Christopher W.'s Profile

Last year, French electro duo Justice released Audio, Video, Disco., the follow-up to their massively successful breakthrough debut, Cross. No one really liked it. No one really liked it because after such a wait fans expected another Cross and they didn't get another Cross. Instead they got what one might imagine Queen would sound like if they made an indie dance record. Had people put aside expectation and actually listened to Audio, Video, Disco. for what it was they might've discovered it's an outstanding album. The same can be said of Bowl, the new concept restaurant from Larry Dunning, located in downtown Reno's West Street Market.

Bowl is not Sezmu, Dunning's beloved New American restaurant prematurely ended by an unrenewed lease for whatever ill-founded reason by landlord Marvin Grulli (the location still sits vacant). If you're anticipating Bowl to be Sezmu 2 you'll probably be disappointed. Bowl is a different animal and a beautiful one at that. It's a cozy, almost hole-in-the-wall-esque spot with an open kitchen that serves what many describe as "comfort food", which is true, but it's also refined and sophisticated. The risotto, currently served with green beans, carrots, and apple chutney ($10), is some of the best I've ever tried. The rabbit ($13) is awe-inspiringly tender, as is the duck confit ($15). The Ceasar salad ($7), which you can eat with your hands (and should), almost made me giddy with contentment. The flap steak pasta, served with mushrooms and snap peas ($14), is what your body should crave on cold, winter nights. Right now, I can only describe the ginger-lemon broth of the Pho "Brok" ($8) as flawless. The best part is you can pop over and enjoy most of the mentioned offerings on your lunch break.

Just as if not more impressive than the caliber of the food is the execution. The concept of Bowl is just that: Everything is served in a bowl. While that may sound boorish or dumbed-down it's anything but. With traditional plating it's easy to give everything its space, maximize presentation, and let patrons meld flavors at will. With the idea of "throwing everything into a bowl" every flavor component has to work together. What if the polenta I just shredded the duck into is a tasteless disaster or, even worse, disgusting? Typically, I could leave it untouched on the side of the plate and enjoy everything else but in this case the entire dish is compromised. Luckily, that's not happened and everything I've eaten at Bowl has been phenomenal. It takes a lot of forethought and effort to ensure dishes, or bowls, are successful.

As much as the other recently opened downtown restaurant, Campo, touts itself as "a neighborhood place, meant to be visited many times a week," that definition is more fitting of Bowl. That's not to disparage Campo, Campo is a wonderful restaurant, but for the more budget conscious (you can easily eat at Bowl for $7 - $10, tip not included) or those who don't want to make a reservation and instead just drop in, eat some high quality food for a reasonable price a few nights a week and go, Bowl is your spot. That's not to say Bowl isn't a great place to dine or take a date, you can absolutely do that too. (I will say this, though: For those of you who've complained about Campo's "wine glasses", you're in for a treat at Bowl.) Really, Bowl is whatever you choose to make it as long as you're not trying to make it Sezmu.

Reno can be a difficult market for new restaurants. Maybe it's because we, as diners, are a fragmented, fickle group. Maybe it's because the majority of us don't understand different tiers of dining; we think if we're not wearing slacks and dress shoes a menu shouldn't include entrees over $16 (unless the portions are as big as our heads). We think it's reasonable to expect the same experience at a restaurant like Campo as we get from Olive Garden. If I have to explain why it isn't you've probably already written a Yelp review.  

For a minute, I thought you all might be right. Terror struck as I read descriptions of flat-screen TVs, wooden slabs with no tablecloths, and flowerless booths so tiny you constantly bash your knees into them like an adult at a PlaySkool kid table. Then, the prices and the portions. Deplorable! How dare they charge so much for so little? Don't they know size and amount correlate to fulfillment and deliciousness? What do they think they are in Reno anyways, some sort of Portland on the cusp? Surely, they don't have the gall to charge as much as in San Francisco. They're over two-hundred miles inland; nothing there could be as good! And wait, no bread basket? No bread basket! No soup or salad or endless breadsticks to go with this $16 half-full cereal bowl of Papp-pappa, damn Italian words, how do I pronounce you? We're American, put some friggin' American on the menu!

