Our heart’s all aflutter again for the Kirby Building’s resident dining establishment.
I think I’m in love. He doesn’t know me, of course, but that won’t stop me from worshiping him from afar. He is Hugh Stewart, the 24-year-old whiz kid chef at Jeroboam, the Main Street restaurant that suffered from an identity crisis after its opening French brasserie concept was ditched (much to my dismay), replaced by an American brasserie approach led by the opening chef of Jeroboam’s Entertainment Collaborative sibling, the Green Room.
But my heart’s all aflutter again for the Kirby Building’s resident dining establishment. First, let’s start with the prosciutto-wrapped diver scallops: plump little things sliced in half, with a crisp, salty edge, nestled on a bed of baby spinach and two crisp asparagus spears dressed with warm bacon vinaigrette. The kid loves bacon, you see, which is how he first got my attention (Bibb lettuce comes alive with bacon, toasted walnuts, delicate port-poached pears, and creamy, dreamy gorgonzola dressing), but I fell hard when I saw lobster on the menu not once, not twice, but three times—stuffed in crepes with goat cheese, basil, and Beluga lentils; butter-poached; and fried to a delicate crisp, the sweet, tender flesh left in tact under an unbelievably light coating, made richer with hollandaise. A wine match with every course, expertly selected by our server, weakened my defenses. But when the tenderloin arrived—prepared rare, exactly as ordered, which isn’t easy to do, and all gussied up with French beans, sun-dried tomatoes, and gorgonzola crumble—I knew I was powerless to resist him. My fate was sealed with a shockingly un-dense Kahlua chocolate tort, with a slight hint of mint. Hugh, baby, take me. I’m yours. 1501 Main St. 214-748-7226. $$-$$$.
Update: Jeroboam has closed.