A good dinner … and a recollection about dining out in Fort Worth

Jordan, Christian, and the French onion dip

Jordan, Christian, and I had dinner at Walloon’s tonight (for out-of-towners, that’s a new seafood restaurant that has gotten a lot of buzz—so much so that Megan in Austin told me she’d heard good things about it). The occasion was Christian’s birthday—which was way back in early August, but we had never gotten around to celebrating. The dinner was a joint gift from Jordan and me.

The birthday boy enjoyed it a lot—and so did we. The restaurant is in a restored bank area, complete with a vault. Christian told me there was a table in the vault, but I was sure I’d feel claustrophobic. Instead we had a nice table by the windows, where I could gawk in admiration at the tin ceiling, old fixtures, and grand columns. It was restoration well done, so that the old and the new blended perfectly. Our table was either really old or a good faux job—wood with a raised pattern. I’m not remembering the floor, but I think it was those old, tiny tiles.

Our waiter, Marco, was charming and efficient but not the hovering kind. We started with an appetizer of French onion dip which was subtly different from the familiar dry soup/sour cream mix we all know. Both Jordan and I had the lobster roll—stuffed with plenty of lobster filling in a delicious sauce. So good, but so rich. It came with fries, which we both swore we wouldn’t eat—they were delicious too. Christian, who came to salmon late in life, wanted to try the roast salmon to see how it differed from what we cook at home. Big difference: it came on a rich (there’s that word again) bed of creamed corn, leeks, zucchini, and dill. I know how good it was because he gifted me with the zucchini—may he never realize what he’s missing by not eating squash!

We absolutely didn’t need dessert, so we ordered one chocolate mousse with three spoons. Again, so rich, but so good. We let Christian eat most of it, but I will say chocolate mousse is one dessert that tempts me.

We came home, overfed and happy. I admit I had to have an evening nap. It wasn’t the two glasses of wine—it was all that heavy food.

Earlier today I was emailing back and forth with the neighbor who does restaurant reviews for our HOA newsletter, which I edit. We both commented on the number of new restaurants and the variety of really outstanding dining experiences now available in Fort Worth, and that got me reminiscing about the past. I moved here in the early Sixties, and in those days if you wanted to go out for an upscale, celebratory dinner, there were two choices: the Carriage House and the Swiss House. I never went to the Swiss House until much later when it had moved and was on a downhill slide.

But my ex and I were regulars at the Carriage House, so much so that we were always seated in the back room which was sort of a private club. In those days, you had to be a member to order a drink, so lots of restaurants sold memberships for a dollar or so. The walls of that room in the Carriage House sported lovely, mostly tasteful paintings of nude women. I’m not sure if that was a fetish of Mac who owned the place or not, but I remember the night we decided our two oldest children were ready for a nice dinner followed by a Gilbert & Sullivan performance. In the private room, their eyes bugged out at those paintings.

There was a waiter named Chad, who would see me come in the door and say, “Dover sole and spinach.” It was my standard dinner (I still love it to this day.) If a patron had a birthday, the waiters would gather and sing “Happy Birthday.” Joel, my then-husband, knew I hated such public attention, so of course he took me there on my birthday—with his mother visiting from the Bronx. The waiters sang, I was embarrassed, Joel was grinning, and his mother kept repeating, “Judy, dear, such a considerate husband you have.” I wasn’t sure which one of them to kick first.

Gradually the dining scene in Fort Worth changed. The House of Mole was almost as upscale as the original two, and when the owners (who included an osteopathic physician we knew) sold it, it became Mac’s House. Yep, McIntosh from the Carriage House. My oldest son, Colin, went to work as a busboy at Mac’s House for his first job, and we all learned to love Mac’s salad and Wash’s fries (Wash was the dishwasher). Never could duplicate either one. And one of the next on the scene was the Merrimac, a river-front restaurant managed by Mac’s son-in-law. It was the first place I ever had ranch dressing.

Those glory days and those restaurants are long gone, and while I love the many choices we have today, I miss the familiarity, the small world sense of those old places and the people we knew there. Another memory to cling to.

A taste of Fort Worth

 

No, I haven’t been to the annual event by that name, but I’ve been doing some tasting, both commercial food and at home. The other night, we ordered curbside pick-up from Bonnell’s. For those not from Fort Worth, Bonnell’s is a twenty-some-year-old upscale restaurant that specializes in farm to table food, wild game, and seafood fresh from the Gulf of Mexico. It has long been one of Fort Worth’s best restaurants. During pandemic, owner and executive chef Jon Bonnell established a take-out program for diners who were quarantining. It was so successful, it continues to this day. Because the restaurant is on a frontage road, he calls his customers Frontage Road Warriors, and the lines to pick up sometimes stretch a mile or more. We had wanted to try it for some time but one thing or another stopped us.

