Restaurant:Seasons 52 Location:340 Ward Pkwy (Plaza) Food: Traditional American cuisine Service: Traditional waitstaff Atmosphere: Traditional upscale chain Price: Apps $6-$12, Entrees $15-$26, Desserts $2.50 Rating: TBD
Seasons 52, the new restaurant opening in the old Eddie Bauer space on the Plaza, started off on the wrong foot with the people of Kansas City, electing, at first, to remodel some of the exterior of the building to something more contemporary and less Spanish-inspired than the rest of the Plaza’s iconic architecture. Understanding it to be a chain restaurant with several other locations across the country, I was surprised they actually heeded the cry of the annoyed plaza patrons and nixed the alterations.
Then in another surprising move, I got an invitation to a bloggers’ preview lunch of sorts, to come try the menu, meet the chef, their on-staff Master Sommelier and see the remodeled space. Yes, it was complimentary, so I must disclose that up-front. But let me share with you my opinions. After all, that was the point of the whole thing.
The event took place at 11:30 last Saturday. We walked in and were immediately greeted by name (impressive), introduced to the managerial staff and handed champagne. I had my camera in tow and they advised that first we would be taken on a champagne tour and picture-taking was, indeed encouraged. Immediate impressions of the space were A) warm and comfortable, B) wholly unsurprising for a chain restaurant serving seasonally-inspired American fare. Reddish-hued wood, typically uninspired fabrics (and particularly tacky animal print-ish bar stool seat covers), but pleasant overall. And I did appreciate the "Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired" touches visible in their use of horizontal wood slats that created modern-looking walls between rooms. Gave the place a little character and needed freshness. The kitchen was moderately exposed, with gleaming stainless steel, white dishes and the lovely scent of a wood-burning grill wafting through the air. A nice touch.
There’s a big bar area to the left upon entering, plenty of seats around it (think Houston’s bar area but with much more space). Then a big dining room to the south of the east of the entrance and a big private room for business meetings (projector and screen built-in for those unlucky enough to get roped into a serious lunch meeting). Seasons 52 is definitely (and smartly) working hard to appeal to the business crowd and for a chain, that makes all the sense in the world. Straight back, behind the entrance and just outside the kitchen is the chef’s table, a private dining area for special reservations.
After our tour, my fellow bloggers and I were herded into the bar area, introduced to and toasted by the staff, and then ushered into the main dining room and seated together at a big table in the middle. I grinned as the waiter helped me with my chair and I looked across the table, covered in no fewer than six wine glasses per place-setting for our upcoming wine samplings. Wine is a major focus for Seasons 52, employing the services of Master Sommelier George Miliotes. Mr. Miliotes was present throughout the meal, effectively serving as our wine tour guide, explaining each of the pairings, what was to like about it, where it came from including specifically relevant tidbits about the vineyards and vintners themselves. His presences was a treat and I appreciated his straight-forward answer to my question for further information about biodynamic wine-making and its quizzical standards.
As I segue into my descriptions of the meal, I have to start out with what was, to me, a shocking and lovely revelation about the menu at Seasons 52: nothing is over 475 calories! I didn’t know that about their menu going into it and learning this blew my preconceived notions about their food out of the water. Standard chain-restaurant practice has conditioned me to anticipate massive portions of abominably fatty foods. Only 475 calories? This was impressive in principle alone. Would the food be able to stand up to our expectations of good taste, though?
We started with an amuse bouche (which diners at the Chef’s table will also be served) that I loved: an Asian-style soup spoon filled with a very simple but crafty pop of flavors: pico de gallo with a small flaked piece of trout that smelled of the smoky wood from the wood-burning grill, and a dollop of avocado mousse which our decidedly un-pretentious chef Cliff Pleau admitted to be “guacamole.” The ingredients and combination didn’t surprise me or knock my socks off, but it tasted great.
Following the amuse we jumped right into my favorite thing of the day, seafood. A cedar plank dressed with sprigs of thyme was topped with a glossy piece of organic salmon, a perfectly cooked scallop and a mixture of veggies including golden beets, carrot, asparagus, green beans, peppers and a ring of caramelized red onion. The entire plate was divine… sweet seafood and well-cooked veg all working together with light essences of cedar and thyme to accent each bite. This is the kind of food I wish I could eat a lot more often.
Somewhat oddly, we took a step back after the seafood course for salad. But it was an unctuous, hearty salad. A huge pile of baby arugula came perched in the middle of a white plate, contained by a transparent cylinder tower. After the plates were set before us, the servers removed the tower allowing the greens to relax and spread out, exposing the other ingredients including pistachios, mushrooms, shaved parmesan and wafting through the air was the luxurious scent of truffle oil, mixed into the dressing. I'm a total sucker for arugula and parmesan and, when applied appropriately, truffle. All worked together perfectly in this "meaty" tasting salad. I loved its substance and savory, earthy flavors and would most definitely order this upon return or recommend it to friends and (hah!) readers.
