Brick Road Pizza Co

(Grand Rapids, MI) Although most of our destinations are planned in advance, sprung from whim or appetite, we thought it fitting to finish up 2010 with an actual request: Brick Road Pizza Co. A couple years ago we ordered a take-out pizza but weren't overly thrilled by it. However, a loyal reader of HeFedSheFed.com suggested we give it another shot. So, we enlisted the aid of pizza-lover extraordinaire, Joel, and his lovely wife Delia, to accompany us on a proper review of this beloved pizza joint...

He Fed:
Juliet and I arrive early to Brick Road Pizza Co on a drizzly, warmer-than-usual December evening. Upon opening the door, a warm, inviting blast of fresh-baked goodness wafts over us. Already I am drooling a little. An enthusiastic young lady greets us, bidding us choose any of the available tables in the main dining area. We select one near the front window where we'll be able to see our fellow diners arrive. Our server delivers ice water in no time flat; throughout the evening she is cheerful, informative and very prompt.

Joel and Delia join shortly after. I order a Dark Horse Raspberry Wheat beer to wet my whistle. We skim the well-stocked menu, lusting after such fare as deep dish mac-n-cheese and a wide variety of vegan plates. Although we have our hearts set on pizza, there are still some appetizers that tempt too much. Everyone agrees to try the Goat Cheese & Pesto Dip. I'm not a huge fan of the crostini, but dipped in this luscious tomato, pesto and melted goat cheese, the crisp bread chip melts in my mouth. Man is that good! We also order the Cheese-Sticks (not sure why it's hyphenated). The rich garlic butter and cheese contrasts nicely with the high acidity of the warm marinara. I want to keep eating them, but we are here for the pizza.

While we all are slightly enamored of the prospect of a Chicago Deep Dish, the 40 minute wait time cuts into our later plans (checking out the newly opened Brewery Vivant). The ladies decide to try two different personal-sized pies, while Joel and I decide on an old favorite: Ham, bacon, onion and green olive. Almost too late, we discover the onions are actually red onion, not the sweeter yellow or white. Joel makes an executive decision to swap them out for roasted garlic instead. Fine by me!

I order a Dark Horse Amber to pair with the pizza, the dough of which is made with Founders Pale Ale as a substitute for water. The pie arrives on a platter, hot from the oven. I take a couple bites, savoring the salty mixture of pork and olives, the antithesis of the sweet sauce. As for the dough, I find it pretty much the same as that first take-out experience: unremarkable. The ingredients all seem fresh, but it just tastes like pizza to me...nothing very much out of the ordinary. Juliet is generous enough to offer me a slice of her Brick Road Deluxe, and I quite like the sweet red peppers (she substituted for the green) and sausage.

In the end, I really like the atmosphere and service of the place (though I did notice the manager yawning behind the counter). They have a nice selection of bottled Michigan brews (no taps). The pizza leaves me a little flat. I think next time I'll either wait for the Chicago style or pony up for that mac-n-cheese pasta dish topped with tater tots.

She Fed:
I've been working from home all day and am eager to get out tonight. I'm so excited, I end up being ready early for once and we leave ahead of schedule. So it's no surprise Jeremy and I arrive first and grab a table by the window. We order drinks—Jeremy a beer and me a cabernet—and check out the menu.

The first thing I notice is Brick Road's astonishing number of vegetarian and vegan options. Buffalo tofu; reubens made with tempeh; several salads with unique ingredients...there are many veggie options in every section of the menu. The second thing I notice is the variety of pizza toppings available. There are numerous sauces, meats, and veggies. They even offer a macaroni and cheese pizza, which nearly sends me over the edge. As good as a thick crust pizza filled with mac and cheese sounds, I could use a veggie or two after the past week's holiday indulgences.

I decide on the 7-inch thin crust "deluxe" with red onions, mushrooms, green peppers, sausage, and pepperoni. I ask if I can substitute roasted red peppers for the green peppers and our server doesn't even bat an eye, but instead says "Of course." I like this a lot. Nothing kills the mood quicker than when a server launches into a list of the surcharges and rebuttals when you request a substitution.

