I am remiss in not having written or posted this sooner. Last Friday (2/12/10) I had the privilege of eating at Prairie Fire. I am obliged to note at the outset that my drinks and dinner were comped.
I feel it only fair to say that I have eaten at Prairie Grass several times. Not a lot but more than once or twice. It is not a destination I look forward to very much (sorry, Ronnie). I don’t know what in particular to point to but I have never been particularly enamored of the food there. I’ve never had a bad meal but I’ve never had a meal that left me looking forward to the next visit. So it goes.
For that reason, I wasn’t entirely eager to try Prairie Fire. Now, at a week’s remove, I can confidently and happily reaffirm my initial impression: that I look forward to returning; indeed, I am eager to do so. The menus may have some overlap, but by and large I find the Prairie Fire menu more attractive—or perhaps I should say that I find it more in line with my interests and tastes.
I arrived early and spent a good hour at the bar before my table mates arrived. Dinner was 7:00 pm and I had plenty of time to relax and enjoy the surroundings. I am taken with the room, which I find handsome, attractive, and comforting, all at once. There is some nice dark wood (especially in the bar area) and, more important to me, plenty of soft surfaces to mute the noise. There was a steady stream of patrons and by the time we left, the dining room was mostly full. Even then, the noise level was not a problem in the least.
We had an opportunity to try many of the appetizers on the menu. I enjoyed many of them but I’d like to single out a few. My personal choice was the hand’s-down winner in my book: a duck ballotine "pâté" accompanied by cornichons, mustard, and cognac-marinated prunes. (I should define ballotine, I think, because I’ll assume that there’s at least one other person out there as clueless as I was before I ordered. A ballotine can be made from meat, poultry or even fish; it is deboned, stuffed, rolled, tied, and then poached or braised.) The portion was generous and the duck just too good not to love. I found it rich and chock full of flavor, perfectly complemented by the cornichons and prunes. (In all honesty, the mustard, not so much.) Of the others I tasted, the mushroom/ricotta/parmesan ravioli (with a mushroom reduction) was one of the most mushroom-y (mushroomiest?) of dishes I can ever recall having. If you don’t like mushrooms, steer clear. But if you’re a fan of the fungi, you can’t go wrong with this. I also very much enjoyed the little lamb egg rolls in phyllo (as I recall) served with a cucumber, mint and yogurt sauce.
There were others, some of which impressed me, though I might not have liked them. For example, I do not generally order or eat liver in any of its incarnations, including pate. (Indeed, I suspect that this failing—on top of my lack of interest in single-malt scotch—may be among what my Dad’s considers his greatest failure in my upbringing). Still, I tried the chicken liver pâté with sliced apples. Golly. Though I’m unlikely to order it, someone who’s a fan would do well to consider it, I think. It was smooth as silk and lacking much of the minerality that I often find off-putting. I was impressed at how tempting it could be in the right hands.
The grilled chicken wings (with homemade ranch dressing) left me unimpressed, but then I’m not a wing man. The biggest surprise/disappointment was the lentils with a tomato marmalade, sprinkled with goat cheese and deep-fried shallots. The description is dead-on and it just didn’t work. I found the dish not particularly interesting. In analyzing the dish afterward, I think the problem is the tomato marmalade, though I know that others were swooning over the dish. Although I enjoy all of the ingredients separately—and maybe even some of them together—the dish simply didn’t come together for me. Part of it was that lentils usually need something to grab you. Nothing did. I like lentils in many different preparations (many of them Indian or Nepali), but the goat cheese and shallots were not enough (in terms of "sharpening" the dish; they were more than sufficient in quantity) and the tomato marmalade simply didn’t work.
By now it was time to order and I found myself in a quandary when the server came up, pad at the ready. Should I go with the homemade lamb sausage with giant “Greek-style” beans or the duck leg and confit “cake” with the braised cabbage, apple, and a cider sauce? (Coming in a close third was the homemade goat sausage with leeks and lemon/oregano potatoes. Ah, decisions, decisions.) Gluttony won out and I went with the duck. The decision was made much easier by a friend’s ordering the lamb sausage with a promise to share. Oh my, oh my, oh my. The duck leg was duckiest of legs (pun intended). Big, meaty, perfectly cooked. Not greasy. Rich, almost melt-in-your-mouth good. If you enjoy duck, the leg is a no-brainer. In all honesty, the confit “cake” made of shredded duck was less of a hit. I see, according to the Trib, that Carol Mighton Haddix liked it. Well, there you have it. There was something about it that simply didn’t work for me. I’m not sure if I found it too starchy or if there was something in the seasoning I disliked. Whatever it was, I couldn’t finish the confit cake. The braised cabbage and baked half-apple were wonderful complements, though; there’s a reason they’re classic accompaniments to duck.
The lamb sausage was another generous portion and quite good. I found it redolent of lamb without, again, being greasy or fatty in any way. The flavor and seasonings were spot on and, had I liked the beans more, I imagine it could quickly become a favorite. One thing I did not taste but would have loved to was the pork schnitzel with potatoes, broccoli rapini and caper-lemon sauce. I like schnitzels of all kinds and given the high success rate, I expect that this would be a winner.
Desserts. I have only one word for the desserts: Oh. My. God. (Well, okay, three words. Still.) I don’t know what goes on in heaven, much less what’s on the menu. And for my various deeds and misdeeds, I don’t expect to find out. But I know one thing for sure: the “warm sticky toffee date cake” is served there. The toffee is to die for, the dates identifiable (sedate, one might say) without being overwhelming. Served warm. Had I not been at a table with others, I might have ordered three of them and eaten every last morsel. I simply cannot recall loving a dessert that much in a long time.
Now, the banana cream pie was pretty damn banana-y and the crème brulee (never a favorite) smooth and good. The apple tart a textbook rendition. Other desserts were likewise top-notch and I could easily—much too easily—have spent the evening eating desserts. And although it’s not too hard to adore sugar and butter, the skill and level of execution in every instance was wonderful. Whether it was an old favorite, something I’m not likely to order, or something completely new to me, there was nothing offered that was less than excellent. Nothing.
On re-reading what I’ve written, I fear I sound a little overwhelmed, a little too un-critical. But the truth of the matter is, the dinner was that good. Even a week later, I remain impressed with the room, the service, the menu, and—most of all—the high quality of what I tasted. I’ve already told the Lovely Dining Companion that we’re going sooner rather than later. And hardly a day goes by at the office (a mere two blocks away) when I don’t seriously think about going there for lunch. Again. And again.
P.S. No pictures. The glitzy new macro lens arrived just in time but was disappointing in the extreme. I hope (and expect) to see pictures from others who were there.
Gypsy Boy
"I am not a glutton--I am an explorer of food." (Erma Bombeck)