Ruth Tobias

Since the Director’s place of employ is in the Lowenstein Cultureplex, I end up in those parts a lot. So I have to confess to some disappointment upon hearing the news that a branch of Udi’s would replace Encore on Colfax; a passable sandwich shop does not a twinkly, cozy hangout make.

But a full-service, contemporary Mediterranean-American restaurant with a well-stocked bar does a twinkly, cozy hangout make; as it turns out, I like almost everything about this place.

In fact, it’s not even all that distinguishable from its predecessor. The long, narrow space looks pretty much the same, & so does the menu—a smart, breezy collection of small plates, flatbreads, salads, sandwiches, & heartier entrees. One thing makes all the difference, however: THIS.

Pane bianco just means “white bread” in Italian, but here, the structured loaf you might expect is not what you get. Rather, the high-risen round is a lot like a giant puff of pizza crust: golden, crunchy, & touched with olive oil on the outside, airy, soft, & chewy on the inside. On 3 visits I couldn’t keep my hands off it until it was gone, & I’m craving it hard all over again just looking at it here, pictured with baba ghanoush—which, however, is a little too pure in eggplant flavor for my tastes; I’m an eggplant fiend (by all its beautiful names: melanzana, aubergine, berenjena, etc.), but it can be sharp on the palate, & in this case I think a little more tahini would soften those bitter edges.

Good thing the bread comes with all the other small-plate selections too, including these terrific Tunisian-roasted carrots:

root-sweet, loaded with smoky cumin, & accompanied by a smear of thick, rich tzatziki—which is also offered separately, doused in olive oil & sprinkled with za’atar. The word “intense” doesn’t usually apply to yogurt, but it sure works here.

Some of the sandwiches also feature pane bianco, including this French dip I got to go—which is great, because why shouldn’t tender, thin-sliced roast beef & aioli be the icing on the cake of killer dough? I didn’t even mind that they forgot the side of jus—for which I mistook the container of orange-balsamic vinaigrette meant to accompany my salad. Look, I’ll dip anything in anything, so what do I care. (Ever had sushi with hummus? Primo.)

In the above light, you’d think the pizza would be equally smashing. Not quite. The crust is certainly all that, as is the zingy fresh tomato sauce—& those are the most important parts, to be sure. But the toppings still need some refinement. Take the vegan kale pizza, which sounded intriguing but proved out of whack: it was basically just a pile of nearly raw kale, plus maybe two slices of mushroom, with the bare minimum of advertised breadcrumbs & no detectable note of the garlic or truffle oil it also supposedly included.

Or the version with prosciutto, béchamel, gouda & caramelized onions—sort of; the below pie boasted the right amount of the former 2 ingredients, but not nearly enough of the latter 2. (In the rare bites where I did get the full effect, it was a throbbingly vibrant one.)

The mushroom-sausage pizza with mozzarella & red peppers was, however, ready for its close-up, so clearly the potential’s there.

To take a quick carb break, Udi’s salads aren’t wildly original—you got your Cobb, your Greek, your chicken “Oriental,” etc.—but they’re solid. The combination of frisée, radicchio, poached pear, blue cheese, & slivered almonds in balsamic vinaigrette may not be conceptually fresh, but it’s literally refreshing, crisp, balanced, generous, & fine. You can have similar salads all over town, but I’ll vouch for this one.

Same goes for the beet, goat cheese, hazelnut, & watercress salad. Overplayed times a million, sure. But nicely done nonetheless.

To return to meatier stuff (click below to enlarge): the falafel burger’s a bit dry, but the earthy, nutty, herbal flavor’s delightful, highlighted by the chipotle aioli—& the Jerusalem chicken is superb: juicy, evocatively spiced, comforting in the extreme.

So next time you’re catching a flick at the Sie Film Center, stop by the bar—I’ll probably be there, face down in a bread pocket.

Last I gave Central Bistro & Bar some love, Lance Barto was heading up the kitchen; now Gerard Strong’s at the helm, & the CIA-trained Hudson Valley native is looking every bit as sharp as his predecessor. I had ample opportunity to arrive at that conclusion: the media preview of the lunch menu, which is now being served Wed.-Fri., included a sample of every. single. dish thereon (with the exception of the ice-cream sampler). Two days hence, I think I’m about halfway done digesting the 16-course meal.