We start with a few appetizers: the cheese sticks with housemade marinara, and the pesto dip with bruschetta. The sticks and sauce are great, but the pesto dip is phenomenal...a layer of baked marinara topped with goat cheese crumbles and dollops of pesto. The entire table agrees, this is essentially crack in a crock. It's that good.

Our pizzas arrive, which temporarily distracts me from the pesto dip. The veggies on my pizza are all cut to similar size which means they're not only cooked evenly, but each slice is easy to eat. (As pretty as bell pepper rings are on a pizza, they're just not practical, right?) The kitchen kept a light hand with the meats and a heavy hand with the veg, which I appreciate tonight. There's some buzz about the crust at Brick Road because their recipe includes Founders beer. I think the crust is good, on both the cheese sticks and my pizza, but it isn't the best pizza crust I've ever had and I cannot taste even a trace of the Founders.

Their pizza crust isn't all that unique or innovative, but so many other things on their menu are. What I think Brick Road should be creating more buzz around is their incredible variety of pizza toppings (I count 19 fruit and veggie choices alone!), vegetarian choices and vegan options on their menu. I will definitely be going back to try a salad and vegetarian sandwich or entree at some point.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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The Chop House

(Grand Rapids, MI) Our wedding anniversary coincides each year with the holiday season, so it's easy to either combine all the festivities or let things slide until a quieter time. Not this year. Instead we get semi-gussied up and strike out for our favorite steak house in Grand Rapids, The Chop House. Would tonight be the first time the restaurant stumbles in the many years we've been frequenting them? Not every eatery can be on their "A" game every time, all the time...

He Fed:
I have not felt well all day, suffering from a head cold that has me hopped up on meds most of the time. However, by the time we get dressed and drive the few blocks to downtown, I'm feeling better. Maybe it's the anticipation of a good meal that boosts my metabolism, or the excitement of celebrating 14 years with my lovely wife. Either way, I am able to smell and taste everything just fine.

The hostess greets us, consults our reservations on our monitor, then takes our coats. As she's hanging up the outerwear, another hostess(?) approaches and asks if we have reservations. A little awkward, but we've come to expect that from most restaurants these days. I am always perplexed about what's happening here, this strange dance in the lobby. Can't they just assign one host or hostess, then find another person to seat us? At any rate, we are led to a far corner booth table a bit removed from everyone, as we'd requested. (Later, the pre-theater crowd fills in, nearly packing the restaurant, which is a good thing to see on a Tuesday night.)

Our waitress arrives. She is friendly and attentive, the prime example of nearly every server we've encountered at The Chop House. Here, it is all about service, with the staff carefully watching and listening. They know, for the price we pay, we expect outstanding attention. Sparkling water arrives (with lime, of course) as we peruse the menu.

Neither of us is starving, so we decide to forego the usual parade of appetizers (the calamari is usually quite good). Instead, I opt for The Wedge, iceberg lettuce with Maytag bleu cheese and smoked applewood bacon. There are some nice sliced Roma tomatoes on the side as well. The lettuce is innocuous—I prefer "weedy" salad—but the creamy, cool bleu cheese makes it comforting and delicious. Our recommended half-bottle of wines arrive shortly thereafter. My chosen Pinot Noir, a 2006 Au Bon Climat "La Bauge Vineyard", is light, bitter with just the right amount of smoke.

For some ungodly reason, I opt for the 11 ounce filet mignon au poivre, rather than my usual 8 ounce. It is huge when it arrives. I knife into the thick cut of meat, admiring the sensuous movement of the seared outer layer as I carve into the buttery flesh, revealing a perfectly prepared medium-rare interior. Once again, I feel confident in proclaiming The Chop House has the best filet mignon in town, and I may have had better in other cities maybe once or twice. I don't know how they get it right every time, but I thank them from the bottom of my stomach. Each forkful is bliss. As expected, I can only finish about 8 ounces; the rest is taken home for a salad the next day.