Next was a pasta course, two big goat cheese-filled ravioli in a pool of tomato broth, topped with lots of fresh basil and with fresh tomato on the side. The pasta was nice. Personally, I didn't feel goat cheese made the best of fillings, only because it's low in moisture and, to me, less-satisfying to devour than a more gooey cheese filling would have been. But I loved the simple, well-done tomato broth and overall clean presentation. (It would have been nice if my server hadn't sloppily laid this plate down, splashing the broth up onto the rim of the plate, though. Ruined the photo op.)
Then came the heartiest of the lunch plates, one item from their lunch "meat" menu and one from the dinner menu: Piedmontese sirloin steak and quail, respectively. Chef Pleau spent a good amount of time describing his relationship with the farmers in Nebraska who raise the Piedmontese steak for him. It was a good sell and the meat was truly delicious, as well as healthier and leaner than a lot of corn-fed beef. The quail, as quail tends to be, was miniscule. Cute, tiny little legs with about one good bite on each. Again, I liked it but was left exceedingly curious as to what the portion of meat would be if I ordered just that as my main meal.
The rest of the meat plate, though, left a little something to be desired. Each meat came with its own sauce. The sauce on the beef tasted like any plain old brown gravy I'd ever had, masking the flavor of the meat too much and reminding me of cafeteria food. And the bourbon chili glaze on the quail had little discernible flavor. It was somewhat sweet but I detected no bourbon or chili.
The sides on this plate ware brussels sprouts – one of my favorite vegetables – and a sweet potato mash. Again, they were lacking as compared to the rest of the food we'd eaten that day. The mash had a little sour cream in it and nothing else. Chef Pleau explained he doesn't believe in making them overly-sweet with things like marshmallows or a sugary topping like so many families do with their sweet potatoes at the holidays – great, me neither – but it was a bit of a cop out to just add some sour cream to smooth them out and then drop 'em on the plate. I'd like to see a chef challenge himself a little more to do something else with them aside from just not doing what everyone else does. They were bland and still a little too sweet. The roasted brussels weren't bad but they, too, were so simply prepared that unfortunately even my own home-cooked version outshone them. What really makes brussels sprouts special is when they get charred and have that extra depth of flavor added to their naturally earthy, peppery taste. Chef's comment was that everyone's mother overcooked brussels sprouts and ruined them for us when we were young. I don't think he did much better with them. They weren't overcooked, but left a lot to be desired. Overall, the food on this particular plate just wasn't of a high enough restaurant quality to make me want to order it on a return trip.
So then dessert. And here things got back on the right track. Seasons 52's desserts are a delectable assortment of little square shot glasses filled with all sorts of classic flavors like Key Lime Pie and Rocky Road. They were the perfect size (meaning reasonable) and at only $2.50 each, a truly smart idea. I'd contend that everyone wants a little dessert after their meal but so often we don't buy them at restaurants because they're too big to be eaten with a clear conscience or too pricey to be worth it. More places ought to rethink their dessert menus this way.
I don't have time and you don’t have the desire to read about all of the wine pairings. There was one for each course. The whites were decent, the reds were sublime. No doubt the wine menu has perfectly adequate options for whatever you're eating.
Overall, lasting impressions: Seasons 52 is a chain restaurant that doesn't run from being one. It capitalizes on accepting that fact. I think they know they're catering a little more to a business and out-of-town crowd than the locals. I appreciate the healthy menu selections and found a lot of what I ate to be quite good. It's not the type of place I look forward to visiting, personally, but I can't knock it for doing what it does. It'll probably do just fine. And I appreciated the free meal. Thanks for the preview, Seasons 52.
Rating: TBD (I don't rate special events like this as I feel it's not a true representation of the typical diner's experience. Perhaps sometime in the future on my own dime.)
Restaurant: Aixois
Location: 251 E. 55th St., KC, MO
Food: Classic French
Service: Traditional Wait staff
Atmosphere: Fine dining
Price: Entrees from $12 (burger) to $28 (filet)
Rating: three napkins
There’s good French food to be had in Kansas City, but you have to seek it out. Several great little spots are buried in the city’s neighborhoods, inconspicuous and unchanging… just as you’d expect of the French.
Up in the hills of Parkville, there’s Café des Amis. Cross the river southward and you’ll find Le Fou Frog, crouching in the River Market defying you to find it. Hidden in plain sight in the middle of Prairie Village is Café Provence. And don’t forget Westport Café and Bar in the heart of Westport which isn’t working too hard to be strikingly French, but even that credo is sooo French. It’s stiff competition. These are all decent, if not great restaurants. The one missing from this list is the one I recently visited and, as I found, it stands up boldly to the competition.
