Audio By Carbonatix
The demands of life force little trade-offs every day. Burgers and fries are far more appealing than a simple green salad, for example, but a constant diet of the all-American combo may transform those once-healthy arteries into grease traps. Even worse, it could turn you into a documentary film director. A few moments lounging on the comfortable old couch robs you of billable hours or some stroke of entrepreneurial genius.
Time is money, after all. And if so, just pulling in to the valet station at Nick & Sam’s on a busy night is one expensive endeavor.
Mid-evening on a Friday, as the known world descended on the place, we spent 10 minutes blocking traffic on Maple Avenue waiting for parking pros to clear the lane. At least a dozen others suffered the same predicament. Following another weekend outing, we dallied outside for almost half an hour while harried guys in modest uniforms struggled to locate and return a line of silver Mercedes to their rightful leasers. Yet the investment of time at Nick & Sam’s yields something more than fictive personal cost. Each visit consumed close to five hours–conversing, working through the courses, sipping wine–and it passed quickly. The waitstaff never rushed the meal, never urged us to move on so they could seat another group.
Time, therefore, also becomes a measure of civility. Complimentary caviar–lumpfish roe, actually–sets expectations. Dyed to resemble the endangered stuff from Stone Age Caspian sturgeon, it’s a serviceable replacement: firm eggs that pop cleanly on the tongue. Amber lighting adds a dim patina of age and worldliness to the room. Wines ordered by the glass are poured tableside with much of the traditional sommelier song and dance, as if that $9 Syrah demanded attention. For the most part service flows seamlessly. Our group one evening included two guests in wheelchairs, and restaurant staff arranged tables well in advance so as not to crowd the bulky chairs.
Ah, but the presentation of off-menu steaks by a waiter bearing uncooked beef wrapped in cellophane betrays the elegance.
Abrasive little flaws occasionally undermine the confidence and refinement of Nick & Sam’s. Take the opening selections, for example. Hudson Valley foie gras is an ethereal experience. Lightly seasoned and seared, it wavers in consistency between melting butter and softened cream cheese while delicate, musty flavors flirt with your tongue. A Sauternes served alongside adds a deep, luscious aftertaste of concentrated fruit. Thin slices of bold Scottish smoked salmon disintegrated pleasantly with each bite. Farm-raised quail retained a wild almost sweet taste–an impressive bird bathed in a subtle molasses glacé sparked by occasional needle pricks of cumin and ginger. Good so far? Even a traditional oysters Rockefeller, prepared with shallots, bacon and spinach baked in a sauce remarkably similar to Alfredo aroused excitement, what with the beautiful combination of plump shellfish, creaminess jolted by a little crunch, a whiff of smoky salt and the clashing bitterness of fresh greens.
Then the trade-off: mozzarella salad and lobster bisque. Soup is more of an afterthought in a place dedicated to heavy, multi-course meals. Praised by our server as an outstanding and decadent “soup of the day,” it instead disappointed with a nasty sweet/sodium overload reminiscent of Campbell’s. The plain purée toned down the lobster’s sublime nature so the whole became less than the parts. Credit the kitchen at least for presenting watery bisque thickened only with rice, though. Too many local restaurants turn out gummy varieties more appropriate for New England chowders. Meanwhile, the mozzarella salad bombed thanks to bland, mushy tomatoes.
Nick & Sam’s courts perfection but never quite manages to pull it off. On two occasions we ordered the 10-ounce fillet, rare. Too much heat on the edges erased the robust flavor and silky texture combination that draws carnivores to aged prime beef. But the center was tender and melted away, leaving a comforting residue of taste and tackiness. Chef Samir Dhurandhar and his kitchen dust each cut with a little salt and pepper–that’s all, no need to dress up steak at its finest. Another time we ordered a heftier piece of meat. Half of the porterhouse was glorious under the crust. The other side, however, contained an overabundance of chewy gristle and proved quite easy to resist. An aggressive char across the entire piece apparently included burnt grill detritus and almost ruined the steak. Some bites carried the flat, hard and black shards familiar to anyone dropping hot dogs into a campfire and surely must have been the result of either an unforeseen break in the cleaning schedule or an accident on the line. Still, the tenderloin half managed to survive such harsh treatment.
On our final visit we opted for something more expensive, hoping price alone would ensure a flawless meal. Six ounces of Kobe beef boasted immensely dense flavor. Still, we ordered it rare, but the color and texture suggested somewhere between medium rare and medium. Indeed, the prime fillet fell apart under pressure from a fork while the richer California Kobe required more effort.
If we returned the semi-offending steak, the kitchen would certainly have made amends. Let’s face it, though, an $84 piece of meat should draw special attention from line cooks. Besides, Nick & Sam’s presumably specializes in quality beef, plating a hundred or so fillets and 75 bone-in tenderloins each night.
Timing is everything in a professional kitchen. Under intense heat, a steak reaches the rare stage quickly, and trained cooks know it’s impossible to rescue something left on the grill too long–a fate one of our companions who ordered swordfish understands all too well. Firm to begin with, overcooking dried out the big fish and toughened it up into a grayish hunk of chewy nothingness so parched that a mere bite sucked up most of the mouth’s natural moisture.
Imbalance defines the place. The prominence of garlic in most side dishes probably excites lovers of the stinging bulb, but other flavors recede or disappear completely under the onslaught. Mushrooms, for instance, resemble brown lobes of garlic. Broccolini, on the other hand, starts with a solid, bitter belt of the stuff, followed by a peppery burn that unfolds slowly, pounces, then dissipates, leaving a soft vegetal reminder.
Crème brûlée and peach bread pudding are light and subtle desserts, a nice way to finish. The brownie sundae, however, merely elicited a mournful “eh” from our guests.
Yet Nick & Sam’s generally picks itself up and brushes off the crumbs. Diver scallops are sweet and substantial. Lamb tenderloin is tender and gamy, enhanced by an herbal flair. The crab cocktail appetizer features large chunks of meat presented simply. And those ubiquitous rings of fried calamari beat the stuff served at most Dallas restaurants.
Ultimately, an evening at Nick & Sam’s is an investment of time and money. In return? Welcoming service, an atmosphere of confidence and a reminder that the outcome of any decision–where to dine, what to order–will meet, exceed or fall well below expectations.
You just won’t know which. 3008 Maple Ave., 214-871-7444. Open 4 p.m.-10 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and 4 p.m.-11 p.m. Friday and Saturday. $$$$
