RIP 27

So we had the most surreal dining experience Friday night.  I'd heard about a small, chef driven place in Deep Ellum called Twenty Seven (I think as an homage to all the musicians who died at the age of 27 like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Curt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse, among others) but we'd never been there.  We pulled into the full parking lot next door and shouted "Eureka!" in manly, lumberjack voices because we saw a car whose back up lights had just come on.  Maneuvering courteously to allow the driver plenty of space to get out, we chest bumped each other (hard to do in a seatbelt-strapped front seat of a BMW sedan) in congratulation for our cosmic parking karma while we waited.  And waited. And waited. What in tarnation was taking so long?  Just as I was about to get out of the car to unleash a civilized diatribe at the inconsiderate fool behind the wheel, they suddenly backed out, pulled forward, and waited.   Huh? Had they sensed my scorn through the rear tinted window and decided I needed a knuckle sandwich?  Were they going to taser us, truss us up and steal our kidneys?  As we skittishly walked by, the window rolled down and a smiling woman held out her parking receipt (expiring 6 AM Saturday) and said "put it on your dashboard--they'll never know" and then winked at us conspiratorially.  Our hostility evaporated in this random act of theft and kindness and we both bowed to her like Sumo wrestlers before a match, mumbling phrases of gratitude.

Chef David Anthony Temple (aka Chef DAT) was the friendly, fedora-sporting chap at the host stand and welcomed us warmly into the smallish restaurant, which was filling up pretty fast.  Chef DAT brought us some menus and tap water and said someone would be with us soon.  Twenty minutes later our server (who immediately made me think of Harriet Tubman, minus the turban) breezed by and said she'd be right with us.  She had a little spiral pad in her hands and a tiny stub of a pencil, like the kind that comes with a Yahtzee game.  She spun around a few times eyeing the now jam-packed dining room, and then came back and said she was ready now, but it was going to be a little rough because she was the only server on the floor.  I asked why just one server when they were so busy and she said because it was their last weekend and they were closing for good on Monday.

Uh-oh.  I know about restaurants that are about to close.  All the rats servers desert the ship for new jobs, the kitchen burns off as much inventory as possible, and there is a certain,  I don't know, sinking of the Titanic desperation in the air.  Only Server took drink orders from everyone in the restaurant and Chef DAT and the cooks delivered them and for quite some time everyone there was drinking and laughing and not noticing there was not one single plate of food on any table in the room.

We'd been there about 1/2 an hour when our Poblano Lobster Soup arrived.  Except it was Poblano Corn Chowder.  Starving, we ate it anyway, and I did finally discover a tiny morsel of lobster at the bottom (but it might have been a little piece of chicken, or perhaps a half kernel of white hominy.) Fried Green Tomatoes came out eventually, and a few other small plates for sharing but I can't remember them since we inhaled them so fast.  Only Server rushed by and said our Gnocchi would be out soon, so I jumped up and went to the men's room, except there wasn't one.  There were two unisex bathrooms and one was called Telephone Booth and the other was named Rabbit Hole.  (Since nature was calling I went with the telephone booth.)

I returned to the table and discovered what might have once been Gnocchi, but looked more like parmesan crusted entrails.  I poked at them with my fork and I am pretty sure I heard something hiss. Yikes!  By this time Chef DAT was openly and copiously drinking wine at one of the tables, and the raucous laughter from a party of seven in the middle of the room was slightly eclipsed by Only Server singing "Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child" at the top of her lungs as she threw plates of food at people.

Chef DAT seemed like truly nice guy and from the reviews I'd read I am sure it had at one time been a great place to dine.  But it seems not so ironic that Twenty Seven met an early demise since it was inspired by people who died way before their time.