Aixois is located on Brookside Boulevard and 55th. From the street it gleams with black awnings and a gorgeous patio, a bright green lawn in front, and the promise of a dim, fancy dining room inside. That stretch of 55th, the Crestwood shops, has always been picturesque and Aixois is the cornerstone of it all.
On our first trip to Aixois, we went for lunch and sat out on the patio. This was a long time ago, but I remember having a decent salad with a generous portion of cold salmon on it (…cold in a good, refreshing sort of way that allowed the salad to avoid wilting. A creamy, lemony dressing perfectly coating the salad with plenty of freshly cracked black pepper and beets. Quite tasty.
On this trip, we were there for a casual dinner. We arrived around 8:00 and it was a quiet night. The dining room was probably only ¼ full but, even though brisk outside, there were several diners on the patio—people savoring the last warm evenings of the fall. We were given a two-top in the northern dining area, against the west windows looking out to the patio. A nice view. Maybe best seat in the house for our sensibilities.
Our waiter was attentive and quite competent. We decided to get a bottle of wine, so we told him we’d need to figure out what we were eating before we ordered drink. He checked back twice before we were actually ready, but in a helpful way. Not pestering. And as we chose our wine, salad, appetizer and two entrees, I think he said every single thing we ordered was his favorite, less my steak. Despite being hard to believe, we appreciated the encouragement that our selections would not disappoint.
The salad was immaculate, starting with its shrimp. Listed as Salade d'Avocat et de Crevettes Grillees on the menu, the salad came with at least three big, plump and perfectly cooked shrimp on the side, well cleaned and bursting with sweet flavor (shrimp is so wonderful if cooked perfectly and can be a nightmare when overcooked), with a nice cup of aioli in which to dip. The mixed greens supported a beautiful fan of avocado (a generous portion of it, to boot), which was cut nicely by the vinaigrette, acidic cherry tomatoes and sweet raisins. The thinnest imaginable strip of sliced red onion was elegantly laced across the top, adding a final savory bite. There was nothing not to love on this salad--a salad one could actually be excited to eat, rather than obligatory roughage.
Lest we forget we were eating at a French restaurant, we ordered a hot boat of decadent, buttery escargot. Plump, unctuous snails swam with little shoots of mushrooms in a super-rich buttery pesto-like garlic and her butter, sinfully heavy on both. Once the snails and mushrooms were gone, I continued to slather the flavorful butter sauce on warm slices of French bread, cherishing every bite.
When our wine arrived, I was a little confused, thinking it was not what we had ordered. I scoured the label to see if perhaps I was missing something and had not. We’d been delivered a bottle of Sancerre costing $10 more than what we had actually ordered. Rather than complaining, though, we took it as a sign the perhaps our selection had been subpar, and decided to give it a go. Great choice. It immediately cooled our palettes, ripe with that garlic and salt from the snails. We ended up quite happy with the accident, showing that it sometimes pays to roll with the punches rather than whining about a simple mistake.
On to entrees, starting with the “lighter” selection—filet of trout, covered in lemon juice, shallots and almonds slivered almonds. But wait, what was this under the fish? Another filet of fish. What at first appeared to be the normally expensive fish+veg+starch dish ($19) turned out to be a very reasonably priced, generously portioned one. The fish was delicious, flaking off the skin easily with a fork. And amazingly, the haricot vert on the side were nicely cooked, not that squeaky, annoyingly al dente doneness we’re served all too often these days. The rice was, well, rice which kept the dish a little on the lighter side, but a potato might have been more luxurious.
I had a fantastic cut of red meat--hanger steak--but ultimately ended the meal with mixed emotions about it. The steak was incredible. Two thick pieces of almost conically shaped beef, long fibers of lean muscle running the length of each cut. Surprisingly tender and with huge flavor. A perfect medium, erring toward medium rare (I’d ordered it medium). The frites on the side, though, were disappointingly flimsy. Clearly pulled from the fryer a few seconds too early, they just weren’t cooked that crispy French way. I was sad and contemplated sending them back, just to make sure they were perfected. But didn’t. Also not perfectly French was the dish of (gasp) ketchup for dipping. No aioli. No mayo.
Also on the slightly disappointing side was the small pile of greens on the side. Warmed by the hot plate, with nothing but a little vinaigrette (okay, one little cherry tomato on the side), it was more a garnish than a true side. Boo. As served, I found myself peeking over to the fish dish, once the meat was gone. With a little more attention to detail on this one, it could have been a
French stunner but as served, left something to be desired.
With so many calories consumed by this point, a dessert menu only garnered chuckles. A little espresso from the Aixois coffee bar was all we needed to polish off the delicious French experience.
