I went with the other half on Saturday night and we kicked things off with a drink at the bar; he ordered a bottled ale from a long list of lesser known beers which pleased him no end, and I indulged my party mood with a generously mixed Southern Belle (iced enough but not so much that I felt short changed.) We hadn’t booked, but our table was ready long before the half hour stipulated by the bartender.
The restaurant is an intimate one with tables running down one side of a narrow room, opposite the bar and two bookable booths. A4 brown paper menus and “rustic” style wine glasses will be familiar to aficionados of Libby’s. The kitchen, which must have been extremely hot that night given the stifling weather, is at the back, and despite the heat some witty banter looked like it was flowing over the grill and brought through by the plethora of friendly and very attentive staff. Someone’s had a great time putting together a playlist for this place. Much feet tapping and swaying to the likes of Sheryl Crow’s “All I Wanna Do” and smatterings of Elvis had us (and not just us) singing along between mouthfuls.
Nothing so “suspiciously minded” about the menu however, which feels both genuine and well researched. The broad Southern States theme gives diners some tough choices, but we were there specifically to try the burgers. The other half ordered the Pulled Pork – and I had The Smoker. Both burgers were full-on, can’t-lift-them-up-to-eat, so-better-tackle-with-cutlery affairs. Meltingly tender with good relishes providing bright contrast and the fries, seasoned to perfection, were crisp and pert on the outside, soft in the middle. Bonus marks to the coleslaw, frankly the best I have ever tasted, and the recipe for which I would pay good money for. I think the other half “won” on his choice (but only marginally) due to the deeply savoury notes in the pork. We both however felt that the bread buns had their work cut out. While there’s no doubting that the bread is of great quality, as a vessel for its delectable cargo, it’s just not man enough for the job, disintegrating all too easily. Let’s face it, no-one wants soggy bread, however delicious the juices. I could go either way on the presentation. The bright red plastic baskets feel a little gimmicky at first, but just about get away with it, and wasn’t a deal breaker particularly in light of diners also being offered a roll of kitchen paper in lieu of napkins. (I’ve been apologetically dishing out sheets of kitchen roll to guests in our house for years, unaware that this may be in fact, the new thing to be doing). Our appetites maxed out on the burgers, we skipped pudding in favour of another drink. (Though I’m bookmarking the apple pie next time.) So, another beer for him, an attention-seeking cherry brandy for me, the colour of strawberry jelly, topped with cream. A jammy dodger of a cocktail.
The other half is looking forward to a return visit so he can do the boy in a sweet shop bit over the beer menu. I shall be ordering the ribs and the corn that I missed out on this time. I’d also like to see a greater choice of cocktails on the menu, and a couple of paler Rose wines on the list wouldn’t go amiss. Formal fine dining this aint, but it’s a lip-smacking load of fun, plastic red baskets, sticky fingers and all. We’ll be going back, and soon.