In lieu of apps, we instead feast on sharable sides. The Baked Three Cheese Macaroni with roasted poblano chiles is creamy, smoky, with just the right amount of crunch on top. Thankfully I eat a few bites of this before trying our second dish: Creamed Corn. It sounds bland, right? It's not. They chop up little bits of jalapeno to mix with the heavy cream and sweet, sweet corn so the result is sweet and slightly hot. No joke, I can't stop eating it. A bite of the macaroni afterward is lost; it is too subtle in the face of the magnificent creamed corn.

I'm stuffed. But, per usual, the server has a secret weapon on the dessert menu: Peppermint Stick Creme Brulee Cheesecake with one piece left that has the Oreo crust (before they switch to graham cracker). It is buttery, creamy and very rich. My only complaint is the peppermint taste might have been stronger. It's there, but played low-key. I'm a big mint guy, though.

As we head back home, satisfied smiles still on our faces, we can only wonder how The Chop House manages to maintain a consistent level of service and quality. It seems so many other restaurants just fail at these simple tasks. Sure, The Chop House may cost a bit more but, in the end, the experience seems so worth it. We'll be back in a few months, when the urge strikes us to be pampered again.

She Fed:
Over the years, Chop House has become our "go to" place for celebrations and we typically indulge three times a year minimum, once for each of our birthdays and a third time for our anniversary. It's become an easy tradition because we're never disappointed. And while we're both confident tonight will be another positive experience, I suspect we're also secretly hoping we do not catch them on an off night.

We are promptly seated in a corner booth as requested and read over the menus, though I already know what I'm ordering. No doubt in my mind I'll be ordering the shrimp cocktail, an 8 ounce filet cooked medium rare and the creamed corn. But our server begins to share tonight's specials and my plan derails when she mentions the beef wellington. Despite vowing to lay off the foie gras this holiday season, her description of a six ounce filet cooked to medium rare topped with mushroom duxelle and a pat of goose liver pate all encrusted in housemade pastry is just too much for me to pass up. I decide to chi-chi up my filet and go wellington.

Our server (after consulting with the sommelier) recomends a half bottle of cabernet sauvignon for me and a half bottle of pinot noir for Jeremy, which in addition to being more affordable than sharing one full bottle, allows us to get each get our favorite style to pair with our steaks. I'm always impressed when the wine suggestions are practical as well as affordable. Throughout the meal, as with all our past visits, the service at Chop House is nothing short of impeccable. The servers are prompt and attentive though never overbearing or intrusive.

My shrimp cocktail is a delight. Each one is mammoth and perfectly cooked, not at all chewy or rubbery. (Have I shared the story of the chef telling me when shrimp are cooked to the shape of a "C" they are "cooked" but "O" means they are "overcooked"?) The shrimp are sweet and buttery like lobster and I briefly consider ordering a second (and possibly third) order for dinner. Who needs steak?

But then the steaks arrive and I know I made a solid choice. The wellington is as spectacular as described. The steak is tender and packed with hearty, beefy flavor. The crust is golden and buttery, while the mushrooms and pate take it all over the top. Normally I pay more attention to the sides at a steak house, but the beef wellington is worthy of a little more consideration.

The sides are meant for sharing. Jeremy orders the poblano macaroni and cheese which is rich and luscious, but lacks any real heat or spice. If it didn't read "poblano" on the menu, I would have never known it was there. The creamed corn on the other had has a nice slow burn on the back end. A few telltale pieces of husk let me know the corn is fresh. This is far and wide the most delicious creamed corn I've ever enjoyed. I don't even want to know the butter or cream content; it doesn't count on your anniversary, right? I decide to layer my creamed corn on my mac 'n cheese for a few creamy, carby, rich bites.

