in a nice part of town and set back from its wrought iron gate. Perhaps old oak trees peppered the grounds providing celestial lighting over the Mercedes parked nonchalantly alongside the stone edifice.

Remember?

At the age of nine these things go unappreciated. When wearing a clip-on neck tie the only question on your mind is “are there going to be any other kids there?”

The Lodge is that sort of place and, thankfully, there weren’t any kids there.

There were, however, plenty of people enjoying celebratory anniversary dinners, myself included. April 7th must be a popular day to get hitched.

In the celebratory manner of the occasion, we decided to go all out and ordered Chef Dady’s Signature Tasting Menu.

What kind of food is on this tasting menu you ask?

Well, Gayot.com categorizes it as a “contemporary” menu, which makes me think of Biga-esque fusion cuisine consisting of braised antelope gizzards. That doesn’t seem accurate, as most of the dishes are quite traditional.

The Lodge identifies itself as having a “New American menu”, which seems like a good description, although it conjures up images in my naïve head of high-end hot dogs and chicken fried steak.

Fortunately that’s not what you’ll find at the Lodge.

What you will find is a series of familiar, well executed dishes. Beef tenderloin served with carrots and yukon gold potatoes - juicy and large enough to make your palate and stomach feel equally indulged. Fortunately I had a light lunch.

The quail also had a comforting familiarity, but felt like the valedictorian of the culinary academy was turning in another A+ homework assignment. You almost expect the high quality and are left looking for the spark of unique brilliance.

I’m pleased to say that Chef Dady accomplishes this unique brilliance by taking traditional low-brow favorites and adding a twist. Ever had the S’mores at Bin 555? An excellent example that is a throwback to the days of clip-on neckties. The dish that sticks out in my head from The Lodge was the sandwich/salad/soup course which was comprised of a bite-sized grilled goat cheese sandwich, a tiny mixed green salad with candied pecans, and an excellent soup (although the name escapes me). The tiny grilled goat-cheese sandwich had enough of a twist to it to make you think “I wish I had thought of this” without being overly complex. It’s this sort of dish that my inner 9-year-old and outer 27-year-old enjoy equally.

So with its cozy romantic atmosphere (only about 3 tables in each of the bedroom-sized dining rooms), will the Lodge be taking future anniversary reservations away from my paragon of local dining?

Probably not. The service was excellent, but still miles away from a restaurant like Le Reve. Small details were missed (the hostess didn’t pull the chair out for my wife), and although the staff was pleasant and knowledgeable I still found something absent. There’s not the same sense of occasion that I got from Le Reve or Alinea. It’s hard to explain, but spectacular service can build the level of anticipation that is crucial to any lustful endeavor – especially fine dining.

The high expectations and lofty comparisons illustrate the formidable quality of The Lodge. I’ll probably head back to try the next seasonal menu – just look for the smiling guy with a mouthful of peanut butter and a cake-stained clipped-on tie.

Food: 4.5 Cuy
Service: 4 Cuy
Ambiance: 4.5 Cuy
Value: 4 Cuy

Overall:

What?? You've been with the same woman for three hundred and sixty five consecutive days? Count me surprised...I mean...well...ya know....YOU??? Take her to this place to celebrate and she just might reconsider her plan to leave you for the pool boy.

*pardon the crappy cell phone pictures. Romantic lighting = crappy pictures.

Peruvian Food

“So, is it like Mexican food?” seems to be a common question.

My reflex is to say “no”, but if there’s one thing that I learned on my recent trip to Peru is that defining a country’s food by one or two dishes or regions doesn’t do it justice. In Texas the dominance of cheese enchiladas likely isn’t representative of entrees from Mexico’s interior or coastal regions.

That’s my disclaimer. I was only in Peru for two weeks, and spent time in Cusco (touristy area) and my wife’s coastal hometown of Trujillo, so I don’t have the whole picture when it comes to Peruvian cuisine. The upside of travelling with a native is that I got to taste things that I probably wouldn’t otherwise consider. The downside is that I endured 3 days of penance on the porcelain throne for my culinary promiscuity.

But the ceviche was totally worth it.

In Trujillo they take fresh fish and shellfish and soak it in a lime-based sauce. Throw some thinly-sliced onions on the side with a few chunks of yucca and some roasted corn and you’ve got one tasty meal. Be prepared though, as every flavor in Peru punches you in the face as if to question the masculinity of your palate. The Ceviche de Conchas Negras is a prime – and delicious – example.

A ceviche lunch for two people runs about 5 to 10 bucks. That’s only if you’re a big spender. Most restaurants offer a 3 course meal known as menú (not the paper list of food) consisting of an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert and a drink for the reasonable price of $3 to $5. Waiters are all on a salary, so tipping isn’t the norm.

Drink options are as varied as the meals, ranging from Inca Kola (tastes like Big Red but looks like Mountain Dew), to Chicha Morada. If you’re in the mood for an adult beverage, I would highly recommend a Pisco Sour. This social lubricant also had the special ability to improve my Spanish on several occasions (or so I thought).

Guinea pig (cuy) is served in several different ways, but they all involve a plate of tiny claws and ribs, usually with a terrified rodent head looking back at you. This punctuates an interesting difference between Peruvians and Americans: they truly understand where their food came from.
As I ate the cuy it was impossible not to be aware that an animal was killed for my lunch - and I’m okay with that. There’s no way to mitigate it by claiming fractional ownership, or disguise it by forming it in an unnatural shape.

It’s there staring you in the face. Literally.

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Food: 1 Cuy (get it?)

Service: How's your spanish?

Ambiance: Do you like lawn furniture?

Value: Enough to make you feel like you're stealing.

Overall: Highly recommended.

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Are you planning on meeting your mail-order Peruvian bride for the first time? Drink plenty of electrolytes and be sure to try some ceviche while you're there.