Whirling dervish chef Avner Samuel and his sidekick chef Jon Stevens are ready to open Snack, their “street-food-inspired-low price-points-small-plates-daily-chalkboard-special restaurant on Henderson in the space formerly known as Horne & Dekker. (Whew!) There will be three bar areas: one with cocktails, wine and beer; the second is a raw bar, but also includes a charcuterie element and hot small plates; the third, features a large wood-burning oven for made-to-order flatbreads and distinct hot dishes. (Whew!) Listen up:
From the age-old market-squares and bazaars to today’s street food vendors, SNACK is the creation of a street-to-table inspired menu. The menu includes dinner items such as short rib tacos with pineapple habanero and cilantro crema ($8), pork shumai dumplings ($9), chicken shawarmas with cucumber tahini and pickled onion ($8), and smoked oysters escabeche served with wood oven toasted bread ($7). The brunch menu features items from a pan-fried egg sandwich with Serrano ham and avocado ($13), to a charcuterie flatbread with pan-fried egg, arugula and herbs ($14); and “street tacos” a la carte with a small assortment of sweeter entrees, like coconut griddle cakes ($11), to choose from.
Bizarre is right! Let’s see, Samuel-Stevens now oversee two locations of Nosh Euro Bistro, Snack, the transition of Bailey’s Prime Plus from steak joint to a chef-driven kitchen, and the addition of the lavish Aurora Room to BPP. My guess is Samuel and Stevens already have their paws on the menu at The Chesterfield. What? You hear there will be more Nosh Euro Bistros if this relationship lasts? Oh, glorious Dallas dining. Are you coming back to life or going crazy?
UPDATE: Snack will have it’s own valet parking.
This guy sure asks a lot of questions for a guy from Austin. Here is his scenario:
Two couples are driving from Austin to Dallas this Saturday, returning Monday. Three of the four of us grew up in Dallas. Typically, our visits are consumed with family obligations and aging parents. Not this weekend. We’re coming to play. And eat. And walk and visit museums.
We originally wanted to enjoy chef Pyles’ Fuego, but he’s not doing it this year, it seems. [Ed note: Pyles says Fuego is “catch as catch can” but this week he will release some firm dates.] One of us is a vegetarian. We’re into good food. We like locally sourced too. So far, our plan is Samar on Saturday night, and Si Tapas on Sunday night. I’m thinking Velvet Taco would make for one easy lunch. I like Dream Café for Sunday brunch, but where else should we consider? We like sitting outside. What other place should we try to fit in for lunch? Where should we go for desserts? Is Five Sixty good for a late night cognac? Thanks in advance for taking the time to answer.
I visited an Indian restaurant in Irving this past weekend with a couple friends, eager to consume mango lassi with a side of samosas since it was a place that I’d heard good things about. I walked in, and it was one of those confusing restaurants where you’re not sure what to do first. Seat yourself or wait to be seated? There wasn’t a sign, so the woman behind the cash register told us to order first after I’d asked.
Six samosas, three drinks, and four entrees later, I could tell that the employee was struggling with my large order. She didn’t have a fancy cash register to add up the bill, but possessed a calculator-looking thing that spat out the receipt at the top. That’s fine. I understand that not every restaurant has the means to buy the most modern technology. What boggles my mind is when the cashier woman finished adding up my bill, she told me she wasn’t sure if she did her math correctly.
Really? I wondered if she was serious, and when she gave me another confused look, I pulled out my calculator app and began adding up my own order. A lot of you will probably think I’m a snot for even mentioning this out loud, and I agree, yes, I probably am. But I’ve realized that all this time I’ve taken competent cashiers for granted.
Has this happened to you before? Do you carry around a big calculator everywhere you go so you can tally up your bill? If this happens again, I think I’ll bust out my TI-83 and at least look a bit more professional when I’m doing someone’s job for them.
FYI, Michael Costa and his sidekick Brian Luisi have resurfaced at Sneaky Pete’s in Lewisville. According to a nice gentleman who just answered the phone at Sneaky Pete’s, the duo has been hired as consultants.
After further investigation (read: Facebook stalkage), I found this donut with the caption: “Our very own Gay bar.”
That is what Mike “Quick Draw” Hiller is reporting. The green and white building on the North Dallas Tollroad, just north of Frankfort, closed over five years ago. I can’t imagine the condition of the interior. Wonder if they are going to tear it down and start over. I’d watch that wrecking party. That place is ugly from the front.
Today comes word that former (ouch!) Nana execuchef Anthony Bombaci has been promoted to a new position at the Hilton Anatole. Official word:
In Chef Bombaci’s previous role at Nana, he was able to share his outstanding culinary gifts with only a portion of the Anatole’s vast clientele. In his new role as Hotel Chef de Cuisine, his influence will be felt not only in our new steakhouse, but in all of our other food and beverage outlets, as well as our critically acclaimed banquets department, where we serve literally tens of thousands of satisfied guests every year.
