Gravy Frites -- Greenhouse Tavern, Cleveland, OH
Greenhouse Tavern
Not to bury the lead on the next eleven blog posts, but Vodka has a new favorite city, and its name is Cleveland.
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| Oh Hello Friend, I Don't Believe We've Been Properly Introduced |
In
the weeks leading up to Vodka's departure to the great state of Ohio,
her upcoming trip was met with anywhere from confusion ("What's in
Cleveland?") to pure hostility ("WHY IN HEAVEN'S NAME ARE YOU GOING TO
CLEVELAND?").
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| Listen, You Plan Your Vacations Your Way, and Vodka Will Plan Her Vacations Her Way |
In fact, it has taken much longer than intended to get
Vodka to grace Cleveland's cheery streets due to years of her trying, and
failing, to convince Ginger that the city was worth the journey, if
only for its pierogi culture.
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| May or May Not Now Own This |
Thankfully, Vodka
eventually found a willing travel companion who was up for the
midwestern sojourn, if only to check state visit #32 off her
list.
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| You Don't See This in Manhattan |
It is with this rather apathetic attitude that Vodka and her
friend, Mezcal, venture two states over and find the hidden gem of the Cuyahoga River.
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| Despite Rumors to the Contrary, the River Is Not, In Fact, On Fire |
Upon arrival in Cleveland, and
still not sure precisely what we're up against in this town that no one
except Michael Symon believes holds anything other than the Rock and Roll Hall of
Fame, we make a late-night (by our standards, as it is 9:15pm)
to Greenhouse Tavern.
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| Thankfully, Cleveland Appears to Go to Bed as Early as We Do |
We're here for Michael's chosen gravy
frites from the GUILTY PLEASURES episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate, and
more importantly, for a bourbon nightcap.
 |
| Priorities, People |
Choosing
not to sit among the stacks of VHS tapes and hanging bicycles
inexplicably decorating the (nevertheless charming) interior, we choose
an outdoor table, a location more likely to provide ample entertainment
by the drunken Ohio locals.
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| More Scenic Than a Citi Bike Rack |
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| An Even Larger Collection of VHS Tapes Than That Found in Vodka's Parents' Basement |
A bit of order miscommunication results in
two Manhattans ending up on our table, as opposed to the Basil Hayden
Manhattan (Vodka) and the neat glass of High West Campfire bourbon (Mezcal)
that has been requested, but we soldier on from this setback like the
martyrs we are.
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| One Hour in Cleveland and Vodka Chooses Not to Complain to the Waitstaff? What Is this Magical Land? |
When a plate of gravy frites eventually lands in front of
us, Mezcal quips, "It'll be cute when it grows up."
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| Objects in Pictures Are Larger Than They Appeared |
However, its
deceivingly small serving size disguises the mounds of melted mozzarella
hidden beneath the surface, making the dish much more satisfying than
initially anticipated.
 |
| Fears That the Fries Were of the Sweet Potato Variety Were Quickly Proven Wrong |
This Cleveland version of poutine is quite delicious,
if a tad heavy on the black pepper, which is so apparent to both sight
and taste that its almost as if the kitchen decided to use up the
remnants of all the restaurant's pepper shakers on these particular fries.
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| Zoom in for Pepper Overload |
Despite
its peppery heaviness, we lap up the frites, deciding
that, if given the opportunity to return to Greenhouse Tavern, we'd
order the No Name Frites instead, which along with the mozzarella and
gravy, also feature bacon, fried eggs, and whole grain mustard (and
blessedly, not a hint of pepper, based on its menu description).
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| Good to the Last Mound of Cheese |
Still,
our foray to Cleveland is off to a rousing start -- after all, what
better way to be welcomed to Ohio than with globs of cheese, a bath of
gravy, and a view of Michael Symon's restaurant squarely within our
sights?
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| We See You, Lola |
Greenhouse Tavern's Gravy Frites: 4 stars
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