Among them, there were only a couple items I could’ve taken or left—most made my eyes shiny & wide. Here’s a look-see, with my very very favorites in bold:

Dungeness crab salad with pomelo, avocado & housemade herbed yogurt

Caesar salad with a sprinkling of prosciutto bits; save some croutons for dipping into

the preserved tomato soup, the depth of whose concentration goes way beyond the bottom of the bowl

Beautifully nuanced cream of asparagus soup with green garlic & chives

Duck-fat chicken-salad sandwich on sourdough with a touch of apple & petal-delicate seasoned potato chips (they’re cut on the meat slicer)

More of those incredible chips alongside the roasted pork sandwich with charred onion, pickled red jalapeños & garlic aioli—the shaved meat is so impressively tender & gently seasoned—& the boxcar burger, easily as good as any of its kind (paired with fries, aioli & ketchup)

Central tartine with mushroom ragu, white cheddar, sunnyside egg—a beauty, eh?

The ubiquitous chicken & waffle with sausage gravy

Crab mac & cheese, unusually sprightly with mascarpone & pepper relish

Steak frites: grilled bavette steak marinated in soy, sherry vinegar & green garlic, topped with oyster mushrooms & accompanied by fries daubed with blue cheese

Seasonal vegetarian selection, currently hand-cut pappardelle with maitake mushrooms, asparagus, kale, green garlic & parsley in a white wine-butter sauce

The signature Nutella waffle with banana butterscotch & pretzel ice cream

And the surprisingly light & springy sweet-potato cheesecake with spiced-crumb topping, pecans & whipped cream.

The bar’s doing some nifty things too, offering half-pours of all wines by the glass & lower-alcohol cocktails so you can keep your wits about you midday—including the gin-based, agave-sweetened Blueberry Lemon Light:

Do it to it, kids.

…You know, like the prize boar in Animal Farm, whose name chef-owner Justin Brunson (of Masterpiece Deli &, more to the point, Denver Bacon Company) took for his ridiculously hot new LoHi spot. Others (such as the Denver Post) have noted the aptness of the moniker insofar as Orwell’s pig leads the way to a livestock utopia. Granted, it doesn’t work out too well in the book, because power corrupts & all that. Still, the idea that a crew of serious, natural, “pure” talents—not only Brunson but GM/somm Jonathan Greschler, pastry chef Nadine Donovan, certified cicerone Ryan Conklin (ex-Euclid Hall), & bartender Courtney Wilson (ex-Williams & Graham down the street)—could come together to nurture a team of engaged pros in both the front & back of the house, where everyone pulls his or her own weight for the sake of what they’re calling “deformalized fine dining,” is an enlightened one. Such sense of community colors everything they do & includes everyone they work with, among them Infinite Monkey Theorem’s tireless Ben Parsons, who’s not only making their exclusive house wines—currently a Viognier-Roussane blend & a Malbec, though the blends will change with the input of the staff—but also lending them a garden plot at his facility.

And so far, it’s all working like a charm (maybe this one). As always when I’m writing about media tastings rather than meals I independently paid for, I’ll note that this isn’t technically a review & keep the in-depth analysis to a minimum. But after all the buzz & buildup, you already know Brunson’s bringing everything he’s got to the table: technical chops, playful sensibilities & grounded integrity.

Exhibit A is the smoked fish plate I already dubbed Dish of the Week. As for Exhibits B-Z: check out the hot, crusty, chewy yet soft pretzel rolls, made traditionally in a lye bath, with mustard butter.

And the black truffle-pistachio sausage over potato puree in a clean, clear pool of herbed escargot vinaigrette that positively lifted the whole.

The pan-roasted striped bass over leeks, turnips & beets, spritzed tableside with lemon verjus; an unpictured side of braised rapini proved an insightful accompaniment, picking up on the appealing bitterness of the charred skin.

The meltingly fat-edged, pan-seared pork chop with parsnip puree & chips, brussels sprouts, tableside-poured pork demiglace &, the highlight, a chunk of deep-fried guanciale (cheek meat)—which I strongly suggest should be offered in a bowl as a snack, chiccharón-style. Holy roly poly.

An unusually light & lovely, strawberry-foamed variation on baked Alaska.

Candied-bacon crème caramel.

And last but hardly least, a take-home jar of “pork butter”—basically rilletes, except sweetly meaty rather than intensely salty.

We sampled a couple of cocktails, too, most notably the ultra-smooth Fair Deal: blended Scotch, Drambuie & Cocchi Americano.