We have no intention of having dessert; in fact, I have chocolate hazelnut croissants fresh from the bakery waiting for us at home. But our server does a top-notch job of describing the seasonal desserts and we both fall hard, Jeremy for the peppermint creme brulee and me for the mascarpone gelato with roasted pears. The gelato is lush and slightly cream cheesy (mascarpone-y?) while the pears are caramelized and still a bit warm from the oven.

Bottom line, I have yet to find a restaurant that can match the consistency and quality of Chop House. You cannot find better steak, ambiance or service. None of it comes cheap, making this a venue for special occasions for most of us. Don't get me wrong—it's worth every penny. And I suspect a fine time could be had sitting at the bar splitting a salad and a few sides with a solid glass of wine. After all, you don't have to order filets and shrimp cocktails! Regardless, Chop House is in a class by itself and worth a visit.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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Reserve: Suckling Pig Dinner

One day we got an email from Reserve, announcing a very special dinner event with a roasted suckling pig and wine pairings. It didn't take much to convince us that we had to attend, no matter the cost, because (1) we love Reserve, and (2) we love swine. Although we don't aspire to the lofty heights of Anthony Bourdain's obsession with pork, the thought of all that crackling skin was just too tempting to resist...

He Fed:
We venture out onto the sleet-driven roads of Grand Rapids, cruising a few blocks to the parking ramp kitty-corner from Reserve. The ramp is packed with the cars of patrons attending The Nutcracker tonight, so we end up on level 4. A quick huddle through the icy drizzle over the crosswalks and we're finally in the warm foyer of the restaurant. General Manager Chris greets us at the door with a smile, and leads us downstairs to the Vault. (But not before the generous charcuterie counter staff presents us with a bite of creamy, tender Mortadella. Exquisite!)

Down many stairs, the Vault is a truly private room with a view of the wine cellar. The brick walls and heavy steel vault doors have been restored from another part of the building (once a bank and Russian patisserie), and set here to highlight the nicely decorated space. We are offered sparkling water and allowed to choose any of the 8 seats; we, of course, choose the ones closest to the vault.

Assistant General Manager Peter joins us shortly, allowing us to enter the wine vault and peer longingly at each vintage. They have a fantastic, complete collection. He opens a bottle of Juve & Champs Cava Rosé and we sip as we await the rest of the guests. We're soon joined by another couple, but the other 4 people who were scheduled to attend couldn't make it because of the winter storm watch. So it's just the four of us!

Chef Millar welcomes us with the first course, a canape. The oyster with tomato and horseradish gelee is fresh and lip-smacking, redolent of the sea but not salty. It's a refreshing way to enliven the palate. Three Midnight Moon gourgeres filled with creamy chevre sourced locally, mixed with truffle and herb, sit next on the plate. They are delicate pastries that surrender sweetly to the teeth, then linger on the tongue like a comforting memory. After, a fork skewers a chunk of blue cheese, fig and crisp pork rillon; in one bite, it encompasses many textures and seemingly divergent flavors, all of which come together in a symphony of sweet, earthy delight. It's the kind of teaser that leaves you wanting more. Finally, a poached egg yolk, fresh from the farm, is topped with red pepper piperade. I've been encountering this kind of dish more and more lately, it seems, and you'll get no complaints from me. The egg is rich, oozing, and I'm amazed I run out of bread before I can sop up every last dollop.

Our dinner companions -- whose daughter, Carmen, works as a server upstairs -- arrange for a plate of the one-day-only special: Spanish sardines flown in that morning. I have never had a sardine and I'm a little wary of what these might be like. A few moments after we are poured a glass of crisp, steely Austrian 2007 Stadt Krems Gruner Ventliner, the plate arrives. Holy cow, these are whole fish! And no small minnows, either; these are easily 6-8 inches long with fat meat on either side, the tail and head still attached. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I grab one and go at it with a fork. It smells of fish, but it's not off-putting. I try a bite of the crispy skin, seasoned with sea salt, a bit of the oily, fatty meat. It takes a moment but I am digging the texture and, again, the savory reminiscence of oceans, water, the deep...

