Clueless friend: "It's an Irish bar."
Savvy me: "No, it's a bar bar. And if it were Irish, wouldn't it be a pub?"
This set off a conversation much too long and tedious to recount. We decided that while Highlands Tavern is a tavern, it's distinctly not Irish, although it wouldn't be a bad place to take anyone of Irish descent.
The Tavern has been a favorite of ours since... we can't remember. That's generally how the next morning goes as well. Brian and Eun have been talking about this kitchen project forever, but 'til now, it's been just that. Lots and lots of talk. It's not a bad space, with ample seating that just never seemed too enticing. They tried candles once. That's about the height of decor for the place. But that's okay, it's a bar. Or tavern.
My girlfriend, Mr. Clueless and the baby grab one of their open tables in the center of the room. There's another table seated to our left, but that's it, and they're wrapping up. I loathe eating in an empty establishment. The bar is full as usual, though, so we have some background noise and people watching fodder. My buddy, on pure reflex alone, disses our server and grabs a round of PBR's from the bar. Being industry myself, I shame him properly as she approaches. If you're going to occupy space, be aware of WHO is responsible for taking care of you and order with THEM. It's her table to make money on, not a bartender!
Our server is super friendly, probably tipped off by the excellent bar staff that we're regulars. She runs through the special of the night, a potato skin all fancied up. Then there's a sandwich. We manage to stay attentive through all six, count them SIX, specials this poor girl has to tell us about. I do this for a living and struggled to remember three. Keep it simple, Tavern. Most people would have tuned out after two.
We start with the skins, and I'm going to take on the Porkstavaganza, with Clueless opting for two Little Fatties and the Chili. The Slidget (my affectionate nickname for the girlfriend that combines sad, little, and midget into one perfect word) opts for the sandwich special of turkey, avocado, bacon, tomato. Draft PBR holds a special place in my unsophisticated heart, so I pound another down. Yes, this is the Tavern I know and love.
We are given share plates without having to ask (thanks!) and the skins come about 15 minutes later. Being the only active table and having a little buzz, I'm noticably impatient. Okay, I'm being a brat. I'm especially bummed when the potatoes are a little undercooked. They're filled with more undercooked potato, bacon, tomato, scallions and cheddar, all neatly diced. On the side is an herb aioli that is too thin for it's namesake. If you're serving them with ranch, just call it ranch. You won't hurt our feelings.
I'm still eating a skin as our plates arrive and feel rushed and violated and yes, more bratty. I help bus the shares out of her way and we are bombarded with grub. We make two special requests that we were assured wouldn't be a problem: no pickles (extra bread) on my plate, no sauce on her sandwich.
My plate? Loaded the eff up with pickles. Their sous, Jeremy, thinks pickling is the greatest. I've tried them before and think they're under brined. The Porkstavaganza comes with Clyde's sausage, braised bacon (my current crush), pork shoulder and a cured pork (sopressata). The extra bread isn't a luxury, it's a must. The server is courteous and returns with my correct plate a few moments later.
Slidget's sammich has the onion relish, which she thinks is bland enough to eat without returning it. This is why I love her, she's a much better human being than I. Our server is having her dinner at the bar, so while my third beer is empty and our silverware was cleared, we're left to wait. My friend is ripping into his Little Fatties, which he loves, but agrees that the pickles are off. I feel vindicated. The chili, he assures me, is also superb. He offers me his spoon. I politely decline.
The Porkstavaganza is one of my new favorite plates. The sausage and shoulder are flavorful, juicy and great with the toast, which is perfectly buttery and crisp, without being dry or crackery. The sauces, a horsey mustard and chipotle bbq, are well balanced and have a great tangy quality. The braised bacon, cut from a slab, is thick and salty and melts in your mouth. I want all of my bacon to me this bacon from now on. It's the Manhattan Project of bacon. I woke up from a dead sleep a few nights later muttering "braised bacon" and the Slidge had to rock me back to sleep. It's tremendous.
In a bacon induced stupor, I clumsily spill my fourth beer all over my buddy. The server is funny and doesn't make me feel like an ass, but everyone agrees it's time to go. We also agree that, for a tavern, bar, or pub, the food is damn classy. Kudos on your new kitchen, boys! You're turning out some great plates. read more