But I can’t wait to play with Greschler’s iPad wine list, which is quite the eclectic grab bag of old familiars & up & comers. Lemme at it.

Done. Deal. No. Brainer.

Back in 2011, the fish charcuterie Justin Brunson served during his stint at the ill-starred Wild Catch was 1 of my picks for Dish of the Year; version 2.0, which I just experienced at a media tasting for the feverishly anticipated Old Major, is every bit as delectable.

Along with the smoked trout (far right; click to enlarge) & pickled veggies, the sturgeon rillettes (center) are a startlingly delicate affair—not the standard salt bomb, they’re cloud-fluffy & rose-pale, & perk your palate right up rather than weighing it down. Same goes for the extraordinarily plump & juicy smoked mussels (left) in a honey-mustard sauce that frames their briny sweetness like a watercolor painting of a riverbed.

I’ll go into further detail later this week, but right now I’m content to just dream about all this.

The last time I posted about Linger, I was enamored with its so-called raw samosas (not really anything like their Indian namesake, but memorably delicious nonetheless). Well, déjà vu. The free-wheeling, jet-setting small-plates menu always has at least 1 raw preparation; if you’re not familiar with raw-food “cooking,” to use a contradiction in terms, there’s some useful info here—& as healthful as it is in many ways, its copious use of plant-based fats like nuts, olives & avocados means it tends toward richness, not the dry, dreary vittles you might expect. Anyway, the current offering knocked me out all over again.

Though the menu listed my choice of grilled naan or flax crackers, I received take-’em-or-leave-’em pita wedges—which was fine; I’d have polished off the cashew ranch dip (left) & green-olive chutney (right) on cardboard. While the former was intensely thick & creamy & the latter surprisingly airy, both were luscious—not just twists but improvements on their respective standards. So was the beet “cheesecake” with date-pistachio crust (center; click to enlarge): tinglingly tangy yet balanced by its silken texture, savory-sweet, just superb on all counts.

As was most everything else. Linger really does capture the zeitgeist, don’t it? Local sources, worldly results; craft cocktails, ever-changing beers, wines by the glass for the enophile as well as the novice; electric but still comfy, not painfully edgy, vibe. I’m not sure the falafel balls made with carrots & lentils as well as the traditional chickpeas exactly matched their description: cashews, gingered shiitakes, zucchini pickle & more were also listed, yet may or may not have been present, & fried shallots weren’t listed yet clearly played a role. Regardless, their flavor was smackingly vibrant, enhanced by the chile-dusted lemon-tahini-yogurt dip, & smartly served on Bibb lettuce leaves, since their interiors were fairly soft & loose.

Also inspired were the French-onion mussels. Italians aren’t wrong about much, culinarily speaking, but their insistence that seafood & cheese don’t go together is way off-base. The umami of the broth, the salty gruyère & parmesan, the sweetly meaty shellfish, the tart crispness of sliced apples & fennel, the crunch of the warm grilled sourdough for sopping it all up—this dish was a reminder that there’s virtually nothing that can’t be combined if you’ve got the vision & the touch.

As for the coconut milk-based Thai soup known as tom kha gai, it doesn’t usually contain butternut squash or avocado, but their addition here provided buttery sweetness & warmth.

My companions & I dug into some other goodies as well—unusually creamy salmon ceviche with super-papery root-veggie chips, for instance,

as well as some bao, tacos & dosai. But it’s the raw dishes that will continue to, yes, linger in my thoughts. On that note, sister restaurant Root Down hosts a monthly Raw Food Night—I’d best amble over soon.

In Eater’s roundup of local writers’ top picks for 2012, I named Beatrice & Woodsley & Panzano my standbys. I’d have said the same last year & the year before that too, pretty much by definition. Granted, there are plenty of places I love equally, for all kinds of reasons. But a place becomes a standby for rather personal ones. It’s not just that everything on the menu appeals but also that you feel so good there: inspired & transported, as in the case of B&W, or utterly relaxed, as at Panzano. And whaddaya know—I’ve been to both in recent weeks, & done as right as ever by both.