Then, I realized you're all wrong. Even about the stemware or lack thereof. Oh, they'll never sell a bottle of wine after everyone realizes they use "water glasses". They'll learn, just like that nobody Thomas Keller did at his Yountville restaurant, Ad Hoc, or they did in those trattorias and osterias in Italy. We'll show that jerk owner, Mark Estee from Reno, that Reno ain't no "cultural backwater"... whatever that means. Next they'll tell us smelling the cork isn't the right way to tell if wine's good! For the record: If you feel your wine requires it, you can request stemmed wine glasses. Campo's sparkling wines come in stemmed glasses without request. So does their grappa.

To be fair, I don't believe most of the good reviews either. If it's your first write-up with no profile and you give a place five-stars I assume you're a liar. Even a legitimate individual like SJ C., as she acknowledges, gave Campo a five-star review based on a pre-opening event, not an inexplicably slammed Tuesday night, which is the first time I went.

Campo is impressive. To use that oft-uttered, backhanded compliment: It didn't look like it belonged in Reno. The interior was beautiful; the whole place was humming with energy and wondrous smells and instantly made every restaurant post-Old Granite Street Eatery more glaringly misguided. Those terrible TVs I read about were confined to the bar and non-obtrusive. The missing tablecloths and flower vases, I'm sure they're inside Carino's where they belong. The dismal booths, I haven't eaten in one because I hate eating in booths. Thus far, the "water glasses" have done nothing to diminish my enjoyment of wine. If anything, I've just spilled less.

The food has been exemplary. Of course, I haven't tried it all; I don't know if the Carbonara is too salty as some say but I do know the Pappardelle is outstanding and worthy of its $16 price tag. (Fear not, gluttons; I heard they're creating two size options for each pasta dish. I assume they're just waiting for bigger cereal bowls.) The pizza Bismarck is a glorious, delectable mess of mozzarella, speck, and farm egg. The olives, while not remarkable, are passable (Pizzeria Mozza, ahem, copy Pizzeria Mozza). The salumi board is a lot of fun with its house-made mustard, mounds of "potted-pig", pistachio-laden mortadella, and subtly salty prosciutto (however, the dish could use another crostini for the amount of potted-pig); I look forward to new additions. The real star has been the cauliflower, wood roasted, served with Calabrian chilies. There are only two members of the Brassica oleracea family that give this Campo revelation a run for it's money: Broccoli at The Gorbals in Los Angeles and brussel sprouts at Momofuku Ssäm Bar in New York.

The only thing I might agree with anyone on is service. The service I've received has been fantastic (it usually is in / at the bar) but there's no doubt Campo was understaffed and overwhelmed in their first weeks. While awesome for a downtown Reno newcomer, if they gauged traffic by looking at Trinket Store / Restaurant / I Don't Get It JB Mapes they probably didn't hire enough servers, busers, etc. Not the servers faults and, yes, it can lead to confusion, incorrect orders, and bad attitudes for patrons with bad attitudes but if the restaurant's overall aesthetic is any indication they'll get it sorted out. Just as we all should've been for OGSE when it opened, we should be equally appreciative of Campo.

While I won't say I was wrong, I certainly wasn't right with my Pie Face Pizza Co. assessment. I'm going to chalk my first dismal experience up to a fluke, a chance occurrence, because I've been to Pie Face several times since and the pizza has been nothing short of exceptional.

Both delivered and in-house, the pies have been pristine, crisp, and most importantly, delicious. Instead of being overwhelmed by grease-fueled rage, I've happily been able to enjoy the flavors, appreciate the quality ingredients, and revel in the various creations. Over the past month, Pie Face has become my go-to for pizza cravings.

Furthermore, you have to love the inside of the restaurant. Go into an establishment on either side of Pie Face, located on the ground floor of the old El Cortez Hotel. Try not to think about the possibility of a staph infection. The guys have managed to transform what was presumably an unspeakable travesty into a sleek, desirable destination to get food (with an outstanding alcohol selection, as well). The effort is appreciated.

