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Flair's chef and owner, J.P. Anderson, seems to understand that simple can be very, very exciting when the basics are never compromised. Dinner: Mon.-Thurs. 5-9 p.m.; Flair's double-cut, sugar-cured and LOVE A FLAIR Many incarnations later, my husband and I are locking hands at 736 Bellefonte, welcoming a new restaurant called Flair, a walk-down that reminds me of urban Boston. It's a neat, jaunty, ultra-modern sanctuary in the midst of cosmopolitan chaos. For those who might have tunnel vision as they hurry to buy cards and jeans, "Flair" is projected in cursive onto the sidewalk via a red spotlight shining through an overhead lens, like the mark of the rabbit hole that led Alice into her subterranean world. Of course, things have changed over the years, and though Shadyside has lost some of its appetite for small, unique entrepreneurs, it's good to see a small guy appear in the neighborhood again, complementing larger institutional businesses. By the time my head had stopped spinning from all the déjà vu, I heard someone at the next table remark, "I'd give anything for the secret to the salad dressing from the old Pasta Piatta [another famous occupant of 736 Bellefonte]." "Gorgonzola cheese," I called over politely. A lawyer friend who waited tables at Piatta through law school debunked the myth at a party once, swearing the raw materials of the salad were simple; it was the gorgonzola that made the salad as famous as the pasta. The no-frills dining room is upholstered in banquettes in muted earth tones, complemented by shining hardwood floors and inlaid poplar tables for a neo-minimalist look-plain but chic. A second room off the first is a tad more romantic, with a full bar and some sleight of hand to avoid cubic boredom. My favorite touch there is an electric fireplace garnishing the recessed "pit" from the old Piatta days-it sucks the chill from your marrow on brisk evenings and hypnotizes you on warm ones, and it's a great spot for cozying up with the right person. The music is likely to be smoky jazz. "A relief," quips my husband. "Those lounge-lizard crooners could slide into the most unlikely places; it could take months to exterminate the critters." As we wind up our game of Shadyside trivia, owner/chef J.P. Anderson shares his own: He brought his prom date here in 1982, when it was Pasta Piatta.
A Flair favorite is the shrimp and scallop spedini. Photo by Laura Petrilla "Continental with a twist," he says. "No matter who walks in the door, I want them to find something they understand, something they perceive as a value and, through presentation and quality ingredients, find those simple dishes to be exceptional." It almost sounds rehearsed, but it's Anderson's way, as unabashed in philosopher mode as when donning his comedic persona. "Owning a restaurant isn't just a job, it's a disease," laughs the man who fell into the business from the ground up, washing dishes at Greentree Inn at 13. After graduating from the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, N.Y., he worked in New York, Minnesota, Illinois and Texas, where he briefly jumped ship to deal Kobe beef. His parents drew him back home, and in 2002, he opened J.P.'s in Somerset. Flair is his latest venture, open since March. Once Anderson has you down the stairs and through the door and he's certain you're comfortable, the machinations of a well-oiled dining room begin to churn. Admittedly finicky about product, Anderson has crafted a core menu that's well-thought-out: Texas brown shrimp, St. Croix grouper, Fundi Bay salmon, sushi-grade swordfish caught off the coast of the Carolinas. We like the mini crab cakes, offered as a starter. They're Gulf Coast-style (as opposed to Maryland-style), echoing their origins in a Houston country club, and feature 50 percent jumbo, 20 percent backfin and 20 percent claw meat, allowing the fat-and hence the flavor-to make for a richer profile. Artichoke casserole, popular in this category, is an old-school recipe that sneaks up on you, rich and a little too sweet, but with that immediate jolt that keeps you coming back for more. One entree offers attractive vegetables with soup or choice of three salads, including a true Caesar with coddled egg, all made to order. Extras that aren't a la carte seem like pampering these days. The roster of classics includes a double-cut smoked pork chop, a 150-year-old Anderson family recipe-"Irish, Irish, IRISH!" notes Anderson-that's cured one week then slow-smoked over hickory and cherry "as close to what the Irish call bacon as you'll find." Chicken marsala, perfectly sautéd sans flour or thickener, is clean but demure with the finest wine and tiny button mushrooms. Grouper romano, a house favorite, uses small, estuarian bay dwellers from St. Croix that prey on shellfish, rendering a sweeter taste, lighter flake. Steaks are reliably gorgeous, cool in the middle, charred and grainy on the outside. Anderson believes that if he builds a level of trust, eventually even the most monastic palate might be coaxed into uncharted territory. Specials are for just such purposes: newfangled dishes such as shrimp berardi with buffalo mozzarella wrapped in proscuitto, served with wilted greens and lemon; or sesame-crusted tuna with "ying yang" sushi rolls-they produce the symbol when sliced horizontally-with pink jasmine, and ordinary sticky rice with a hint of pickled ginger juice, along with microscopic asparagus, snow peas, carrot and daikon. It's hard to be let down, and that's how Anderson wants it. For a strong finish, take your coffee and sweets-I like the praline cheesecake-outside or by the fireplace. I have a proclivity for revisiting places that haunt me with the great adventure of being young: my mother's house late at night, though it has long belonged to someone else; the apartment where my children were born. At 736 Bellefonte, I inhaled the times of my life when I would so innocently dance the night away. I could sure spin on those red heels. |
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Each month, Deborah McDonald jump-starts appetites with lively restaurant reviews that scrutinize who's cooking what and where. She works anonymously, visiting each restaurant at least twice before writing her column. Do you know of a restaurant you'd like to have reviewed? | ||
For a complete interactive Dining Guide CLICK HERE. | ||
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"By definition, 'Flair' means 'done with discriminating taste,'" muses Anderson, chatting at the bar in a crisp shirt and trademark mullet. "It doesn't matter if you're making pancakes or chateaubriand, if you do it with discriminating taste with the best ingredients-how can you go wrong?" |
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