Before I know it, I've polished off most of the fish. Despite my earlier misgivings, the sardine course is an eye-opener (in a year filled with them). I...I...I think I like fish? The thought is so alien to me, I hardly recognize my own taste buds anymore. It is suddenly liberating to realize I can eat ANYTHING without having serious misgivings. Wheeeeeeeee!

The roller coaster ride doesn't end there. Chef presents us with the next course: pumpkin soup with lemon curd and pumpkin seed oil. The house-made lemon curd sits in the bowl, topped with pumpkin seeds, then the soup is poured around it. I take a bite and am instantly in love. The soup is neither overly spiced nor does it have too much cream. It is just a step above broth, really. But the revelation is the lemon curd. The sweetness plays off the earthy qualities of the pumpkin so very well, and the contrasting crunch of the seeds just makes it fun and addictive to eat. I want more, immediately.

2004 Brunello di Montelcinio (Poggio Salvi) is poured next, as the suckling pig is wheeled out on a cart. Chef asks if anyone has any requests and I shout out, "Jowl!" A parade of sides are delivered as he begins to carve. Celery root mash is creamy and comforting; watercress salad with cheddar, walnut, pear and pickled red onion salad with walnut vinaigrette adds crunch and lively acid; braised brussel sprouts, turnips, carrots and pancetta with saba adds gravitas; and apple sauce with pan drippings imparts a deep sweetness to the affair.

My first plate of piggy is a stack of tender meat and crispy, golden skin. As Chef explained, the preparation was simple brining without much to get in the way of the pork flavor. Mission accomplished! The meat is rich, clean and flavorful with just a hint of saltiness without being overpowering like some pork belly dishes I've had. I am content to mix it all together with the celery root and apple sauce, then crunching on the bits of skin. The jowl is fatty and delicious, but I also really enjoy the darker bits from other cuts as well.

After a second bottle of the Brunello is consumed, we are offered Feist port alongside the dessert for which we have little room: warm apple Charlotte with rum raisin ice cream topped with Blis Elixir. I am not a big fan of apple desserts, but the ice cream looks like it might fill in the cracks a bit. One spoonful and I'm done for; the mix of balsamic and bourbon zaps my appetite back to life. The Charlotte is amazing, crunchy and caramely on the outside, but soft and rich inside. Amazingly, I polish off the whole dish and wash it down with the tawny port.

As we say our goodbyes and thank the generous staff, we can only look at each other and marvel how a restaurant this unique could have ever found a home in Grand Rapids. Ten years ago, places like this would never have been conceived. Now, it gives foodies hope of more varied cuisine and broader adventures. I cannot wait to see what Chef Millar and the fine folks at Reserve have planned next.

She Fed:
We arrive a few minutes early and are shown to the private dining room downstairs. Assistant Manager Peter gives us a little tour of the adjacent wine cellar/former bank vault and we joke about getting locked in or picking the lock. He's probably heard similar lame jokes a million times, but never lets on. The staff at Reserve is consistently wonderful and hospitable.

Due to a winter storm, it's going to be dinner for four not 12, with just one other couple joining us. I worry this might be strained or awkward, but as we quickly learn, these two are fun, interesting, and share a love of good food and wine. The evening is relaxed and filled with laughter. I hope our paths will cross again.

Our canape arrives with four selections to enjoy. The oyster on the half-shell with tomato and horseradish gelee is briny and biting. The three gourgere with chevre and truffles are lush with warm cheese seeping out after each bite. A petite fork spears a pork rillion with a fig and blue cheese and the one-bite wonder is salty, sweet and astringent all at once. A perfectly poached egg yolk is dotted with piperade and waiting to be impaled with the charred bread. I can only imagine how wonderful dinner will be.