If you’ve visited neither in some time, here are a few current items worth trying. At B&W, the wilted-greens cobbler with sausage & cheddar spoonbread (behind the cheese plate, below) boasts that bygone sensibility, that deeply homey savor that is chef Pete List’s hallmark, as though he’d found his recipes written in cursive in a yellowed old notebook, invoking potbellied stoves & well water. (Actually, he does do lots of research on historical American cookery, so there you go.) I once had escargots here that were way too salty, but this batch (pictured right) was spot on, bathed in butter spiked with Pernod & piquillo pepper alongside warm, soft olive bread—enough to sop up all the drippings.

The cod on the left came with bright pea brandade & smoked onions; how the delicately flaky fish stood up to both I can’t fathom, but it did. On the right, earthy, crunchy-velvety feta-&-oat croquettes made a splash amid spaghetti squash in tomato vinaigrette—much like a dish I dug recently at Euclid Hall.

As for Panzano—I usually avoid chefs’ counters, because putting my nose in their business while ignoring the business of the one that brung me strikes me as doubly awkward. But this place is an exception, because it’s too much fun to watch chef Elise Wiggins switch from English to Spanish while balletically navigating the closet-sized open kitchen with her crew.

Like everyone else, I’ve had brussels sprouts in every way, shape & form over the past few years; it seems they, of all things, have finally succeeding in nudging beets out of the top veggie spot. (What’s next? I hope it’s celery. I mean, celery’s key to mirepoix & so forth, but it rarely plays the central role its awesomeness warrants.) But here at year’s end, I’ve had 2 of the best takes on sprouts in quick succession: Ace Eat Serve’s & this one.

Both are fried, because fried! But while Ace’s skews Asian with shishito peppers, sesame seeds, & lime, Panzano’s version has an Italian agrodolce (sweet-sour) thing going on, tossed with toasted pistachios, reduced cider vinegar & rosemary salt & topped with green apple. Unexpectedly refreshing.

We also took delight in a special of baby octopus braised with tomatoes & capers over soft polenta. Set in a pool of spiced oil, this was, conversely, unexpectedly rich. Nothing wrong with that, of course, & Wiggins’ touch with every Italian starch—pasta, polenta, etc.—is so light & smooth.

That goes double for her gnocchi, which we had 2 ways that night: once made with pumpkin & served with the smoked pork chop I named one of my top 10 dishes of 2012, the other sauteed with rabbit confit, tomatoes, mushrooms, & leeks, then sprinkled with gorgonzola. Quite the cool combo, though I was so enamored with the chop I only had room for a few bites.

On that note, may 2013 be full of equally filling moments!

Sigh. ‘Tis true: though I rarely let my conscience get in the way of a hot food shot, there was something in the air at The Squeaky Bean on Wednesday night that deterred me from full-on flash action; everyone around us seemed immersed in deep conversation, to the point where such a gauche breach of etiquette was bound to earn me grand opprobium. Since snapping on the downlow got me nowhere—to wit:

—you’ll have to heed my verbiage.

Despite the seriousness of the clientele & the level of culinary prowess on display, it’s clear that Max Mackissock & his crew aim to pour on the playful charm from the moment you scoot into a booth through to the gut-busting end of your meal. The 1st thing you’ll note is that the menu is a heck of a juicy read—not only in itself (“variations of radish”! “whipped verjus”! “marrow emulsion”!), but also because it’s attached to a vintage cookbook: I got Vegetables, the Director Cooking on the British Isles. Adorable!

Not seconds after its arrival, you’ll be treated to a little thirst-quencher from the bar—in our case zippy cucumber soda—& garlic knots (of all things) so buttery, fluffy & soft they’re gone in a flash (no pun intended). And eventually, if you order right (not that it seems possible to order wrong), you might be presented with a little treasure chest whose lid is opened to reveal a pair of doughnuts filled with foie-gras mousse, sprinkled with foie powder, & topped with figs (top pic). Cartoonishly eye-rubbing as the presentation may be, these babies could be slung on a paper plate or just tossed in your general direction from the open kitchen and their deliciousness would remain intact. They’re as flaky as goldleaf, as creamy as pudding, as awash in sweet-salty funk as all get out.

Dehydrated, roasted, shaved & arranged neatly in a bowl of potage de Crecy poured tableside, “variations of carrot” (unpictured) are so intensely pure of flavor they almost overwhelm; good thing Mackissock, smart cookie that he is, keeps them in check with smidgens of lime cream & a tart-savory dollop of kaffir-lime ice cream topped with crushed “citrus peanuts”; the transformation that occurs as the elements meld is something to behold.

