Henry's Majestic--Man, That Was Fast!

A couple of weeks ago we ventured over to Henry's Majestic, a newish addition to the Dallas dining scene.  I had read somewhere that their motto was "Good Food. Strong Drink" and I scrolled through their website, finding the copywriting rather ironic and amusing, with its stilted, Olde English cadences and manly man persona. Their regal crown logo transported me into a short daydream about buxom serving wenches sloshing out pints of ale and eating roasted meats with my hands before throwing the bones into a corner for two unleashed hounds.

The Outer Entrance To The Palace

We valeted in front of what instead looked sort of like a 1980s fern bar. We entered the dimly lit, very noisy restaurant which has two long bars in two big rooms with a bunch of scattered tables and chairs.  The decor is kind of steel and woody with odd found objects used as accent pieces; a pretty good stab at shabby chic.

A rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten came prancing up to the host stand with a friendly smile that didn't leave his face as he gave us a quick once over.  I said we had reservations at 8:30 (it was 8:29) and he trilled "Perfect! Follow me!" and capered all the way across the darker back room and out the door to the patio, alighting at a high round cocktail table with two bar stools situated immediately adjacent a long gas pipe with holes cut in it spouting flames. The outdoor space was draped in thin plastic to ward off the cold, but it was about 25 degrees outside so it was a challenge that could not be met.  The side of my body next to the flame was burning hot and my other side was freezing.  It reminded me of my grandparent's house in the country that had a pot-bellied stove as its only source of heat, resulting in facing it and facing away from it in equal turns to feel moderately comfortable on the coldest nights. As we had walked through I had noticed the place was packed so I didn't ask to be moved. I'm cheerfully cooperative that way, even though I had also noticed everyone inside was 25 years old and everyone on the patio could have been their parents.  A coincidence, surely.

Meatballs. Good.

We might have been our server's very first table.  Not just that night, but like his very first table in any restaurant ever in his entire lifetime. He was earnest and really tried to do a good job but to be honest the word "inept" is the only one I can use to describe his table waiting ability.  We ordered some drinks, which took ten long minutes to come out, and then ordered our food.  I said we'd start with the Maple Bourbon Meatballs, then split some Market Oysters, and finish up with the Texas "Pho" and a Peppered Pastrami Reuben.  

Five minutes later, out came the Akaushi Beef Meatballs with Fennel Slaw.  We each had one bite and pronounced them good. Then the server came right back to the table with the Oysters, "Pho" and Reuben.  Not only was it not sequenced, the small cocktail table was nowhere near big enough to hold all the serving plates, our drinks, and a stack of sharing plates with rolled silverware. So he just started piling dishes one on top of the other.  I rescued the oysters with one hand and gulped all six down real fast while they were cold and handed him their tray, brimming with crushed ice.  D snatched the meatballs and ate those mid-air as well so at least now we had a little elbow room.

Salty Faux Pho

The Texas "Pho" was "Faux" in that it had Texas Brisket in it along with Flank Steak, a soft boiled egg, rice noodles and the traditional pho accoutrements.  The first bite was repugnant. Chewy beef parts swam in what I think was an entire jar of bouillon cubes stirred into tepid water, the soft boiled egg was rubbery, and he had forgotten the sauces and cilantro that you could add to taste.  I didn't ask for them because I was still struggling to swallow the liquid deer lick and had no intention of eating any more of it.  I left the bowl on the table and had a couple bites of the Reuben, which was nicely done. Then our server came back to check on us, or so I thought, but instead, he plopped down our check and said we could pay whenever we were ready without noticing my veritably untouched "Faux".  It was 9:00.  Slam, Bam, Thank You Ma'am, two drinks, four plates and our check in exactly 30 minutes.  I've spent more time waiting in the drive through lane at Starbucks.

Since we were shivering and sweating at the same time we decided to leave and paid our check.  I was more than generous with the tip considering the service but I chalked that up more to his lack of training and darkly imagined his managers being horse-whipped out on the freezing hot patio.  As we left the rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten called out "farewell and please return soon" quite exuberantly. 

From their website:  We all need a place to imbibe and feast, to relax and reflect, a place that offers the riches of cultured setting and genuine southern charm.

I ain't got time for dat.