Speaking of the guys, the service at Pie Face is top-notch. Make all the tattoo / possible hipster judgments you want, the staff at Pie Face are on top of their game, pleasant, professional, and attentive. Sincerely, It's been a relief to discover what I thought they were serving at Pie Face isn't so. In fact, what they're serving is fantastic, and I'm getting hungry thinking about it.

I've long championed Ethan Stowell's Anchovies & Olives. The carefully crafted food, the unpretentious, stylish atmosphere, the impeccable service, the restaurant is about as top-notch and accessible (or affordable) as it gets. Sometimes, though, things are even better when you get to view them through the eyes of others.

On my most recent visit, I was able to bring my brother-in-law. He appreciated the zen-like aura of the open kitchen. He got a kick out of the menu's disclaimer. ("The King County Department of Health would like to inform you that consuming raw or undercooked foods may contribute to your risk of food borne illness. The chef would like to inform you that overcooking fresh seafood is a crying shame.") Although not a big seafood guy, he was open to try some of the ocean's offerings I'd raved about at Anchovies & Olives.

We showed up early for "Power Hour" ($1 oysters, $2 Peroni, $5 prosecco) and started with kumamoto oysters, garnished with "coriander ice" and grapefruit, astoundingly fresh and original. We moved onto a plate of white anchovies, lightly topped with olive oil, chives, accompanied by Arbequina olives. As I mowed through a bowl of endive, charred radicchio, egg, and anchovy dressing, I watched as my brother-in-law's lips, teeth, and napkin turn black from squid ink risotto with mint and scallops. From there, I struggled through half of my beloved Bigoli (I was running out of stomach room but I had to order it) while he decimated a hearty serving of Arctic Char. In the end, there was no room for dessert. We were beyond satisfied. His teeth had almost returned to their normal color.

My brother-in-law has had exceptional food before, and we've been at the same table for some phenomenal meals, but it was fun to share a restaurant I love and have the experience live up to the hype. I'm glad he appreciated Anchovies & Olives and enjoyed the nuances I find so wonderful about the place. It was also great to demonstrate how even foods you wouldn't typically eat can be devour-worthy when properly prepared.

"At Wurstküche, did you have the Vegetarian Mexican Chipotle?" I asked my friend, via text.
"Italian," he responded. "It was awesome. I almost made myself drive there today for it."
"I've been dreaming about that place," I replied. "I can't wait to go back."
"So, you've been dreaming about wieners. That's cool."

What is it that makes meat products in tube form so agreeable?

Much had been made of Wurstküche, the "purveyor of exotic grilled sausages", before a couple guests and I ambled around South Hewitt and 3rd asking each other, "Are we at the right place?" Indeed we were, and I'm happy to say Wurstküche lived up to the hype.

Between three people, we had the Vegetarian Italian (fennel, garlic, red peppers, and eggplant), Louisiana Hot Link (beef, pork, onions, and hot spices), Green Chillies & Cilantro (you'll never guess what's in it aside from chicken and turkey), and my pick, the Rattlesnake & Rabbit with Jalapeño. Each sausage is topped with two of the following: caramelized onions, sauerkraut, sweet peppers, or spicy peppers (I had sauerkraut and spicy peppers on my Rattlesnake & Rabbit), and there's an assortment of self-serve mustards to garnish your sausage with. We also shared a "groot", or large fry, dipping them into Sweet and Sassy BBQ and Chipotle Ketchup.

While the Louisiana Hot Link emerged as my favorite, each sausage was unique and flavorful (although I didn't try the Vegetarian). In the aptly named Green Chillies & Cilantro, the highlighted ingredients each stood out and created a beautiful balance of soothing heat; the Louisiana Hot Link was bold and spicy; the Rattlesnake & Rabbit was mildly gamey -- in a pleasant way -- and a worthwhile gamble. The sausage toppings were wonderful, and although the fries were just okay, the dipping sauces were great.

"Next time you swing through, we'll go embarrass ourselves like we did at Mozza," texted my friend, referring to the time we tried to eat five pizzas at Pizzeria Mozza by ourselves. (We successfully ate what amounted to three and a half.)
"Amen to that. They'll be like, are those guys trying to become obese in one afternoon?"