The soup arrives and Chef Matt announces it's pumpkin with lemon curd, toasted pumpkin seeds, and a drizzle of pumpkin seed oil. There is talk about pumpkin seed oil and toasting seeds, but my brain is stuck on the lemon curd. First of all, who the hell ever thought to put a sexy little dollop of lemon curd in pumpkin soup? Second, the curd is exactly like my mother's lemon meringue pie. Exactly. Not "a little bit like" or "kinda sorta", but exactly. You have to understand, my all-time favorite dessert is mother's lemon meringue pie. I refuse to order it out as no one makes the filling as well. This pie is the thing of family gatherings and celebrations; report cards and new jobs; wedding showers and baby showers. When I would come home from college for the weekend there was always lemon meringue pie and somewhere in the recesses of my mind I equate the taste of this pie with the scent of laundry drying from those college visits. So to taste my mother's homemade pie filling in this pumpkin soup is a jolt to my senses. The clincher is, the lemon curd is a fantastic addition to the soup.

Chef and crew bring out the suckling pig and let it rest on the table as we finish our soup. They begin to carve and the pork is falling, no...sliding off the bone as platter after platter of accompaniments arrive. I've always believed the sides are more important than the meat and I have a compulsion to clap as they keep coming.

I'm intimidated by celery root and have yet to cook it. It seems like an angry, unapproachable veggie when I see it in the market. But I'm excited to taste the celery root mash, which looks like whipped potatoes but has a much brighter almost "clean" flavor. And it's as comforting as regular mashed. The watercress salad with white cheddar, walnuts, pears and the housemade pickled red onions is gorgeous with its holiday colors. I always find eating watercress to be a battle, those big floppy leaves and stiff unyielding stems fighting with my fork. But it's worth the effort here with the bitter watercress, sharp cheddar, tannic walnuts, sweet pears and acidic pickled onion all uniting for one flavorsome bite. I despised Brussel sprouts as a kid and now I find myself craving them quite regularly during the colder months. The platter of braised Brussel sprouts, turnips and carrots is lovely and the color of the braising liquid is a burnished velvety brown. The carrots and turnips are teeny tiny little nubs with roots still intact and the caramelized sprouts are the best I've ever had.

But my favorite accompaniment by far is the housemade applesauce infused with pan drippings. I know some people think applesauce is slightly pedestrian, but they have not had my Grandmother Wava's applesauce. Good applesauce is an artform. People mistake the simpilcity and purity of it for ease. And they mistake good applesauce with jars sold in their local markets. Good applesauce is made by people with Foley Foodmills, not factories and pressure cookers. It's sad, but nobody makes applesauce from scratch anymore and I've been anticipating Reserve's for weeks. Now if anyone could appreciate suckling pig drippings added to applesauce it would have been Wava. She would approve, she would ask for the recipe and she would request a "to go" container, which I regret not doing. I take seconds and thirds of the applesauce, knowing I have no room left, but hoping as family friend Joel would say, "to fill in the cracks."

The pork, by the way, is everything Chef promised and more. It's tender and flavorful. The skin...oh the skin is so very crispy. The meat is well-marbled and succulent. Like the best roast pork you've ever had, only a hell of a whole lot better. I have no qualms about digging into an animal that was bottle fed and butchered young. Not a one. (I should also share that all week Jeremy has been giddy with excitement over the prospect of the suckling pig. I've caught him giggling like a schoolgirl.)

I'm ready to slip into a wine and pork induced coma when dessert arrives: warm apple charlotte with rum raisin gelato drizzled with Blis "Elixir". I've seen Elixir at a few local stores and I've been meaning to try it. It's vinegar aged in bourbon barrels right after maple syrup was aged in said barrels. (Whoever thought of the bourbon+maple syrup+vinegar schedule is clearly a genius.) The Elixer is slightly boozy and sweet with a nice tang at the end. And it tastes a bit like "burning" but in a good way, reminiscent of burnt brown sugar frosting. The charlotte is muffin-like, but filled with perfect cubes of apple, while its edges are crispy and caramelized. The gelato is Palazzolo's, which we all know is Italian for "amazing". By the second bite, I'm plotting my trip to Kingma's to buy a bottle of Elixir. Bite three and I'm thinking about how many ways I can use it and by bite four I'm beginning to harbor impure thoughts.

