Shrimp coated with quinoa, served with roasted red peppers. Photo by Laura Petrilla

The Café at the Frick

7227 Reynolds St., Point Breeze
412/371-0600
frickart.org

With a talented new chef at the helm, The Café at the Frick is extending the hours to appeal to a younger generation of food lovers

Tues.-Sun., 11 a.m.-5 p.m.
Soup: $4
Salads and Sandwiches: $11
Entrees: $13
Desserts: $6
Afternoon Tea: $16
Prix Fixe (soup, any entrée, dessert): $18 Nonsmoking. Handicapped- accessible.

 

Garden Gourmet

I was enjoying the rambling rose arbor on the patio at The Café at the Frick when executive chef Cory Hughes appeared. Most of his amazing tattoos were covered by a classic chef's tunic. "Any new ink?" my husband, Brad, called out as Hughes grabbed a San Pellegrino and slipped through the crowd, chatting with customers as though he were Jay Leno priming the audience before his stand-up routine. The charismatic chef stopped to charm us, telling tales that take a back seat to no one's.

It's increasingly a "chef thing" these days to make a serious effort to connect with diners, and I like it. But Hughes does more than introduce himself and shake your hand. He has ease and presence.

"I'm here for my celebratory tattoo, er reservation," said Brad with a wink as Jan, the hostess, handed us menus. Thankfully, she had us seated before my elbow could find its mark.

The Café at the Frick is one of my favorite places to eat in the East End. It's located on the grounds of the Frick Art & Historical Center, behind the Henry Clay Frick home, Clayton. The dreamlike quality of the grand manse alone in its bucolic city refuge fascinates me. I like to stop at Homewood Cemetery, sit by the lily pond (my kids used to pretend that the gravestones were motorcycles), then amble over for tea. Alone with the cosmos and a nice day, I'd rather compose under a big old shade tree than plug in at Starbucks.

Dine inside or, in nice weather, opt for a meal alfresco on the outdoor patio. Photo by Laura Petrilla

It was a perfect afternoon. Our waitperson was the crème de la crème; the food rolled out in a rightfully leisurely manner. Nature gets the running credits for architecture and set design. Behind the friendly, glass-enclosed façade (once a Frick neighbor's carriage house), tables are set with snowy cloths, good silver and fresh flowers. Light coming in from all directions is impressionistic, making just about any seat a good one. And in spite of all the fun, Hughes seemed especially pleased at the quality and immediacy of the Progressive American cuisine he serves. He knows where the chanterelles were foraged and which farms let their animals roam.

Eating can be a sensuous pleasure, and Hughes, in perpetual afterburner mode, is there to prove it. "Cory has a passion for food that can't be explained and certainly can't be taught," articulates manager John Muth. "One of those rare chefs who cause people to re-evaluate the way they think about food."

Hughes and Muth may appear to be polar opposites, comedian versus straight man, but they think alike, a noticeably perfect team. "We think of ourselves as ‘culinary traditionalists,'" says Muth, obviously proud of the ecologically minded personality of the kitchen. "Define that as fresh, seasonal, locally produced ingredients as opposed to prepacked, processed or frozen."

The kitchen and greenhouse are the soul of The Café, patterned with the visionary Alice Waters of Chez Panisse (San Francisco) in mind. Her cataclysmic American cuisine put ingredients first. Aware that consumers today want better taste, less processing and are more savvy than ever about where their food comes from, The Café holds to from-scratch absolutism. The pretension quotient, however, remains low.

Originally from the Philadelphia area, Hughes, a graduate of the Pennsylvania Institute of Culinary Arts, did a stint as fish chef at Eleven and two years as sous chef at The Café before taking the helm. His passion for food is the kind that creative souls strive for and diners stand in line for. "I need to be in a kitchen, need to be holding a saute pan. It's kind of who I am," he says. "I've tried other professions, and really, I'm a chef. This is my life. Twenty-four hours a day, this is what I want to do."

Hughes loves Pittsburgh and likes being in "this city at this time."

"I am certain the dining scene here is about to explode, and I want to be in the nucleus of it," he declares. A devotee of loud music, Hughes lets the strains of Black Flag and Agent Orange stoke his culinary energy and keep the orchestrated chaos in the kitchen lively.

So there's a little early-'80s punk in your apricot champagne soupe du jour. Light and naturally sweet, with an intense, jam-like flavor, the soup features bubbles that remind us of Pixy Sticks from the penny-candy store. Hughes uses champagnes and fortified wines for flavorful stocks with a little bit of an edge, corrected with fresh herbs and vegetables. We shared the soup the way you would share salsa and chips. Even if you're not a hummus fan, a smoky hummus soup is brilliant with a rich flavor that seems to change and expand with each sip.

Oh, and let's applaud the accidental preservationists who long ago left the magnificent greenhouse standing, which was not fully utilized for years. Today, the greenhouse shelters plants that fight for crucial light and space. Hughes says that there is no prouder moment in a chef's career than when he points at a greenhouse after he's just spent the morning picking the fundamental ingredients for the day's soups and salads. "You can still see the dirt on the vegetables." He could talk about salads all day. His talent for nuance shows in a strawberry asparagus salad, featuring greenhouse lettuces tossed with fresh asparagus, peppered strawberries, avocado and walnuts with a strawberry balsamic gloss. Or, experience his vegetable kugel with layers of spinach, carrot and turnip served souffle-style in a grated potato crust that goes beautifully with an ethereal mimosa vinaigrette. Scattered about on the side, opalescent cipollini onions marinated in vodka resemble escaped mini-softballs.

Jan turned us on to the pike niçoise sandwich. "Order it and you will change the way you look at a fish sandwich forever," she more or less announced. It offers marinated walleyed-pike fillet on tomato-basil bread spread with olive tapenade, with maple-smoked new potatoes and green-bean confit. Scattered rose petals add a little breathless sophistication. "Scallops and Pearls" (an innovative take on chef and restaurateur Thomas Keller's famed "Oysters and Pearls" dish) uses the granular pearls of dried cassava root cooked with peas from the hothouse for a savory spring-pea and cucumber tapioca topped with beautiful seared sea scallops, cooked quickly and evenly, all dressed with sweet-pepper coulis.

Desserts include classics prepared with seasonal ingredients such as berry cobbler, German chocolate cake and (pictured here) a peach tart. Photo by Laura Petrilla

Eat your peas but don't deny yourself dessert, presented in the way founding chef Susie Treon would have done it. Selections include a fabulous lemon tart with a single blackberry; hot berry cobbler inside a hand-formed pastry nest; a perfectly decadent German chocolate cake.

"We are perceived as the place for ladies lunching in pearls. We close at 5 p.m., but I'd like to change that," laughed Hughes good-naturedly. New demographics require new strategies. The Café is expanding its evening hours. It's true. Far enough from the bright lights of the big city, someday we might identify constellations lighting up our Mexican chocolate scallops by night.

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.

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