Texans like me brag about all sorts of outlandish things, from the ostentatious display of our firearms in public places to the awesome awfulness of our weather. Until fairly recently, we maintained a telling silence on the subject of our state’s fine dining scene. Our most famous restaurants (Tony’s in Houston, Mansion on Turtle Creek in Dallas) were more notable for their big-haired scene-makers and for their wallet-detonating entrees than for truly memorable food. Then there was that unfortunate little nouvelle-Southwestern cuisine craze back in the Nineties: quail and catfish trumped up as delicacies, everything jowl-deep in ancho chile sauce or afloat on a cactus pad we were assured was edible. It didn’t catch on, and we Texans went back to boasting about our brisket and tacos.
With full recognition that our credibility is suspect, I nonetheless come today to proclaim Houston one of the great eating capitals of America. I mean (and here I mount the mechanical bull) far better than anywhere else in Texas, better than anywhere else in the Southwest, better for that matter than in my current place of residence, Washington, D.C. That the nation’s fourth-largest city is no longer one gigantic steak platter for oil barons should not constitute breaking news. One can go on about the city’s indigenous assets, such as its array of Gulf Coast ingredients and its surprising multiculturalism.
But the main reason for Houston’s culinary ascent is economic. This became clear to me one afternoon last fall while eating at Étoile, a vibrant French restaurant that opened in 2012 near the city’s famed Galleria mall, and whose chef and owner, Philippe Verpiand, hails from Provence. After running a restaurant in San Diego with his wife, Monica, for seven years, Mr. Verpiand decided in 2011 to check out Houston. What he discovered, he told me, was that the Bayou City “is very affordable and full of people who like to go out at night and spend money.” It costs probably one-third less to build and design a restaurant here than in California, he said, adding, “I can afford to pay sous-chefs full time and be able to spend the weekends fishing and duck hunting with my boys.”
Such cost savings are passed on to Houston’s consumers, who can enjoy a first-rate meal here for maybe two-thirds of what such a dinner would come to in New York or San Francisco.
It’s a happy aggravation, being forced to focus on only four of the many outstanding restaurants that have opened over the last four years. I chose two disqualifiers. First, nothing that conformed to stereotypes: no steakhouses, barbecue joints or Mexican restaurants. Second, in keeping with my own personal aversions, no restaurants that did not take reservations. The latter restriction ruled out the excellent Italian establishment Coltivare, whose patrons don’t seem to mind huddling outside until a table opens up. I loved my one experience there and can’t wait to go back once its proprietors acknowledge a key feature of customer service: namely, that the customer’s time is actually worth something.
Underbelly
The Tulsa-raised Chris Shepherd’s rollicking, assiduously localized creation has received so much praise since its opening in 2012 that I’m reluctant to gild the lily. But there’s just no escaping it: Few restaurateurs in America care so deeply about a territory’s food and its providers — farmers, fishermen and fellow chefs — than the burly, big-hearted Mr. Shepherd. Accompanying his Southern/pan-Asian menu is a brochure that, at first glance, appears to be yet another locavore’s obligatory salute to his sundry food sources just down the road (such as pork from Black Hill Ranch just west of the city and produce from Knopp Branch Farm near the town of Edna). But once you associate those references with the 3-D flavors you’re biting into — riotously spiced produce and velvety meat — that’s when you realize what Underbelly is up to. It’s not promoting Houston so much as redefining it.
Having said that, the city’s Chamber of Commerce could not ask for a more fervent booster. “When I came here in 1995 to go to culinary school,” said Mr. Shepherd, “I thought it was going to be all barbecue and Mexican food. Then somebody introduced me to a Vietnamese market in town. Then I went to a Thai place where practically everything was pickled and absolutely delicious. So I started immersing myself in the culture — and man, there’s so much here.”
Underbelly serves as exemplar of the city’s so-muchness. Sometimes this means a popularized riff on a potentially intimidating Asian dish, such as the Korean braised goat and dumplings — as profound and lasciviously textured a creation as I’ve had anywhere. Just as often, the menu reintroduces Texas staples like grits or popcorn shrimp using artisanal products of such succulence that you’re pretty much ruined for the mass-market archetype.
The not-so-adventurous can find Underbelly a tad unnerving. Vinegar pie is a tangy nirvana — but yes, that’s vinegar there in your pie. Fried chicken legs come with the claws attached. And good luck finding an unctuous Napa cabernet or chardonnay on the mad-hatter wine list. Sometimes, Underbelly can be faulted for its peak-hour noisiness and harried staff. The solution is to sit in its spacious and serene bar, order a glass of orange wine with a side of Wagyu beef carpaccio, and rethink whatever it was you first imagined about Houston.
Underbelly, 1100 Westheimer Road, 713-528-9800; underbellyhouston.com. Dinner for two without drinks or tips, about $80.
Helen Greek Food & Wine
If Underbelly is Houston’s statement restaurant, then Helen is its most comprehensively successful: thematically precise, architecturally striking, uniformly delicious and packed at all hours of the day. Even by Texas standards, that’s an audacious feat for a less than year-old Greek restaurant situated in staid West University and founded by a not-Greek sommelier named Evan Turner.