None of us is able to finish dessert, but we are all in the mood for a final cocktail. We head upstairs for a final round and end up chatting for another hour about work, food, and the Grand Rapids scene. It's nice, conversation not at all forced. as is sometimes the case with new acquaintances. I would like to stay for another round, but I am full, tired and sleepy. It's time to go home and slip into that coma.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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The Electric Cheetah

(Grand Rapids, MI) Back when The Electric Cheetah first opened, we made the mistake of visiting them for Sunday brunch immediately after the Grand Rapids Press had announced their opening. Hot and cramped, the restaurant had run out of some dishes by the time we arrived. Not the best first impression, but shame on us for expecting a newly-opened restaurant to deliver a smooth experience. Now, nearly one and a half years later, we decided to give them a proper review...

He Fed:
We park across from the restaurant, just before the posted 10a opening and wait for them to turn on the neon OPEN sign. (They never do while we are there.) Finally, after a couple minutes, we decide to egg them on and go wait by the door. It only take a minute for someone to unlock the entrance and welcome us in. We are greeted and seated by our server, who offers coffee (which I accept) and water. Although we are given menus, another server promptly swaps them out, explaining, "Those are lunch menus. Here are the brunch menus." (I have to note here: although she says "brunch" it does not say brunch anywhere on the menu, and the website proclaims the menus "weekend breakfast" so I'm safe. No more brunches, remember?)

There are some enticing selections on the menu, most of which are familiar from our first visit. We gameplan a bit, then decide on four small plates, with some encouraging advice from our server (who is friendly and very prompt with coffee refills). We narrow it down to pancakes, biscuits and gravy, migas, and hash.

When the plates arrive, they are a bit bigger than we expect. Three would have been plenty, but it's a happy problem to sample four. I begin right away on my primary selection, the Migas with Sweet Chorizo. The spicy sausage is ground up with smoky bacon and breadcrumbs; strips of sweet red and yellow peppers interplay with the juicy whole grapes; and a crispy organic fried egg lies under all of it. I love the comingled flavors and textures, but I am slightly disappointed in the temperature of the food, which is maybe 10 degrees too cool. It's not a dealbreaker, just a nitpick in an otherwise delicious recipe.

Likewise, the Prime Rib Hash could have used a hotter skillet, although I barely notice. The slow roasted beef is so tender and salty, with an over easy egg dripping down onto the chunks of sauteed potatoes and red onions. The yolk is rich and creamy, and I use the potatoes to mop it up. Although I ordinarily would have gone for the corned beef hash, I'm glad I chose the more lively components of the prime rib.

Lemon Ricotta Pancakes, topped with vanilla cream and organic maple syrup, turn my taste buds around. The pancakes are light and fluffy (and much bigger than the menu would have you believe), with creamy ricotta worked into the batter. And although the combined sweetness of the lemon and vanilla cream elevates the dish, it is the delicious crispy fried outer layer that I'm diggin on most. It tastes of a well-seasoned grill, haunted by the spirits of previously prepared meals.

Lastly, in a twist of irony, I try the Biscuits and Gravy...Juliet's prime selection, and our server's recommendation over the Grilled Asparagus Crepes. I am not a biscuits and gravy kind of guy, so I am not very excited by the dish. Indeed, if I had been by myself, this dish would have never crossed my table.

Woe unto me.

After noting Juliet's exclamations of joy, I break off half a biscuit (because I never expect to eat a whole biscuit) and ladle on some sausage gravy that is thick with flour and drippings. I take a tentative but hearty bite... Whoa. Wow. Holy--. At this point, my fork literally flies from plate to mouth. The gravy has a meaty sweetness that I can't quite place. Of its own volition, my left hand reaches out for the other half of the biscuit and I shovel on the rest of the gravy. Keep it coming, keep it coming, my brain screams.

