Restaurants with trite, one-syllable names are all the rage among trendy food snobs (and Patrick Bateman, the antihero from Bret Easton Ellis' "American Psycho") but often collapse under the weight of their own pretensions. Cured is a notable exception, seeing as its name refers not only to the restaurant's immense climate-controlled meat curing room but also to chef/owner Steve McHugh's winning battle against lymphoma. Cured is a simple name for a restaurant with cuisine that's anything but simple; it's one of the Southwest's most inventive foodie destinations and well deserving of the praise bestowed upon it in countless publications.
At the heart of the restaurant, both literally and figuratively, stands the aforementioned glass-enclosed room wherein McHugh and team cure a variety of meats for their signature offering, a charcuterie platter available in three sizes: three, six, or nine items priced at $18, $26, and $34, respectively. These delights vary depending on season and whimsy but feature staples such as salami and porchetta and comparatively obscure items with intimidating, polysyllabic names such as loukanka (a dry Bulgarian sausage) and finocchiona (literally "fennel salami" in Italian). If you see an item with which you are unfamiliar, don't hesitate to ask your server; he or she will offer a thorough explanation. Those new to charcuterie would do well to cut their teeth at Cured and savor not only the meats but also the numerous accoutrements: an assortment of house-made jams and pickled veggies, mustards, locally sourced honeycomb, and thin crackers. The crackers are delicious on their own but pair well with the whipped pork butter (i.e., pork fat) and chicken liver mousse.
Moving beyond charcuterie, Cured features one of the city's best burgers: the aptly named Blue Ribbon Burger. The meat, ground on the premises, consists of a blend of chuck, short ribs, and house-cured bacon. McHugh gives the patty a hard sear on a griddle, ladles it with a proprietary blend of Gouda and sharp Cheddar spiked with sodium citrate (the magic ingredient that gives the cheese its creamy, gooey consistency), adds a dollop of onion jam to cut the richness, and sandwiches it between a house-made bun sturdy enough to withstand the juices. Apparently, I am not alone in my praise of the Blue Ribbon Burger; Texas Monthly recently included it among their "Top 50 Burgers" in the state. A single would be sufficient for the masses, but I have been known to scarf down a triple with relative ease.
"Beer Can Mussels" are another winner. The kitchen bathes the P.E.I. bivalves in a sauce of Pabst Blue Ribbon (another hipster cliche that just so happens to work in this context), butter, herbs, and cubes of house-smoked Tasso ham. The accompanying fries are excellent on their own, but McHugh gilds the lily with whipped garlic aioli, an indulgence worth every extra calorie.
If you are lucky enough to visit during Happy Hour, consider taking advantage of the seldom-advertised special: fried quail legs drizzled with honey. At only 50 cents each, you could easily make a meal out of twenty. If you share my tendency to overindulge, then limit yourself to a more conservative number (let's say ...nineteen) and consider them an appetizer.
Desserts are equally playful and inspired. One notable option, labeled deceptively as "chocolate" on the menu, features a log of vanilla ice cream topped with hot fudge and plated alongside toasted, homemade marshmallow fluffs infused with pine oil. If the intent was to evoke nostalgic imagery of toasting marshmallows in a piney forest, then the plan succeeded brilliantly.
The Pearl has become synonymous with cutting edge cuisine (Osteria Il Sogno, Supper, Botika, the recently unveiled Bottling Dept., etc.), but Cured is perhaps the most noteworthy. The rest of the country is beginning to take notice, too; in addition to winning many local accolades, McHugh has been nominated for the highly prestigious James Beard award on multiple occasions since the restaurant's inception in 2013. I am proud to call myself a regular. read more