Felix's
I know, I know. I totally skipped this month. It didn't deserve skipping and I am ashamed.
Quick highlights:
Felix's is located in the newly hip Highlands area north and west of downtown. It looks like the kind of place I would love to go to every week if I were a better sort of person, the kind that drank piquant wines, and carried clutch purses stuffed with cloth hankies. But I'm not, so I settled into the bench seat, slightly away from the ceiling to floor windows that faced the picturesque street.
The menu, not long (which i guess is a good thing, meaning the chefs had a good things to get really right instead of staking blind stabs at many things), reads like a best-of-Julia-Childs greats. I think all but one of us went for the pre-fixed menu. The choices were few but just too good looking, we had to limit ourselves that much more.
I went for the Beef Stew (notice I am not attempting the French title), which came with a wild pile of greens with a perfect round crouton and smear of goat cheese. The vinaigrette was lemony and fresh. The beef stew arrived in a half-globe bowl of white porcelain, filled artfully with tender tender beef, baby potatoes, interloping mushrooms, and little carrots which had been pared down to dagger points all in a reduced red wine sauce. Again I wished I were that better person and could have appreciated the taste of wine, but I still loved it. I repeated the words "Beof Burgenion" (is that even close? No? Well, what are you gonna do?) over and over to drive in the fact of what I was eating. I felt like I stepped off the screen during a showing of Julie and Julia.
Also represented on the table was Coq Au Van (better? no? sorry) and a lovely simple steak for my lovely steak loving friend.
The service wasn't great. It seemed the waiter liked the two other occupied tables more than us, since they got constant wine refills and we had to go to the bar to beg for a water pitcher. But maybe that's the French way? They do let you linger as long as you want over a dinner.
One thing that was particularly winning of them was dessert. With our preset meals, five of us got a profiterole, a puffed pastry filled with vanilla ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Our poor entree only friend didn't have one coming to her with her meal. This fact broke our sweet waiter's heart and he included her in the merriment that only a carb-fest inspires.
Soom day, when I have the clutch purse and cloth hankies enough, I'll venture up to the Highlands again and maybe give those wine soaked veggies another chance.
I know, I know. I totally skipped this month. It didn't deserve skipping and I am ashamed.
Quick highlights:
Felix's is located in the newly hip Highlands area north and west of downtown. It looks like the kind of place I would love to go to every week if I were a better sort of person, the kind that drank piquant wines, and carried clutch purses stuffed with cloth hankies. But I'm not, so I settled into the bench seat, slightly away from the ceiling to floor windows that faced the picturesque street.
The menu, not long (which i guess is a good thing, meaning the chefs had a good things to get really right instead of staking blind stabs at many things), reads like a best-of-Julia-Childs greats. I think all but one of us went for the pre-fixed menu. The choices were few but just too good looking, we had to limit ourselves that much more.
I went for the Beef Stew (notice I am not attempting the French title), which came with a wild pile of greens with a perfect round crouton and smear of goat cheese. The vinaigrette was lemony and fresh. The beef stew arrived in a half-globe bowl of white porcelain, filled artfully with tender tender beef, baby potatoes, interloping mushrooms, and little carrots which had been pared down to dagger points all in a reduced red wine sauce. Again I wished I were that better person and could have appreciated the taste of wine, but I still loved it. I repeated the words "Beof Burgenion" (is that even close? No? Well, what are you gonna do?) over and over to drive in the fact of what I was eating. I felt like I stepped off the screen during a showing of Julie and Julia.
Also represented on the table was Coq Au Van (better? no? sorry) and a lovely simple steak for my lovely steak loving friend.
The service wasn't great. It seemed the waiter liked the two other occupied tables more than us, since they got constant wine refills and we had to go to the bar to beg for a water pitcher. But maybe that's the French way? They do let you linger as long as you want over a dinner.
One thing that was particularly winning of them was dessert. With our preset meals, five of us got a profiterole, a puffed pastry filled with vanilla ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Our poor entree only friend didn't have one coming to her with her meal. This fact broke our sweet waiter's heart and he included her in the merriment that only a carb-fest inspires.
Soom day, when I have the clutch purse and cloth hankies enough, I'll venture up to the Highlands again and maybe give those wine soaked veggies another chance.
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