Just a few pictures illustrate the compelling features of the location.

The stunning entrance has a nature preserve quality, helping diners feel that they are in the heart of the countryside. Those who suffer from nosebleeds at the top are conveniently close to Parkland hospital.

The art work is already in place on the walls, courtesy of a previous occupant. If you guessed that this was painted by the famous Spanish artist, Joan Miró, your intuition is sound. It’s actually a work by his brother, Colin. He is much less well known on account of his early dearth from syphilis. He was 10. Note the filigree anointing the top of the wall.

These features will attract a sophisticated clientele, sure. But it is on the opposite side of the building that patrons will get the biggest shock. The balcony opens spectacularly just yards from an electricity transmission substation. Power couples will get a front row seat. Guests can thrill to the low omnipresent hum of high tension power transmission backing the live cellist on weekends while they eat catfish so fresh it was swimming in the adjacent Trinity River just minutes before it was browned by sticking a pole out of the window with the fish on the end.

Smoked food will take on a new meaning as 200,000 cars a day snake past on I-35 and the Tollway approach.

In long waits, likely due to its inevitable popularity when the restaurant opens, guests can peruse the Inca ruins next door. Some with meaningful hieroglyphics like “Jonny **** Jill”. Apparently a reference to a pre-modern sex ritual.

I’ve got a hot date for Valentine’s Day!

Do you hate the hype of Valentine’s Day? Or do you like paying triple the regular price for a dozen roses and mediocre chocolate? Yes, I know it’s great for the restaurant business and I encourage all  lovers–young and old– to dine out. Get engaged. Spend hours making love. Make Hallmark happy.

But what about those of us without a date? Why don’t we get a night? Restaurateurs and barkeeps, I see a niche with an burning itch. Call me a hopeless unromantic but I do the same thing every year for VD: Two nights of pure bliss. And you, what do you do?

Ferrets are sexually dimorphic predators.

I realize a lot of you love to dine out during KRLD Restaurant Week/Month. You get a three-course meal at these restaurants for $35 and some “proceeds” go to the North Texas Food Bank. Win-win, right?

Over the years, I’ve talked to a many restaurant owners, chefs, and servers who aren’t crazy about the promotion. Perhaps given the current state of business they’ve changed their tune. I’d like to know.

Anywhooo, last year, the finest ferret at PegNews, Teresa “Vicky Christina” Gubbins, wrote the piece I wish I’d written about Restaurant Week. Here is the hot link to her story which officially makes this “Link To Teresa Gubbins Week.”  (Group hug.)

At the risk of going all Eatsblog on you, I would like to know: Why do you like restaurant week? Why do you hate restaurant week?  I will tell you this: it is the worst month of the year to be a dining critic. Okay, let’s rumble like we’re on Las Ramblas.

SideDish, an equal opportunity hot link provider.

To the fake Bonathan or as henceforth shall be known as: Fonathan,

You’re clever, I’ll give you that. Quick with your words and clearly eager to prove your mettle as you found it within yourself to actually challenge the original. But let it be known, no one challenges me and gets away with it. Unless you are bigger than me, which in that case, by all means “no I was not looking at your girl funny.” That said, I am Steve Perry, and you are that guy from the Philippines. You might sound like me, and carry the same swagger but I was here first and I rocked harder than Nic Cage on Alcatraz. AMERICA.

Your challenge was intriguing and so, for the past week, I have gone into hiding to prepare myself mentally and physically for our challenge. And let me just say, you’re about to get a taste of the peoples’ elbow. Ooo-ah-ah-ah! You didn’t really think I was gonna let you pick the venue, did you? Bow to your sensei! We will let the people of SideDish decide this one. SIDEDISHERS: Offer your suggestions on the place and method in which I should administer my beat down of this Fonathan. (Please nothing too scary. Or intense. Or involving like, running. Checkers would be a good suggestion. Or Pictionary. Just saying.) And to Fonathan: the loser of this challenge shall be banished from Dallas forever (excluding major holidays, including Texas-OU weekend and random weekends when nothing is going on at school). The winner, shall be rightfully titled Bonathan, but this seems redundant as I’m already called that. *grabs a Coors Light, shotguns it, crushes can on forehead* Bring it!
P.S. Freshly starched Polo? Psh, shows exactly why you’re a knockoff of the real deal. Brooks Brothers is the original. Read a book.