See the nice looking man in the picture? That is Phil Romano. See the painting in the background? That is one artist’s interpretation of Phil Romano’s brain when he is working on a project. Phil Romano, Larry “Butch” McGregor, and Stuart Fitts are working on Trinity Groves an enormous development on the west side of the Margaret Hunt Bridge in West Dallas. Today I took a grand tour of the 13-acre proposed “restaurant, retail, artist and entertainment” site which will also be home to the partnership’s restaurant incubator program. I met the first approved restaurateur and tasted his food. Tune in tomorrow for a full report. I can’t decide if these are the smartest guys in the world or the craziest. It’s wild. Clear out some head space.
The world is going pig-crazy.
On Friday, I heard that Jack in the Box was offering a very limited number of bacon milkshakes as a secret menu item. Did anyone get a chance to try one? I almost dropped everything to go search for one, but then I remembered my sanity. Now I’m lying deep in the trenches of regret.
I once made my opinion of the (worthless) honeydew melon very clear. Today I bring up the yucky chicken wing. They have never appealed to me but apparently I am in the minority. This morning comes word from the National Chicken Council: “More than 1.25 billion wings will be consumed during Super Bowl weekend (100 million pounds!), and, if they were laid end-to-end they would circle the circumference of the Earth – more than twice – a distance that would reach approximately a quarter of the way to the moon.”
My initial response is: if you can circle the earth twice, why don’t you just drop off a few million pounds in places where one chicken for a village causes more excitement than the Super Bowl.
My secondary response is actually a question: How many chickens does it take to make 25 billion chicken wings. Hah! You say: do the math dummy; one chicken has only two wings. But your assumption would be wrong. I turned to the Wing-onomics department (true!) at The National Chicken Council for an answer.
You’ll have to jump because you, like chickens, cannot fly.
As I was writing the post about Michael Costa getting evicted from The Office Grill, Teresa Gubbins at PegasusNews received a press release from Costa. The Spin Doctor begins with: “In case you didn’t get the memo…” Oh my…jump.
UPDATE: I received a voice mail from Richard Chamberlain. “Michael Costa worked for us briefly 16 years ago,” he said. “In his release he insinuates he is associated with us and that is not the case.”
In August 2008, I traveled to Savannah, Georgia where I dined at Paula Deen’s restaurant Lady & Sons. We ran a post titled “Paula Deen Wants to Kill You.” I wrote:
I can still smell the rancid butter that hit us in the face when we walked in the door. I’ve got to find the pictures I took of the food I ate–everything was dripping in butter. I remember the chicken pot pie was big enough for four and almost everything was fried. OK, she admits she’s “not your cardiologist,” but she really is contributing to the delinquency of dieters. The night we went, at least 75 per cent of the diners were beyond overweight–they were obese. It was sad–like people watching at the slots in Vegas–everyone was gambling with their lives.
Last week Paula Deen confirmed the rumor: she has Type 2 diabetes. I wonder how many of her dedicated fans also suffer from Type 2? This really chaps my sass because two members of my family didn’t have a choice: they both were diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when they were young. They have to continually monitor their diet and control their blood sugar. However, Ms. Deen, and other people who put on blinders and continue to fill their body with fat and sugar, had an option. Like not eating a burger made with Krispy Kreme donuts. It’s now rumored that Deen may become the spokesperson for Novartis, a company with a drug designed to treat diabetes. If she personally profits from developing Type 2 diabetes (Hey yáll, I’m your endocrinologist!), I’m going to go berserk. I can already see the talk show circuit lighting up. It makes me sick.
According to several attendees of Sunday’s XX Caesar Salad Competition, the charity event ended with a quite a bang. SideDish reporter Andrew Chalk was leaving the Westin Galleria tonight when he heard emcee Scott Murray yelling from the Senate floor stage. “At first I thought it was the live auction and somebody had just made a big buy,” Chalk said. “Then I realized he was shouting abuse at some guy in the audience.”
I contacted AIWF rep Freda Ballas. “We did have some people complain about him [Murray] using the f-word,” Ballas said. Both Ballas and Chalk tell the same tale. Murray was onstage pulling names from the raffle bowl and announcing winners. You buy a ticket and a number is called. Simple. Tonight, a nice little girl put her hand in the bowl and pulled out a ticket and handed it to Murray. Instead of announcing a number, Murray read out a name.
Some dude near the stage yelled something to the effect of “This is rigged,” and Murray went nuts. From various reports Murray say words to the effect of: “If somebody thinks I have control over the tickets I pulled, you can meet me outside right now and I’ll give you a check for $500.” Meanwhile, Del Frisco’s chef, David Holben, was busy packing up his knives. He won the competition.
Somewhere, both Julius Caesar and Caesar Cardini are smiling. Holben’s victorious salad was an extra-garlic-and-anchovy version of Cardini’s original. Murray battled like a gladiator.
Huh? Hasn’t this icky boneless mystery meat sandwich already had more comebacks than Donny and Marie? According to this, they’re rolling out the old queen on November 14. One interesting note in the story is that Germany is the only place where it’s always been available. WTF? Germany? McRib? Do you people eat this stuff? Food snobs speak up!
Dear Chef DAT,
Who are you? I’ve been getting press releases from you for a long time but for the life of me I can’t remember meeting you. I do understand that you live underground and you cook a lot there as well, but do you ever actually come out during the day?
