Attractive clientele or great service? Top-notch cocktails or fine dining? All is in play at Barter
A TALE OF TWO PIGGIES | Barter’s spare ribs, opposite, were unexpectedly tough, while the shank, above, though tender and generous, was notably undercooked. (Arnold Wayne Jones/DallasVoice)
ARNOLD WAYNE JONES | Life+Style Editor
When Barter opened late last fall, a friend managed to walk in during the soft opening; I asked him how the food was. He looked at me with a puzzled look.
“I don’t remember,” he said, “but there were a lot of hot guys.”
There are worse reasons to patronize an establishment in this day and age. Indeed, one of the best reasons to go to a bar is the eye-candy quotient of the clientele.
Atmosphere isn’t just about decor and theme; people-watching may be America’s true national pasttime.
Even if Barter — in the space along McKinney next to Del Frisco’s Grille, previously occupied by Private|Social — didn’t have great-looking menfolk lingering around, the signature cocktails could bring me back to its bar. The drinks are reasonably priced ($10 to $12 range mostly), with deft takes on classic concoctions. The rusty screw (an adaptation of the traditional rusty nail) gives whiskey a polish while still engaging you with its heat, while a peach-flavored martini proved good enough to make me want to root for Georgia Tech. Yes, if you’re just going to Barter for the booze, you could do a lot worse.
But if you’re going to Barter for the food, you could do a lot better. When it comes to food, we tend to be pickier than we are with our drinks, and the cutest waiter isn’t gonna make an overdone steak taste any better. There’s a reason why the proof of the pudding is in the eating — looking at it is meaningless if the taste is left wanting.
That was the exact situation with the spare-rib appetizer on one recent trip to Barter. The serving of six ribs ($12) arrived cross-hatched and stacked like a log cabin, and despite the superfluous afterthought of a dusting of chives, they invited our eyes. But for the circuit to be closed, the food had to make sparks on the tongue. My dining companion was frothing at the mouth in anticipating of savoring these thick cut, generously glazed crescents of succulent pork. And … and… Huh.
The overused methodology about ribs evaluating is that the best are “fall-off-the-bone” tender. It’s a trite-and-true cliché — no less accurate despite its gimmickiness. The meat here not only didn’t fall off, it seemed to be clinging on for dear life. I’ve seen drowning victims grip life preservers with less determination than the meat steadfastly remained bound to the bone. When I was finally able to gnaw loose random strips of flesh, the flavors were adequate (if a little on the sweet side), but that may have been due in part to the hunger I’d amassed struggling to rend it free.
Not an auspicious start, but there’s always room for improvement. The next course could definitely still turn the tide.
And perhaps if the next course had arrived in oh, say, 10 or even 15 minutes, a more direct comparison would have been possible. But no — I glanced over my shoulder for nearly a count of 20, which seemed extraordinarily long considering the paucity of a crowd. That did give me a chance to look beyond tha patrons and eyeball the décor, which has been modified but not wholesale-abandoned since the Private|Social days. The bar, still a focal point, has been given a slightly cluttered, rustic makeover, overflowing with tchotchkes and a cozy warmth. The dining room is earthier than the elegant style of P|S — friendly and unfussy without being unduly casual. I could see joining pals after work for a beverage and a bite.
But probably not a full meal. One of our entrees, a very reasonably-priced crab fajita plate ($16 at lunch, $18 at dinner), arrived as a whole soft-shell crab spread-eagled across a cast iron skillet, a confetti of onions adorning it like petals thrown down the bridal aisle by a flower girl. A side of tortillas, salsas and cojita cheese was provided, but proved largely superfluous. The crab was easy to enjoy as-is, flecked as it was with a sprightly chile salsa. Still, it wasn’t all that filling. (Maybe empty carbs was the true purpose of the tortillas.)
The pork shank ($16/$18) made up for the paucity of crab in terms of sheer mass. The meat seemed less placed on the plate a part of it, like the Rock of Gibraltar emerging from the sea. I’ve seen whole chicken roasters with less meat on them. Initially, it won me over. The glaze was gooey, the pork itself a level above the ribs, and the medley of meat with large-kernel hominy-corn side danced like a Viennese waltz. Then further along, my knife peeled back the meat from the bone, where I was confronted with … blood.
Not an arterial gusher, perhaps, but liquid redness nonetheless, and if there’s anything you don’t wanna see at a restaurant, it’s hemoglobin gurgling near the bone in chicken or pork. Underdoneness of those proteins can spell trouble in the courtroom as much as the kitchen, and the preparation failed to instill confidence in the rest of the meal. That meant starting over with another visit — fresh eyes and fresh palate.
There was improvement. The twin pasta ($16/$18) — so named for its gemilli corkscrews — was another hearty portion (you’ll never walk away from the table hungry here). Tossed with an oily herb butter and an assortment of hen of the woods mushrooms as well as shavings of black truffle, it sang a peasant, woodsy tone. Atop, knobs of skin-on chicken leg, reminiscent of a duck confit, added volume to the protein. A flavorless crumble of ricotta could be overlooked with the addition of crunchy housemade pancetta. Overall, though, it was too heavy.
It didn’t help that the pasta arrived too quickly on the heels of the tomato basil soup starter ($3 cup/$6 bowl). Less creamy than the progenitor of the recipe (La Madeleine), its terra cotta color and dollop of basil made for a chewy and herbaceous app for one of our recent rainy May meals, but I can’t imagine it staying a popular choice during Dallas summers.
I sense that the proprietors at Barter are aware of their market appeal as a tavern with food more than a restaurant with drinks. The first three letters of the name (highlighted with incandescent bulbs in the dining room) suggest the BAR is where the business is; indeed, the menu has two pages of drinks and only one of food.
Still, I haven’t given up on it quite yet. I haven’t tried the by-the-ounce steaks (a regal concept) and despite being enticed by desserts, those have flown under my radar so far, though Patron XO in a pecan pie sounds like an awesome idea. Indeed, despite a comparatively limited menu, the selection suggests real thought, and prices are moderate, even at dinner. There’s more exploring to be done, and it might be possible there is a magic combination of drinks and small plates that will strike the perfect balance of acceptable food and delightful cocktails. Life is full of such trade-offs, especially if you’re called Barter.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition May 30, 2014.