This month in D Magazine, Sarah Reiss writes about three little pigs and a good burger.
In the bandwagon world of nouveau-rustic dining, one of the more damning descriptors a reviewer can ascribe to a restaurant is the word “franchiseable.” The term not only brings a curl to the lip of a certain breed of foodie, but it also puts the restaurant in the position of having to overcome typecasting.
Which brings us to Plano’s Whiskey Cake. Taking hold in the former Plano Tavern location, this neo-steampunk eatery—with its exposed brick, yellow-filament Thomas Edison bulbs, and warehouse sensibility—appears to be at war with itself. On one hand, we have the postindustrial aesthetic, on-site herb gardening, in-house curing, and advanced cocktailery—all tough to replicate. On the other, there are kitschy signs, costumed servers, familiar layouts, and an interior that feels like you have landed in Anywheresville, USA. This is not a value judgment as much as a recognition that, no matter how good the food, much of the Whiskey Cake concept screams “franchise.”