For the main course (middle pic), the Director went for the fat-wrapped Berkshire pork loin with corn pannacotta; though beautifully executed overall, the standout for me was a side of peaches so thoroughly roasted they transcend peachness—indeed, they’re suffsed with a startling but fascinating mushroomy savor. I opted for corned teres major with mustardy polenta, fried-to-a-crisp leaves of broccoli di cicco, roasted kohlrabi & slivers of white cheddar; that beef, my friends, is just nuts—so tender yet so aromatic & pungent, taking me right back to childhood in a way few things do (okay, maybe Chipwiches & eating spaghetti sauce out of the pot).

As for dessert, the one item that survived the move from LoHi to LoDo is the Fluffernutter (bottom pic): this, full disclosure, was brought out to us gratis with glasses of Pineau des Charentes, so I technically shouldn’t review the concoction of sweet brioche slathered with peanut-butter mousse & toasted marshmallow & drizzled with peanut caramel—but it hardly defies belief to admit the thing’s beyond rich & gooey, only enhanced by the lift it gets from the alcohol & zest of the stellar pairing.

Is it the best new restaurant of 2012? No doubt it’s among them, along with Bramble & Hare, Trillium (if that counts, since it opened at the end of 2011), &, I say rather to my own surprise, Central Bistro & Bar. But then, with the exception of Trillium, I’ve had only one meal at each candidate, so I’ll reserve my final verdict for the months to come. In any case, it sure has been a bang-up couple of years for this town, eh?

Does Denver really need yet another cheeky-chic purveyor of contemporary farm-to-table comfort food & craft libations? Rhetorically speaking, the answer would seem to be a big fat no. But the real-world answer is a bigger, fatter yes—provided the chef is Lance Barto, now installed in the kitchen at this killer LoHi newcomer. He will make you drink the cool kids’ Koolaid & like it.

I’ve been lax about posting for the past few weeks due to a slew of dragon-breathing deadlines exacerbated by a 7-day trip to Champagne. As special as the latter was, the meal I had the night at Central the night before I left for France hardly pales by comparison (both 1] apples & oranges & 2] hard to fathom as that statement may be. The thing is, you can only eat so much foie et fromage). Assuming my one experience so far is typical—except for the part where my table of 4 snarfed about 1/2 the menu—what’s going on here pretty much epitomizes the verve of our current dining scene.

Since I’m still under fire workwise, I’ll let the photos mostly speak for themselves (click to enlarge): suffice it to say the food, to a dish, is as thoughtfully conceived yet flat-out punchy as it looks—with the PS that if you, like me, think you’ve had just about enough of the pork craze, surprise: you haven’t even begun. Sticking a knife into any given cut was like stabbing a pink silk pillow. Bravo.

Left to right: crab mac & cheese with sourdough crumbs; corn & bacon risotto; superlative fried chicken—best I’ve had in some time—over johnnycake

Kandinksy-esque raw-vegetable salad & white gazpacho with green grapes, almonds & basil sorbet

Pork (belly) ‘n’ beans. Sigh—flawless.

BBQ pork chop with peach salad: bigger sigh. (Every bit as good as the chop I had last fall at the rather-underrated Satchel’s on 6th, which I named one of my favorite dishes of 2011.)

Lamb sirloin over spiced carrot puree

Striped bass over creamy tomato with beans (the current menu mentions lobster emulsion & clams; either this preparation was different or one of my companions got to the shellfish before I did. Either way, savvy).

Special of succulent bacon-wrapped halibut with root-veggie puree/garnish

Dessert sampler, including a chocolate torte to remind you why they became ubiquitous in the 1st place

You get the idea. My experience was up there with those I’ve had at twelve, Linger, Bramble & Hare, & other stars of the upscale-casual, modern American genre; one more visit & my rating might hit 5. Put it on your short list tout suite.

it’s got a permanent place on the short list of local go-tos, one that has everything to do with the well-roundedness implied by the word “yet.” Rustic yet modern vibe. Polished yet laid-back service (if the pace is a bit slow when the dining room is full, which is always, so be it—the point is to relax over fine wine in good company). Smart yet sensual food; ever-changing yet grounded menu. Duo’s got nuance down-pat.

Hey, I think I just said it all. I wish my camera had done a better job of saying it for me, but the battery died after the first shot, so the cell lens had to do.

Saltine-crusted crabcake: moist, perfectly seasoned, light on the filler, hardly requiring the red-pepper aioli or the sharp, bright corn relish.