A few days later, I was sent a picture of a glass of beer and one of Wurstküche's industrial-strength order numbers (they're heavy, made out of metal), and knew my friend was moments away from deliciousness.
"Wish you were here," he rubbed in.
"You lucky son of a bitch."

It looks like we have a new favorite on our hands.

Kuleto's doesn't have to be great. A fixture of Powell Street for decades, the restaurant could thrive on the foot traffic of Union Square shoppers and unadventurous guests of the Villa Florence Hotel, which it's located inside of. They could provide mundane Italian fare at extravagant prices with sub-par service and, despite customer dissatisfaction, get away with it. That isn't what they do at Kuleto's, though; they do the opposite.

On a recent visit, a guest and I sat at the bar and stuck to antipasti. The Pizetta ($9), a do-it-yourself interplay of oozy, roasted garlic and mild blue cheese spread over rosemary flatbread, was messy and fulfilling. (I recommend squeezing all of the cloves out of the bulb at once by hand and ignoring the stares as you lick your fingers.) The Grilled Radicchio ($9) -- halved, charred, and served over singed pancetta, goat cheese, and anchovy basil dressing -- was a revelation, something I look forward to recreating in my own kitchen. The house-cured salumi plate, which comes in three different sizes at three different price points (we had the small at $14), was an assortment of Mortadella, Pork Pate, Coppa, Soppressata, Bresaola, Lonzino, Finnochiona, and the star of the show: Head Cheese. (For anyone keeping score or complaining about price at Kuleto's -- drinks, tax, and tip withstanding -- that's lunch for two people at $32.) I wanted to try the Squash Blossoms, "Saltimbocca" style, tempura fried, and dressed with smoked prosciutto, sage, and ricotta, but there wasn't any more room in my stomach.

I should note, I haven't eaten dinner, nor sat at a table, at Kuleto's in nearly five years so I cannot attest to dinner service, sound level, or food. However, I have eaten lunch at the bar -- typically over the December holidays per the request of my mother -- for nearly ten years. Service has always been personable and efficient and the food has become more and more impressive over time. I've had a variety of hearty pasta dishes, like the Linguine and Capellini, and great protein dishes like the Hangar Steak and Liberty Farms Duck Breast (and it's nice to see they're showcasing local meat sources to an extent). All have been delicious.  

Kuleto's could rest on their laurels or their long-standing position in San Francisco but they don't. Without really needing to do so, they continually raise their own bar, offering surprisingly sophisticated yet homey Italian food. Like I said, I can't confidently talk about dinner but if you're looking for solid salumi, sharable plates (even the pastas or mains) and a couple of cocktails for lunch in Union Square, you can't find much better.

I'd heard about a tapas restaurant opening in downtown Reno next to La Famiglia. I'm a big fan of tapas -- Spanish small plates -- so I was excited, but I was also cautious. Too often, restaurants are half-assed in Reno. Corners are cut, food is dumbed down, and initial visions (one would assume) are never fully realized. That's exactly the case with Fuego.

The menu is underwhelming, safe to its detriment, and disappointingly misconceived. What's with all the cheese? The Skewers Del Fuego are pieces of steak wrapped around bell peppers and jack cheese. There's a Pepper Jack Shrimp Cocktail. The Lobster Puffs are blended with cream cheese. There's Salmon Ahumado Con "Queso Blanco" (calling cream cheese "queso blanco" doesn't make it not cream cheese). Oddly, there's a bleu cheese salad. Then there's the New York Steak (why?), topped with Serrano Chile "Blue" Cheese Butter, and the Pork Medallions topped with "Bleu" Cheese. I don't know, does changing the spelling make them taste different?

For some reason, everything comes with herbed flatbread. (Sometimes "flatbread", other times "flat bread". Once again, is the difference in spelling supposed to make me think they're different, or just an indication of how lazily the menu came together?) It's perplexing because the point of tapas is to experience a lot of little different things, grazing along without stuffing yourself to the brim (although it's possible). Lifeless flatbread is filler and defeats the purpose.

