Segaris is located in a small, nondescript house on the Durham side of Maxie Street. There's no big sign - just a small yellow sign barking that parking is for "Segaris only" and a more formal, though equally small, placard outside the door declaring rather meekly: "Segaris."
With a slight tongue in cheek modesty, the back of the menu relates the history of the self-proclaimed institute of Sam Segaris and his various bars and restaurants. The current incantation is a rebuild of the previous location which burned down in 2003. The absence of a sign is explained with great pride as a result of old man Segaris refusing to pay for another permit when the City of Houston refused to transfer the permit for the old location which burned down just before the sign could be built.
So how did I come to Segaris? It certainly wasn't the signage. It also wasn't the location or the exterior of the building. Indeed, I have driven by the location a number of times and thought of it as perhaps some local bar or hole in the wall. It was not advertising or an eye grabbing notice - instead, it was a single instance of word of mouth:
"You've NEVER been to Segaris? Oh man, they have GREAT seafood. It's an INSTITUTION. Make a reservation! Pack a wallet, it's not cheap - the prices aren't even on the menu!" It sounded too good to be true: a well kept secret, individually owned, great food, and a one of a kind of experience - it was: too good to be true, that is.
Segaris claims itself a seafood kitchen. The additional entrees of lamb, steak, chicken, and veal appear to be stand by staples as opposed to house specialties. The laundry list of seafood appetizers, soups, salads and entrees makes it clear: stick to the seafood, you landlubber! And so we did.
I had their self-proclaimed "famous" seafood and sausage gumbo, the grilled red fish, topped with shrimp and crab meat, and the included side of my choice (rosemary potatoes, fries, mixed medley: onions, asparagus, sausage, tomatoes, and mushrooms, or a few other choices). I chose the mix medley.
Service was prompt and friendly. I had anticipated (based upon the word of mouth) a more formal setting. I wore a suit from work and had my tie in the car just in case. It became apparent as I pulled in to the "we'll need repavin' in 2-3 years" parking lot that a tie would not be necessary. This was underscored by the purple neon lining the edge of the roof and the rainbow of odd shaped colors falling on the hood of my car, cast by the stained glass window of a chubby, bearded chef carrying a dish. While no one was sporting a wife beater and jorts (jean shorts for the culturally illiterate), flannels and mom jeans abounded.
The building itself sits atop typical Heights piers and beam construction. I could feel the hollowness below the floors as I walked. Hit with the fried seafood smell floating out of the kitchen, I was reminded of the small well-to-do seafood restaurants scattered across the Texas coast in towns such as Surf Side. The entry way is stubbornly ADA compliant, forcing all who enter to traverse the zig zag ramp. For those who care to smoke, you will find yourself in good company with the patrons, wait staff, and manger, all of whom take turns on a small porch overlooking beautiful, war torn Durham.
The decor is an odd mix of "old fart" and modern. The "God I wish I had six in my party so I could sit there" booth that occupies the focal point of the dining room is smartly surrounded in leather panels, as is the ceiling. The bar is nothing to write home about and the rest of the restaurant is decorated in mismatching artwork and clever little drawings from the 30s and 40s (this theme is echoed in the men's room as well).
The dining room is small and while we had no problem getting in at 7:30 P.M. on a Monday, it did actually kind of, sort of, well...fill up. There are tops ranging from 2 - 6, with most tops accommodating 4-5. Other than an early Monday or Tuesday, I would make a reservation. I could see this place being a packed blast Wednesday through Saturday.
So what about the food?! The "famous" gumbo was so so. I was expecting much more. The flavor was right, but it tasted like it had been simmering, waiting for me, or anyone else to order it for hours. The shrimp appears to have been added long before it was served to me. That subtle decision is the difference between holding back the service of the bowl two minutes while the shrimp cooks in the heat of the gumbo, arriving moist, and serving me immediately with stringy, overcooked shrimp. The fish was only slightly better - reminding me of an amateur job well done at home, but not the gourmet subtlety I would expect from an institution.
Two words came to mind as I finished my meal "Kingfish Market." The chef must smoke as well.
Dinner for 2 with a bottle of wine: $130 with a $22 tip.
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