Trouble With Paradise

It’s Saturday night in Eden, and the gods are angry.

We’re sitting inside the small converted ranch house watching a restaurant in the midst of a serious meltdown. The air conditioning unit malfunctions. Butter melts on the plate, and our waitress, already frazzled, wipes damp wilting hair from her glistening face. People at the next table beg for cold water, but the restaurant’s only server has her hands full in a busy room, so we begin pouring for other guests.

We order a cool melon soup to start but after about 15 minutes learn the kitchen has run out. Meanwhile, three walk-ins crowd the small bench up front awaiting a table. Eventually one opens, and the waitress brings the new guests three bowls of the formerly extinct soup. We’re informed our roast hen with plum sauce is ready, but the order of Southern-style shrimp will be a few minutes. Some time later the harried server tells us that particular seafood dish is no longer a possibility, although we can substitute shrimp Creole. Our roast hen presumably still sits under a lamp somewhere in the kitchen.

This is penance for being unprepared. Chef-owner Karen Kahn’s quaint spot drew modest crowds for about six months before local food critics discovered the place. She pulled double duty, cooking meals and running the dishwasher while a single waitress worked the room. Then came the post-review onslaught.

With no one managing the front, Eden failed to balance reservations and walk-ins. We watched a number of customers abandon the place in frustration after waiting interminably for seating or food. Chaos in the dining rooms in turn caused setbacks in the kitchen, most notably during the busiest of our three visits. The plum sauce, for example, drowned any hint of roast hen in a characterless, runny, saccharine extract. White rice, which accompanies the entrée, seethed in the dentist-friendly pool of purple liquid sugar. Any sense of nuance in the Creole shrimp (when it finally arrived) was obliterated by the dry, leafy resonance of filé powder. Excessive filé powder.

As a result, some people in the room openly disputed the veracity of Dallas Morning News‘ food writers. The table next to us just chuckled at the experience. They brought along five or six bottles of wine–paradise is BYOB–and settled in for a long evening and a gentle alcoholic buzz.

These may be momentary setbacks, though. By our third visit, cool air flowed through the place, and new staff members plucked from the evacuee pool at Reunion Arena calmed things down.

When the place runs smoothly, it’s almost like visiting grandma’s for dinner. Walls are painted an unfashionable white. No curtains, just window blinds. Knickknacks scattered about. There are even antiques and cute hand-painted chairs. With casual staff and tight seating, it becomes a comfortable, chatty place. Several menu items fit the setting, such as tuna salad sandwiches and cobbler. From this genre we selected a bland meatloaf sandwich with sugary ketchup on perfectly toasted bread along with crudités (raw vegetables) accompanied by a simple mayonnaise dip. Not the most imaginative items.

Spicy pecan shrimp reveals Kahn’s more inventive side. She trained at the Hyatt and Anatole back in the mid-’70s then worked opening hotel kitchens, catering and even teaching DISD students. Eden’s eclectic menu reflects this background. Influences bounce all over the place: French, Italian and American diner food share space. There’s prime rib and the lowly peanut butter sandwich spread with jelly, chocolate hazelnut or bananas and honey. The restaurant touts Texas bullets, not completely disappointing spears of jalapeño, scraped free of seeds and stuffed with cream cheese, wrapped in bacon. Just the sort of thing you might teach vo-tech kids.

But the shellfish appetizer is the best entry point: butterflied shrimp rolled in crushed pecans, sautéed and arrayed alongside a “Southwestern” rémoulade–meaning cilantro and chiles replace the traditional elements. Sampled without the accoutrement, the shrimp are light and nutty although somewhat greasy. The sauce adds an intricate tart, sweet and herbal zing that brightens the appetizer dramatically. Same when spooned onto simple boiled shrimp.

Other memorable twists include a sage burger stacked thickly with red and yellow tomatoes, purple onions and fresh leaves of romaine. It relies on a massive amount of peppery sage and a good slice of salty feta cheese for seasoning, with mellow notes of Swiss cheese noticeable in the background. Bold and savory, it’s an extraordinary burger.

Summertime soups are delightful, as well. Offerings shift with the season, of course, so the onset of fall weather will bring hot broths. For now, we tried a simple concoction of chopped cucumber and cream reminiscent of fresh, chilled milk. The light patter of delicate vegetables is followed by the silky and luscious sensation of cream, coating your tongue and lingering while the last hint of cucumber departs. On our final visit we were treated to melon soup, a pleasant contrast of acidic mango and gentle honeydew, paired side-by-side in the bowl as a swirl of pastel orange and lime green. Puréed pineapple adds sweetness and texture to both without upsetting the flavor balance. A cream base smoothes out the acidic qualities and adds subtle richness to the experience.

Classical dishes also dot the menu. Salmon Florentine is served en croûte, with a beautifully flaky crust. The pastry surrounds a traditional presentation of mild fish and coarsely chopped spinach covered in a béchamel. Baked brie–also en croûte–with lemon honey is rich and warming. Even though honey emerges as the most prominent flavor, the natural sour/sweet combination rides nicely above the delicate cheese.

The restaurant cheats a bit on the smoked salmon starter, labeling small portions of inexpensive, salty lumpfish and smelt roe as caviar. Ah, but the smoked fish is benign and the other appointments expected, although big slabs of cream cheese undermine the look. We tried a crab, shrimp and “spinich” quiche during our first visit, a substantial egg custard that melts in the mouth, allowing other tastes and textures to stand out. The chef changes the fillings on a regular basis, so restaurant staff scribbles the day’s options on whiteboards placed in each of the restaurant’s two small dining rooms.

And, yes, they misspelled spinach; it can be a charming spot.

Further allurements: the BYOB policy keeps meal costs down, and they don’t charge a corkage fee. Appetizers are offered as plates or “dim sum,” meaning half-size portions. Lunch and dinner start with a selection of breads–zucchini, banana nut and jalapeño cornbread. The first two are sweet and dense, with the nut bread providing a caramelized, bitter dimension. The latter counters with a vegetal piquancy lurking behind the light cornmeal base. And Eden offers a substantial list of desserts, including seasonal specialties. The pecan pie, our choice, featured exquisite creamy filling covered and infused with chopped nuts.

There’s a price restaurants pay for ignoring the dining habits of Dallas residents. Buzz generated by press or word of mouth in the right circles creates an immediate surge in business, and any chef with experience should understand the process and prepare for it. For two critical weeks, however, Eden was a troubled place.

Too bad, really. Eden may never be paradise, but it’s a pretty good little restaurant. 4416 W. Lovers Lane. 972-267-3336.

Wednesday through Monday.