![]() ![]() ![]() What Iâm saying: Irving Street Kitchen is best when itâs corny. The dining room above the First Thursday crowds is one of the Pearl Districtâs more splendidly grandiose spaces that expansiveness is echoed in a corn soup flavored with huitlacoche (a fungus also known as âcorn smut,â which offers an oil not unlike seaweed), and a bourbon butter-glazed cornbread so large and sweet it counts as cake. Thatâs certainly the case with a slow-baked Chinook salmon that my server warned was âearthy.â True enough, but it barely hints at how the fish joins with mushrooms and polenta to feel more like a forest creature. The infusion of French and Pacific Northwest elements into most dishes is initially off-putting (and I still canât quite get behind the signature fried chicken, which is injected with Tabasco, butter and garlic but somehow has a medicinal aftertaste), but the results often dawn upon you at the second or third bite. This is akin to composing a symphony for banjo and mouth harp, but gosh darned if Irving Street Kitchen doesnât get most of the way there. She aims to elevate Southern foodâthat staple of back porches and barbecue pitsâto haute cuisine, one renovated dish at a time. Chef Sarah Schafer has a strange ambition. Not a hog person? Well, youâve probably chosen the wrong place to get dinner, but the impeccably moist cast-iron skillet fried chickenâavailable at brunch with toasted pecan-bacon spoonbread and maple syrupâis hardly an afterthought. Plan to visit whenever pig is the featured animal and order the âBig Assâ pork chop, served with blackberries, rosemary walnuts and those unbeatable grits. (Also, the bloody marys come garnished with Sappingtonâs housemade beef jerky.) As for the meal on the proverbial marquee, each week the menu shifts to accommodate a different meat experience. As a restaurant that proudly hangs its cleaver on delivering classic Southern comfort food, the chicken-fried steak is perfection, but the true winner of the early menu is the Slow Burn, two eggs atop knee-weakening pork chile and a bed of creamy grits. Its name and inviting wood interior suggest a down-home breakfast spot, and in truth, this 5-year-old Montavilla diner does brunch just as well as supper. The Country Cat bills itself as a âdinner house,â but thatâs just co-owner and head chef Adam Sappington being modest. ![]()
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