The #1 Restaurant in Dallas?

A week or so ago, our dear friend J's brother B was in town.  We'd heard about each other for years but never met due to time and travel constraints.  On a recent cross country road trip he stayed with his elder sister in her exquisitely appointed, suburban manse and requested a night out with us. Not sure why, perhaps he'd heard we were charming and witty or possessed  unusual lingual skills like ventriloquism or the ability to talk like a pirate in fluent French. I don't really know but when we are summoned to dinner by Lady J, we do as we are told.

It was a Monday night, so our Go To option for out-of-towner, first time dinner meet-ups, DISH, was a non-starter since they are closed on Mondays. I'd remembered reading, somewhat surprised, that D Magazine had rated NHS Bar & Grill (aka Neighborhood Services) #1 out 100 restaurants in Dallas. Really?  Better than FT-33?  Better than Lucia?  Or even though it's not my personal favorite, the ultra-glam Fearing's?

We'd been to its short-lived sibling, Neighborhood Services Tavern on Henderson during the few months it was open and thought it was okay but we never went back so I guess we kind of voted with our feet. We'd not been to NHS and guessed it must be 1000% better to have ranked so highly in our city's most successful lifestyle magazine, if success is measured by the volume of ads for plastic surgeons, designer footwear and suited-up realtors standing in front of tract mansions.  I congratulated myself on thinking this the perfect opportunity to show brother B a good time at the best place in town.

Most of the food critics in town have this thing for the owner and chef of NHS, Nick Badovinus.  No clue why except that he looks like a blond rock star, has a funny sense of humor, opens wildly successful restaurants and his teeth sparkle like he's starring in a Dentyne commercial. I've never met Chef Nick but I'd like to because I think I'd like him based on articles and interviews I've read. Therefore, I hope he doesn't read this because I am about to go all Emperor's New Clothes on him. NHS is certainly not the #1 restaurant in Dallas.  It's not even #10.  If I had to hazard a guess I'd put it somewhere in the mid-30's with a slightly receding hairline and the beginnings of a paunch.

Don't get me wrong, it is not bad.  Service is brisk and efficient, not overly warm, but pleasant enough. The interior is small and cozy. The menu is written in a humorous, self-mocking way that I really liked. The food was good, although I had to go to the website and pull up the menu to try to remember what we ate and I still can't.  Sorry, Charlie, but I can still remember every layered flavor of the garlicky hummus and house-made ricotta at Cafe 43 several months ago, and the exquisite juniper roasted lamb loin I had at the French Room in 2006 but I can't even  recall what I ordered at NHS one week later.

Every critic, reviewer, blogger and self-described foodie is entitled to their opinion, and on a rainy Monday night, NHS was jam-packed.  It looked like a super busy Saturday night in most Dallas restaurants. So maybe the four of us were entirely clued-out, but we just didn't get how this little workaday, neighborhood friendly, pretty good restaurant could outrank all the other hot spots in town.  It doesn't push the culinary envelope like the food forward revolution going down in the Design District nor is it all dolled up in marble and crystal and other shiny objects we attractive urban swells of Dallas appreciate so much.  It's in a strip mall in an upscale neighborhood.  It's not super expensive.  And it's owned by a charismatic chef who apparently knows how to shop for new clothes befitting an emperor.

Clogged Arteries

Howdy Folks.  Er, Good-bye Folks.

Everyone knows that Texans brag a lot.  Those who don't live in Texas find it truly annoying. Those who live here understand why we do so, and quite smugly, I might add. Everything really is bigger and better here, except for a certain junior senator who shall remain nameless because he is the worst kind of self-promoting, ridiculously conservative tea party marionette unworthy of being identified in this blog, or any other respectable media outlet for that matter.

Our State Fair is a Great State Fair--naturally the biggest and grandest in the land.  Our fair lasts for nearly a month, and is celebrated in the largest collection of vintage Art Deco buildings in America.  They were built for the 1936 Texas Centennial and boast stylish murals and sumptuous sculptures ensconced in a pretty, beautifully landscaped parkland with fountains and flowers and flourishes unseen anywhere else in the world.

Happy Happy Corny Dog

In the last decade or so, the State Fair of Texas has evolved into the world's largest venue for impossibly crazy fried food inventions. Always known for Fletcher's Corny Dogs and Tornado Taters, the Fair has amped up its publicity for all new deep fried food alternatives.  Past winners include Deep Fried Grilled Cheese Sandwiches (served with a little ramekin of Tomato Soup for dipping) and a Battered and Deep Fried Snickers Bar, and they have stood the test of time and are now staples of provisions one can look forward to consuming each year.  Previous headliners that never returned due to unpopular demand include Deep Fried Butter and Deep Fried Beer.  (Were they even trying or was it all about a gimmick for shameless media ink?)  I kinda thought the trend might have run its course when the emblematic Big Tex was himself deep fried and self-immolated. But the new and improved Big Tex returned this year along with several new deep fried innovations. We tried them all last Sunday and ever since I've been hooked up to an IV in the emergency room with a 10% chance of survival.

Deep (Fried) in the Heart of Texas

Best of the bunch was the Deep Fried King Ranch Casserole, sort of a Tex-Mex lasagna with chicken and tortillas instead of ground beef and pasta.  It came with tortilla chips, salsified sour cream and a tiny Texas flag on a toothpick.  Totally Texas Tasty!

Thankfully, I Did Not Finish It

Fried Thanksgiving Dinner was not a favorite.  I tend to eat one food at a time during our national feasting day, so having turkey, stuffing, and creamed corn rolled up in a ball of seasoned corn meal, then deep fried and served with brown gravy and cranberry sauce was rather daunting.  I know the pigeons really enjoyed the chunks I accidentally threw on the ground.

The Deep Fried Cuban Roll had me doing spot-on Ricky Ricardo impressions until several unnecessarily PC passersby asked me to stop.  Maybe they would have been more impressed if I had some of those poofy sleeves and a set of imported bongos.  Slow-cooked pork shoulder, chopped ham, Swiss cheese, pickles and some kind of spicy spread was rolled into pastry dough and deep fried, then doused with mojo sauce. Ay-yi-yi-yi!

I think what finally did me in was the Texas Fried Fireball. Pimento cheese, pickles, cayenne pepper and bacon dipped in buttermilk and rolled in jalapeno batter, then deep fried and served with chipotle ranch dressing is not a recipe for gastric wellness. It wasn't long after that little experiment that I was seen trotting out to my car, Emergency Room bound, where I lay to this day. I am hoping they get my cholesterol down under 1,000 before the fair is over. I'm fixated on trying the Southern Style Chicken Fried Meatloaf. I mean how bad for you could that really be?