You talk funny. I mean, you write funny. You “sound” like you are totally hip and in with all of the IN people which explains a lot about our relationship. It’s so cool that you are throwing a birthday party for yourself on October 23! You must have lots of friends! Three LIVE bands, CAJUN food, and BYOB! Totally bitchin’. And Thursday, you only have 20 seats left for your super secret dinner in Deep Ellum. Have you done the math? Do you think you can get that many people under the ground in Deep Ellum? It must be so freakin’ dark, dude. Six courses for $66? That dinner is like so effin’ New Testament! And payable in “unmarked, untraceable cash only”? Brilliant.
Keep it up and maybe you’ll get your own restaurant one day. Oh, wait. My spirit is shaking. I’m getting an incoming subliminal message from, wait…oh…I can’t quite make out the voice, I can only hear pigs squealing. Oh, now it’s clear. It’s Steven Doyle LIVE from the State Fair. He says you have a “concept portfolio” for a future restaurant called Twenty-Seven. Far out, it sounds so Satanic! Will you take American Express? Awesome. Keep us posted.
Good luck,
Nancy Nichols
Last night, after yet another painful waiter experience that started with, “Hello, beautiful lady,” and ended with “Would the lovely ladies like dessert?” I have decided that it’s time to say enough! Enough with the obsequiousness. Enough with the platitudes. Enough! Nancy called attention to the issue of false fawning in her recent review of Marquee, so perhaps we’re all more sensitive to it now. But no one likes to be shined-on. Do they?
Here are the facts: I am neither beautiful nor a lady. Don’t really aspire to be. So why lay it on so thick? (My late-grandmother, by the way, once threw a fork at a waiter who called her “young lady.” She was 92 at the time.)
I can tolerate waiter-interruptus, and I understand that service comes with a fair dose of insincerity, but it’s the bald-faced “lovely lady” lie that’s so grating. Give me a pro, a server I can admire for his gentility. Give me a server who knows his food, who’s willing to give an opinion and make a joke. But leave the buttering-up in the kitchen.
Is it just me? Or do other people long for a end of the pandering, too?
I was talking with a friend of mine who loves the fried food madness of the Texas State Fair. Obviously many other people share her passion for fried strawberry waffles, fried margaritas, fried butter, and fried bubblegum. The recent “winners” for this year’s State Fair were announced Wednesday and the local blogs comment boxes have lit up like fried Christmas trees.
I hate it all as much as I hated eating in Paula Deen’s restaurant in Savannah. I can still smell the cloud of burnt butter that met me at the door of Lady and Sons Restaurant. The portions were obnoxiously huge and I had to shower when I got back to my hotel.
The last time I visited the Fair, I sat at one of the picnic benches and watched a family of three eat their way through a pile of food. The husband and wife, maybe in their early 40s, were obese. The woman was in a wheel chair with an oxygen tank. The husband, who weighed at least 350 pounds, was shoveling food in his mouth using both hands. The saddest sight was their son. He couldn’t have been 12 years old and already on the verge of obesity. He was listlessly staring at the ground and gnawing on a huge turkey leg.
I can hear you crying: “It’s only once a year. Live a little. Have some fun.” I can’t. That isn’t fun or funny to me. It’s gross.
Men’s Health, the magazine I refer to as Abs! Abs!Abs! just launched a “Manliest Restaurant in America” contest. There are 45 restaurants on the list and two of them are from Dallas. Read all about it:
Maple & Motors and Bob’s Steakhouse are included among our 45 nominated restaurants in nine regions across the country. I thought you might want to encourage your readers to visit and vote for their favorite Southwest restaurant.
M&M is nominated cuz: “Packs of guys and families alike gather inside a nondescript little building in Dallas so short and squat it looks like it has a flat-top haircut, kicking it to the jukebox and chomping thick jalapeno-cheddar burgers and brisket sandwiches.” And Bob’s?: “It’s a classic steak joint where rich men with outsized egos feast upon hunks of prime beef with beautiful women of almost unfair proportions. It’s Texas, in every sense of the word.”
Well, down here we all know “rich men with outsized egos” is redundant. And “packs of guys”? The collective noun I would have chosen would have been “a rout of guys.” Why? Because the dudes at M & M tend to howl. So is it not “manly” to eat at a breastaurant? I’m so confused.
This Little Piggy Went Downtown
Oh yeah, it's for real.
We’re suckers for any press release that contains the following sentences:
It seems a couple well-intentioned entrepreneurs have teamed up with J&D’s Foods to create a little something they’re calling baconlube—the world’s first bacon-flavored, water-based, American-made, personal lubricant.
Billing itself as the “gold standard of meat-flavored massage oils” (natch) baconlube, they say, is like the McRib of sex: it’s delicious, makes men crazy, is here for a limited time, and is in short supply.
If you’re thinking “stocking stuffer!” (let’s stay on track here), we’re right behind you. But the boys only made 3,000 bottles of this pork-flavored nectar. It hit the interwebs yesterday at www.baconlube.com. How much, you ask, for a product that promises such a satisfying holiday season? Only $11.99.
you know you want more. jump for it… (more…)