This all leads me to the question I'm sure everyone who's eaten at Fuego asks: Where are the tapas? Blue cheese salad, shrimp cocktail, knock it off. Where's the chorizo? Where are marinated olives or white anchovies? How about Jamón Serrano or stuffed piquillo peppers? Prawns? Maybe Patatas Bravas or grilled octopus? Dare I even say empanadas? (Sorry; 275 Hill has forever damaged my enjoyment of them.) It's almost as if, while wanting to open a tapas restaurant, the owners fearfully did so. Like, halfway through they panicked and thought, "Oh no; Reno won't get the concept, it's too advanced. They'll think the portions too small, the flavors and ingredients too exotic. Quick, add more flatbread!" It's unfortunate because I believe a significant portion of Reno's dining crowd understands and enjoys tapas and, for the most part, knows what they entail.

I've been told Fuego's current offerings are just part of the "soft opening" menu. Flaccid is more like it. Hopefully, the head chef or owners find the time to get on a computer, peruse the menus of far superior tapas restaurants in San Francisco, New York or, I don't know, Spain (or my favorite: Bodega in Sydney, Australia), and tighten up. Until they improve their menu and start serving actual tapas (and maybe get rid the stupid margarita machines), there's no reason to eat at Fuego.

I don't like The Grill. I don't like the gaudy decor; I don't like the efficient yet bland service. I don't like the cocktail menu, I don't like the overpriced entrees, and I certainly don't like the throwaway dinner salad served with each one. (The salad makes me wonder, if you're going to serve an obligatory "beginning" with each meal, why even bother with a "Beginnings" section on your menu?)

After begrudgingly scrawling my signature across the almost-hundred-dollar dinner check (two entrees, three cocktails, and tip), I realized it's okay that I don't like The Grill. The Grill isn't catering to me; I'm not their clientele. They've been successful without much help from me for ten-plus years; they don't need my approval.

If The Grill isn't catering to my demographic, who then? It's the crowd The Grill has long been associated with: The AARP meat market. The recently divorced rich guy in his fifties out on another blind date who feels impressive dropping twenty-six dollars on short ribs (served in what I can only describe as mashed potato soup), the recently divorced older woman who orders Rombauer Chardonnay by the glass, not because it's good (it isn't) but because it's the most expensive wine on the menu, and its the only thing her inner circle drinks (aside from top-shelf vodka, of course), that's who The Grill wants filling their bar and tables, not some pretentious twenty-something who thinks he knows about food because he read a Ruhlman book.  

Realistically, The Grill is not a bad restaurant. Even though I think dinner prices are high lunch is reasonable and I'm sure it's great with all the surrounding offices. Typically, I don't write about price -- when the flavor is there and the ingredients call for cost it doesn't matter  -- but at The Grill I felt a bit cheated, and I certainly wasn't paying for atmosphere or experience.

Having said that, I'm sure a lot of people -- like The Grill's target audience -- adore the atmosphere. While I found the service dull, other's probably love the fast-paced proficiency. While I drink Manhattans and Negronis, I know women my mom's age love vodka infused with... whatever. And while I wasn't wowed by the food, others surely swear by it. The Grill and I just have to realize we're not meant for each other, and there's nothing wrong with that.

After my harsh writeup, and taking another jab during my Old Granite Street Eatery review, I realized I haven't been fair to 275 Hill, a restaurant. Sure, the food on the brunch visit was disgusting and a solid indication of what the rest of the menu had in store, but before I completely dismissed the place shouldn't I try dinner? According to some, that's when 275 Hill really shines. Besides, brunch is for amateurs and nursing hangovers. If you're going to evaluate a restaurant, you ought to do it during their prime time. So, I went to 275 Hill for dinner.

I'll spare you the suspense: dinner was just as terrible as brunch. In fact, it was worse, and further showcased everything wrong with 275 Hill.