I hope to sample all the places listed in the opening of this review soon and put together a ranking in the future. For now, Aixois has made a strong showing and will sit high on my list of special dinner options.
Restaurant:Quick's Location:1007 Merriam Ln., KC, K Food: Barbecue Service: Counter + Server Atmosphere: No frills BBQ Price: Sandwiches $4-$7, Dinners $9-$13 Rating: One Napkin
Writing reviews on barbecue places in KC is about as worthless as arguing that my dad could beat up your dad (we all did that, right?).
If you've lived here any amount of time, you've figured out your favorite and are unwilling to even entertain the idea it could have an equal. And in a way, you're right. We're all right. Because the truth of the matter is that most of the barbecue in this city is darn good, and our individual preferences are derived from the smallest unique components that each different proprietor highlights in their own recipes: the flavor and consistency of the sauce, the spices in the dry rub, the special side dishes or even the location of the restaurant.
So I'll give you my review of Quick's – my most recent new barbecue venture – but I don't expect you to agree with me. As barbecue goes, the bottom line is that KC does it well and Quick's sits squarely in the company of our proud tradition if you happen to prefer their flavors. It's just not my personal favorite.
If I were pressed to describe Quick's in a single word, it would be "mild." Like it or not, if a BBQ joint serves sauce, that sauce is immediately part of the restaurant's identity and mild is how I found Quick's sauce. They poured quite a lot of sauce on the boat of ribs we ordered (in the proverbial debate of wet vs. dry, Quick's apparently is all wet). And as Elizabeth and I tested out the sauce, we both couldn't help feeling like it was darn near flavorless. So thick and with that dark burgundy hue, how could it not be bursting with spice or tomato or molasses? I don't know, but we agreed the key flavor that we picked out of the Quick's sauce as we ate more and more was… apple. Well, apple sauce, really. And it wasn't bad—just surprising. The stomach wants what the eyes think they see and we thought we "saw" more flavor in that thick red sauce.
We've had ribs, brisket and burnt ends at Quick's, feeling they represent the essential flagship meats in the barbecue world. And without generalizing too much, I can say, across the board, they were mostly tender and lean. Not as tender as the best barbecue I've had, nor as lean, but in a very acceptable range. But in the meat, too, there were aspects we found surprisingly different than we anticipated.
The first of these surprises was the temperature of the food. It was luke warm. As if it had been taken off a buffet line or something. Pretty odd. Not off-putting or disappointing, just not quite as hot as I like barbecued meats. Secondly, though boasting a visible ring of pink on the thinly sliced brisket, it seemed lower on smokey flavor than it should have. It was a little baffling, really. Seeing that pink ring and with a good, soft texture, I wouldn't imagine there wasn't anything strange about the methods used to smoke Quick's meats, except that, perhaps, they use mild-flavored wood and not too much of it. Bite after bite, I kept asking myself where all the flavor could be.
Even after the meal, the toned-down flavors of Quick's meats haunted my thoughts. The conclusion I've finally come to is that the recipe-makers for Quick's simply prefer a subtler-tasting plate of barbecue. And you know what? That's okay. I went back to Oklahoma Joe's after my trip to Quick's to study and compare and had my eyes opened about just how far on the other side of the seasoning spectrum OK Joe's is. No two ways about it: Oklahoma Joe's is wildly strong stuff. The rub on the pork has a ton of salt in it. The famously seasoned fries are doused in salt, too. And the smoke is so strong in the food that a single takeout bag containing no more than two sandwiches can make the inside of a vehicle smell like a meat-smoking chamber.
So what did I learn on my trip to Quick's? More about myself than anything. When it comes to 'cue, I like a LOT of flavor. I want so much smoke and salt that I wake up in the middle of the night parched, with a foot cramp. I want to see my face and fingers swell up from retaining water. I want my lips to taste like hickory the next morning and my hair to reek of it, as I shampoo. For me, barbecue isn't about subtlety. At all. It's about bold, bold flavor and meat that has taken on a tender texture that can only be derived from hours upon hours of low and slow cooking. Quick's is for a more refined barbecue fan, I'd say. I don't know who those fans are, but I'm sure they're out there. And I hope they've discovered Quick's.
Parting note on the sides: we had baked beans, onion rings and fries. The beans will not impress, the fries and rings, though, are good. Thick and crunchy, both, begging for ketchup and lots of it.
There’s a big bar area to the left upon entering, plenty of seats around it (think Houston’s bar area but with much more space). Then a big dining room to the south of the east of the entrance and a big private room for business meetings (projector and screen built-in for those unlucky enough to get roped into a serious lunch meeting). Seasons 52 is definitely (and smartly) working hard to appeal to the business crowd and for a chain, that makes all the sense in the world. Straight back, behind the entrance and just outside the kitchen is the chef’s table, a private dining area for special reservations.