Last week, the stars were in alignment, and we ordered a smothered pork dinner. The pork chops were indeed smothered with a mushroom cream gray. The dinner for four included mashed potatoes, succotash (I’m sure you’ll believe me when I say I’m the only one who relished succotash, though I wished it didn’t have tiny bits of bacon in it), a good green salad, bread, and cookies for dessert. It was delicious down to the last bite, so good it had me gnawing the last bit of meat off the bone. We’ll do that again, just not on a night they offer a shrimp dish (I’m allergic). And to boot the price is right—a bargain dinner for four.

Last night I went with friends Carol and Lon to dinner at the Paris Coffee Shop. That coffee shop is a Fort Worth institution, dating back to the 1920s when Vic Paris established the small restaurant on Magnolia Avenue. In my memory (and that’s a good fifty years), it was always run by Mike Smith. It was a breakfast all day kind of place, with chicken-fried steak and homemade pie. I once ordered tuna, which was a huge mistake. A year or so ago, Mike sold it to young restaurateurs who upgraded the interior, pretty much kept the menu, and installed a full bar. At first the new owners served breakfast and lunch, but in the last couple of weeks they opened for dinner.

The new décor is bright, open, airy, and clean with enough retro touches to tie it to the original. Somehow it made me think of the famous Edward Hopper painting. But even early there was a full parking lot and a good crowd. Not being hungry enough for chicken-fried steak I had a huge Caesar salad with more brioche croutons than anyone could possibly eat—it was a really good salad. There was a bit of flurry when Lon ordered a Black Russian, but they got it worked out. The chicken-fried steak was good (Carol gave me a bite), not great, and Lon pronounced his caldo a bit mild but good. A pleasant evening with good conversation.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Christian and I collaborated on air fryer chicken wings and drumettes. I marinated them for eight hours in a garlic/olive oil/lemon sauce, and Christian cooked them in his air fryer. One of my favorites, and a great meal with a big tossed salad.

Tonight I was on my own for dinner, so I toasted a piece of artisan bread, spread it with crème fraiche, loaded on thin slices of smoked salmon, and topped it with homemade pickled red onions. My kind of dinner! Dessert was a mini chocolate éclair from the freezer.

I have been absorbed the last two days by articles about the Queen, the monarchy, colonialism and the stain on the monarchy, and the future under King Charles III. Tonight I read an article from a feminist point of view, with the point that Elizabeth’s reign would have been different—and not so beloved by many—if she had been a man. I haven’t sorted out my thoughts on all that, so I’ll save them for another day. I think the news will reverberate with consequences of Elizabeth’s death for many days to come. I have time to think about it.

Tomorrow is a powerful anniversary for our country: September 11. Much has been written about how that terrible terroristic attack unified us as a country and how easily that unity disappeared until today we are horribly divided. I read a post on Facebook that suggested unity was easier in Britain. When the country becomes divided, all they have to do is trot out the royalty in a golden carriage and all of a sudden, it's, “Hail, Britannia!” Tongue in cheek, no doubt, but there’s also a kernel of truth to be considered. The monarchy is far from completely ornaental, and America could use some similar symbol to draw us together. At this late date, I’m not sure September 11 can take us back to the days of unity.

The whims of children

Future slugger

I have a nine-year-old grandchild in residence for a couple of days. Tonight, Betty (he calls her Aunt Betty--don't think he realizes there's no blood tie) and I planned to take him to Fuzzy's where he could have a cheese quesadilla with a side of guac and I could have those wonderful ground beef tacos I just rediscovered. So he got in the car from day camp and asked brightly, "Are we going to the Tavern? That's what  you said last week."

Last week I had my taste buds set on the Tavern and he cajoled us into grilled cheese at the Old Neighborhood Grill. I guess maybe I laid down the law, but this week, when my mouth was set for Fuzzy's, he wanted the Tavern. Guess where we went?
The Tavern is not a sports bar but they have four or five TVs, mercifully soundless, going. Jacob, as kids his age will do, turned his back and ignored us. Until Aunt Betty mentioned that Matt Carpenter (Cardinals?) lives two doors from her. My goodness, did that get his attention. He chattered for the rest of the meal about he was going to meet a real baseball player, etc. Betty reminded Jacob that the real baseball player was on the road and probably wouldn't be back until late October, but I don't think he comprehended the time span. This child, who does well enough in school but doesn't always apply himself as much as he could, can reel off baseball statistics, players, history...you name it!
And that shells with cheese that he didn't like last week? He ate every bite and loved it. 
Jacob's mother, my youngest daughter Jordan, often looks at me and asks, "What happened to you?? You never would have let me get away with
that." (Whatever it is at the time.) I sent her a Facebook picture the other day that said, "Some kids are spoiled because no one will spank Granny." I don't know if that's the problem or if I just have one determined, stubborn child on my hands. I swear he's going to be a lawyer--I used to say that about Megan, my older daughter, and she would protest, "Mom, don't program me." Guess what? She's a lawyer today.
But Jacob has an argument for almost everything, and I'm afraid he gets his way too often. But then again, what's the sense of denying a child just to prove you have the power to do that? Reminds me of the advice a minister gave me years ago: "Choose your battles." When it's a really big deal, I usually win the Jacob battle.