Let's start with the chef. In each convoluted, adjective-loaded summary on the "chef driven" menu, it's made painfully clear he's in charge. The chef chooses the vegetables; the chef blends the wild mushrooms and goat cheese; the chef offers a prix fixe menu without calling it a prix fixe menu (because that might intimidate us simple Reno folk, right?), instead dubbing it "Chef's Table". Chef, chef, chef, chef, chef. Oh, you mean the guy in the denim coat, strutting around the dining room with a bluetooth headset in his ear? You mean the guy sitting in the back lot during service, smoking a cigarette for would-be customers to see and later recognize as he undoubtedly parades through the dining room again? You mean the guy who sent out that undercooked risotto and those beef-and-cheese filled shells of disappointment? (They call them empanadas; I call them abortions.) Yeah; I don't like that guy.

I don't like the chef at 275 Hill because, judging from his food and demeanor, he could care less about me or anyone else who makes the mistake of dining in his establishment. From the plating to the flavor, it's clear the chef doesn't like you. In the kitchen, as he chats on his bluetooth, feigning enthusiasm over his "craft", he probably thinks you're unworthy of his offerings, and as he scowls past you (while you're trying to make sense of the dish in front of you), he probably wants you to leave. Two insipid cocktails, a faux elk dish, empanadas that truly are madness (Who would serve or charge nearly ten dollars for those things? Only a mad man.), and fifty dollars later, I obliged him.

Everything about 275 Hill -- from the plastic 3M hangers on the bathroom doors to the mismatched plates to the cheap glass-wear -- is a joke. When considering the quality of the food and drinks, the prices are offensive. The food itself, made by a domineering chef, well, I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. If you consider 275 Hill to be a worthwhile place to spend your time and money I pity you. I won't be going back.

There's something I enjoy about fake English / Irish pubs. Despite their inauthenticity, I find them comforting. Like watching Out Cold on Comedy Central while nursing a Sunday morning hangover. After bellying up to the always-too-pristine bar, I nestle into a shot of Crown or Jameson, a pint of improperly-poured, too-cold Guinness, order what I already know will be sub-par fish and chips, and let out a sigh of relief. Whether in the Dallas / Fort Worth airport, Stockholm, Sweden, or at the Summit Sierra Mall in Reno, Nevada, in some nearly indescribable, nonsensical way, whenever I step foot in one of these places I'm home.

The Firkin & Wolf, the latest in the Firkin "group of pubs", is Bennigan's with an English flag. (Bennigan's is T.G.I.Friday's with an Irish flag.) If you're anticipating anything more you will be disappointed and, frankly, should reevaluate your expectations. The menu -- seven pages long -- features items like Irish Nachos, Sante Fe Egg Rolls, Chinese Chicken Salad, a California Turkey Melt, and Greek Pizza. There are Potato Skins, Calamari, the mandatory Chicken Caesar, Coconut Shrimp, Chili-Cheese Burger, and much much more. It's not English pub fare, nor is it even pretending to be; it's everything to everyone, as chain-restaurant menus typically are. While a cardinal sin of stand-alone, local places, it's an agreement you willingly make when entering an establishment of this kind. Chewing the meat off one of Firkin & Wolf's World Famous Wings, I closed my eyes and, wouldn't you know it, I was transported to Claim Jumper. Or Ruby Tuesday. Whatever. That's the way it is.

The bar at Firkin & Wolf, while perhaps too exposed to the rest of the dining room, is exactly what I've come to expect from my theme-park English pubs. That black, fake-wood finish, the memorabilia, plenty of flat screens playing ESPN. They've got a solid selection of beers on tap, including Hoegaarden and Great Basin's "Icky" IPA. I'm embarrassed to say I kind of like it.

Whenever I'm in the Summit Sierra Mall, going to see a movie at the nearby theater or buying some gadget from the Apple store, there's a good chance I'll stop in The Firkin & Wolf and have a pint beforehand. There's an off-chance I'll eat an illegitimate, although shamefully acceptable, Knife & Fork 'Chicago Style' Hot Dog again, too. Like I said, something about these would-be pubs entices me. Maybe it's my futile desire that they catch on to the point where people start opening real neighborhood public houses, as there are in Europe, instead of another predictable sports bar. Either way, I know to relish these mock-up pubs is wrong, but I don't always have to be right.