Crostini spread with luscious housemade ricotta & melting leeks under a bit of tomato, sparkling sweet-sour anchovies, & small dollops of salsa verde, parsley-fresh & caper-pungent.

I didn’t try the smoked lamb ribs over green tomato-Napa cabbage slaw, but a taste of the whiskey-infused bbq sauce made me wish I had fries with that.

Accompanied by caraway-flecked flatbread, house-cured gravlax with dill-&-cucumber-scented yogurt & pickled red onions was pristine yet soulful—as straight-up as it gets.

We’d only on planned on happy hour, but our little quartet stayed through dinner, a fact that speaks volumes about our comfort level here. The Director’s fried chicken showed a little too much greaseless restraint for my tastes—I guess I like it drippingly down & dirty— but the smooth buttermilk-mashed potatoes & tangy take on hoppin’ john hit the spot.

And my perfectly grilled hunk of ribeye, smothered in more of that luscious salsa verde, was tops, over a gorgeous (photo notwithstanding), snappy panzanella enhanced by green beans & shreds of fresh buffalo mozzarella.

Giving up on the camera, I didn’t capture A’s pancetta-&-spinach-layered rabbit roulade with carrot puree & mustard jus, though it was a thing of delicate beauty, nor M’s market fish special, nor their shared goat cheesecake with housemade graham cracker & mango sorbet. I think you get the picture nonetheless. This is savvy stuff: intelligently conceived, effortlessly executed. It’s as simple as that.

***Brief respite from blogging over at Globeater, in turn a brief respite from blogging over here.***

Long story short: Girl moves to Denver, girl falls in love with Black Pearl, Black Pearl loses girl with a string of iffy chef shuffles, girl returns on a whim that reignites the crush—this time with Seattle transplant Mitch Mayers. He’s a keeper.

Taking family there last week, the Director & I were presented with a menu that boasted all the much-missed hallmarks of the restaurant’s original, splashy style—bold flavors in unexpected combinations—with none of the recent drawbacks (what either were smaller portions at higher prices or simply seemed to be because I was annoyed; see “much-missed hallmarks”). It’s funny—it’s not as though Denver’s devoid of creative contemporary cuisine; far from it. But there’s a certain rare flair for surprising juxtapositions that speaks to me personally, & Black Pearl’s best chefs have had it in spades, to the point where I positively crave nearly everything they’re dishing up, be it deviled-egg salad with maple-horseradish vinaigrette or a bacon-stuffed bison burger with brown-mustard mole or goat-cheesecake with sage-granola crunch & red wine-marinated strawberries—& yes, all of the above are on the current menu.

We started, however, with an old favorite, the sesame-crusted calamari in sweet aged soy, tossed with slivered scallions, toasted garlic & pistachios. Having written about it often, I didn’t bother to snap a pic, so here’s an old one—

but rest assured it’s as good as ever. In his retirement years, the Director’s dad discovered he actually liked squid okay; as we smugly surmised, that was probably because he’d had it prepared properly for the first time in his life.

Speaking of firsts, he also gave the agave-glazed wild-boar spareribs over Moroccan-spiced quinoa with baked plantains & beet chutney a shot, & so pleased was he with the gorgeous results I didn’t dare ask for a taste.

Same went for his missus’ classy, throwback shrimp & crab salad with lemon velouté in a puff pastry shell (which, get this, was retro-colored in real life!).

Not that I wasn’t busy with my own entree: edamame-corn cakes topped with sauteed zucchini & served over chipotle crema-drizzled refried black beans.

Dense but fresh, pure & naturally sweet, the cakes stood up admirably to the smoky-rich beans, making for a smart play on masa & frijoles, while the squash ribbons added a dose of levity.

Of course, I was also busy with the Director’s hickory-smoked game hen.

Over nutty orzo, that crispy-skinned bird just kept adding to its own pilsner-splashed jus, accompanied by unbelievably silken quarters of grilled artichoke heart; the “hoecake” (really more like a corn muffin) pretty much gilded the lily.

I still say the markup is too high on the bottle list, however sizeable & interesting the cellar may be; wines by the glass & cocktails are a better way to go. And I do hope the warm chocolate-chip cookies & milk return to the dessert menu someday. But that’s just quibbling for the sake of not slobbering too hard or jinxing the delicate balance currently being struck at this sometime neighborhood ideal.