Minutes later, I am sated. Full, but wanting more. I am happy to report: this is the best biscuits and gravy I've ever had. Our server happily tells us the sweetness is from a honey spice added to the gravy. Whatever it is, I'm getting this dish every time we visit. I guess I am a biscuits and gravy kind of guy after all!

Despite some minor issues with food temp, this adventure impresses us enough to consider coming back on a regular basis. We pay the not-outrageous bill and shuffle back out into the cold, as light snowflakes drift down to contrast with the joyous warmth in our bellies.

She Fed:
I am anxious to go out for breakfast, despite months of travel and nothing but hotel breakfasts. But I want to enjoy a leisurely breakfast with Jeremy and since our most recent attempt at brunch was disappointing, I am excited for this morning's foray.

We are the first customers in the door and our server seats us at a table near the window, right next to the plant boxes filled with rosemary. I love that they have fresh rosemary growing along the windows. Now might be a good time to mention my rosemary obsession. I adore it so much so that I avoid washing my hands after I've chopped fresh rosemary so I can enjoy the highly perfumed tar-like juice on my fingertips. I have long dreamt of having a rosemary topiary in each window at the condo, but our evil kittens have other plans and my rosemary dreams are on hold until those naughty little beasts are too old and infirm to jump onto the window sills. Like I said, it's a bit of an obsession.

Our server explains that the plates are small and suggests we might want to share a few. We decide on four, though in retrospect three or even two would have been plenty. I'm eyeballing the lemon ricotta pancakes and wondering how I might get Jeremy to agree to include this in the four choices when he surprises me by suggesting it first. Hooray! He really wants to try the migas with chorizo and I suggest the prime rib hash. We debate between the sausage gravy with biscuits (you know my love of Southern food) and the asparagus crepes. I really want the biscuits and gravy, but we defer to the server and ask him to decide. "Oh the sausage gravy and biscuits for sure," he enthuses.

The hash and pancakes are the first to arrive followed closely by the migas and gravy with biscuits. I grab a biscuit and start spooning gravy onto the small plates our server has given us. The biscuits are gorgeous and clearly fresh baked. A bumpy, golden crunchy exterior hides a soft flaky interior. I have never seen biscuits flake quite like these and I begin to think how lovely these would be under some sliced strawberries or apricot preserves. The sausage gravy is divine, not at all greasy (though I don't even want to think about the butter, cream and sausage content) and slightly sweet. It's actually what I would term "pork-gravy-crack," a word that should be pronounced as one long stream "porkgravycrack". I am considering taking the remaining biscuit and gravy and locking myself in the ladies room to avoid sharing. Yes, it's that good.

Next I try the prime rib hash, which has cooled considerably while I was having my torrid affair with the gravy and biscuits. Even at room temp, the hash is very good with caramelized onions, thin ribbons of prime rib, a perfectly fried egg, and cubes of lovely white potatoes. I must remember this dish the next time I find myself bleary-eyed and headache-y after a night of too much wine. This hash would be a fabulous cure for the morning after.

The migas are also room temperature and Jeremy mentions both dishes arrived slightly cooler than expected; they probably sat under a warming light while the other dishes were completed. The migas are interesting. Finely chopped chorizo with chunks of crisp bacon atop sweet red and yellow pepper strips, red grapes, and a poached egg. The red grapes throw me off until I try a biteful and find that it all blends beautifully. I would have liked a piece of toast or tortilla to counterbalance all the intense flavors of the dish though.

I finish with a lemon ricotta pancake which is airy, lightly lemon-scented and topped with a dollop of freshly-made (not too sweet) whipped cream. The parts of pancake not covered in syrup are slightly bitter, in a good way, from the lemon. I've heard the addition of ricotta to pancake batter makes an ethereal pancake and now I know it's true.

Both Jeremy and I promise to return for Sunday brunch again. At 10 am, there wasn't a wait for a table and parking was a breeze. Our server is attentive and friendly. The food is extremely innovative and much of it is sourced locally or regionally when possible. What's not to love?

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