Meat and Potatoes

The DJ began spinning a Space Odyssey remix. The doors opened promptly at 10:30, and a small riot of unreserved patrons made a barely restrained rush for the bar. 

Meat and Potatoes is not quite as down-home as it sounds. Pâté and bruschetta are on the Sunday brunch menu. Michelle's Bellini was made with real strawberries, and my Bloody Mary bar was a DIY festival with six kinds of meat, probably two dozen pickled things in jars and just as many varieties of hot sauce. 

And yet, if there are two kinds of good menus—inventive deliciousness and calculated deliciousness—this definitely was the latter. Maybe it was the decor: I just can't take antlers seriously in a new downtown cultural center. Maybe it was needing to decide between chicken and waffles, shrimp and grits, huevos rancheros AND stuffed French toast. 

I ended up with E: None of the Above, but it was hard to know if I was eating brisket hash or a marketing gimmick.  

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