Helen passes inspection from the moment you walk in. It’s a smallish shotgun-style edifice with a mere 56 seats, but its vaulted ceilings, brick walls and Mediterranean sheen confer intimacy without claustrophobia. Mr. Turner twirls into view the moment you begin scrutinizing his all-Greek wine list — the most voluminous compilation of Hellenic varietals in America, after Manhattan’s legendary Molyvos, and far more personalized. The glass of floral malagousia he steered me toward was a convivial partner to a delicious platter of braised greens, as was the robola Mr. Turner suggested to accompany the next couple of dishes.
Those two entrees, the most banal-seeming I could possibly select — buffalo wings and red snapper — I ordered as a jut-jawed challenge to Helen’s chef, William Wright. Lo and behold, Mr. Wright made my day. The grilled feta-brined chicken: dusky, lemony, narcotizing. The whole red snapper with capers and mint: tender, saline and sweet, unforgettable. Without breaking into song or breaking a single plate, Helen puts on a superlative performance.
Helen Greek Food & Wine, 2429 Rice Boulevard, 832-831-7133; helengreekfoodandwine.com. Dinner for two without drinks or tips, about $75.
BCN Taste & Tradition
Word reached me that this swank, sequestered restaurant named for Barcelona airport’s call letters was the most smoothly run fine-dining establishment in town, despite being open for only slightly more than a year. There was only one way to test this claim: I rounded up three of the loudest Houston pals I could find, and we charged into the Spanish restaurant one Friday night like bulls crashing through the streets of Pamplona.
Within 10 minutes, three bottles of Spanish wine were ordered, one glass was shattered, off-menu jalapeños were demanded and neighboring tables responded with wan horror to our wallpaper-chipping cackles. Throughout it all, the general manager, Paco Calza, abided our braying antics with a matador’s grace. Mr. Calza and his servers are indeed among the city’s most professional — meaning, among other things, that they exhibit good humor as well as knowledge.
The restaurant, with its white plaster exterior, Miró and Picasso artwork and pale wooden floors, is a dramatic confluence of Old and New Worlds, in turn drawing an eye-pleasing stream of Houston’s sleek set. In time, my tablemates more or less fell under its debonair sway as we studied the bilingual menu authored by BCN’s Barcelona-born and El Bulli-trained chef Luis Roger.
It’s a litany of winners: chilled melon soup, lobster bouillabaisse, grilled duck breast with quince and Idiazábal cheese sauce, breaded baby lamb chops with Majorcan baked vegetables. Determined to come out ahead, I sermonized to my squad that any first-class American restaurant daring to put rabbit on its menu — in this case, rabbit loin cooked at low temperature with porcini rice — knows just what to do with the critter. And Mr. Roger certainly did: The conejo was supple and laced with a silky vermouth sauce and thoroughly validated my boastful prediction. Mr. Calza assured us on our way out the door that we would be welcomed back. We’re likely to hold him to it.
BCN Taste & Tradition, 4210 Roseland Street, 832-834-3411; bcnhouston.com. Dinner for two without drinks or tips, about $120.
Pax Americana
At the risk of stating the obvious, there’s plenty of exceptionalism already in swaggering Houston. So a restaurant offering “modern American fare” with an “all-American” wine list might seem hyper-nativist. Thankfully, that’s not the vibe at Pax Americana, a sashaying second home for the city’s young, moneyed and discerningly fed.
Pax’s owner, Shepard Ross, fits squarely in this category. Suavely attired and meticulously groomed, the former New York actor (whose credits include various bit roles on “Star Trek: Voyager”) hustles from table to table with the big-eyed exuberance of a fellow who has succeeded in throwing for himself the ultimate party. But Mr. Ross is no Charlie Sheen, and I mean that in the best way: He and Pax Americana are #winning because they have more than enough substance to match their flamboyance.
As with Underbelly, Mr. Ross’s commitment to purchasing from Houston-area purveyors as laid forth on its menu — pork collar from Black Hill Ranch, brisket from 44 Farms, etc. — might prompt eye-rolls if the end result wasn’t so delectable. I began with beignets stuffed with butternut squash and bone marrow (source unknown, but probably a cow). How the chef, Adam Dorris, dreamed up this combination I cannot say, but the $12 dish was perfection. So were the pork belly (source: Chappapeela Farms in Amite, La.) and the grilled octopus ( from Portugal, which is not a town in Texas as far as I know).
When it comes to an “all-American” wine list, I tend to get grouchy, because while there is wonderful wine to be had in our great nation, few sommeliers know where to find it. Fortunately, Mr. Ross did not just fall off a tractor yesterday. He directed me to a malbec/cabernet franc blend by the Napa-based Crocker & Starr that was ultimately as smooth and convincing as the restaurant and its proprietor are.
Pax Americana, 4319 Montrose Boulevard, 713-239-0228; PaxAmHTX.com. Dinner for two without drinks or tips, about $100.