Vincent’s Restaurant

Easy go – easy come.

OMG all of Vincent’s restaurants are dropping away, first Cucina di Milano in Morrisville and then Vincent’s on Creedmoor Road -- two of our favorite Italian restaurants.  Now gone. Gooooooooone.

After learning about the closing of Cucina, we went to Vincent Barresi’s flagship restaurant on Creedmoor, mostly to explore what it was like.  We loved it – but ours was a love heading headlong into regret, not because of the food, far from that – so delicious. Our regret came when our waitress told us that this was the restaurant’s very last night.  Tomorrow – no more.

After dinner, still feeling the savory warmth of that truly glorious, no frills Italian, just-like-grandma’s, cooking, I ventured over to ask Vincent, “What gives? Why the closings?”

True to his typical Italian courtesy, first he hugged and greeted us warmly, asked us about the food, and then proceeded to introduce his father, Dominick, who also worked the floor. Only then would he talk business.  People always come first.

With their lease coming to an end at that site, a decision had to be made.  Closing seemed the best option. 

But not to fear! 

A reincarnated Vincent’s is on its way in a new location, Glenwood South. The actual name is still under discussion, a so very Italian process where all the family participates, debates, argues, perhaps even shouts, but eventually confirms the final decision by the boss himself, a system of decision making I recognized from my own Italian in-laws. 

The new place will open before the beginning of April. What delightful news.

I’m so looking forward to seeing Vincent again, watching him as he oversees his new pride and joy.  And, let’s face it, I’m also looking forward to some of his old favorites like fettuccine Bolognese and shrimp scampi – so very good, and so comforting. The Creedmoor crowd will miss him greatly, but most had to get there by car anyway, now it’s just a bit further.

The new Vincent’s will feature many of the old favorite recipes – and perhaps even a few new dishes.  It will also feature a full bar – to my mind a change much to be appreciated. Vincent also assured us that easy parking will be right next door.

Look for the announcements for Vincent’s up-and coming-gotta-go-to place.

RED MONKEY TAVERN

Luck was a lady that night.

Before retiring to Raleigh, we lived in NY/NJ and then DC, both areas rich in restaurants of all prices and ethnic varieties.  We enjoyed “regular” status in both areas, and even garnered good friends from waiters there, one whom my wife even invited to our daughter’s wedding.  Moving to Raleigh to be close to family meant we gave up a lesser benefit for the greater – and yet we yearned for the cozy, emotionally satisfying feeling of a restaurant we liked, whose management and waiters knew us, and to which we could escape as we needed. 

We accidentally fortuned onto Red Monkey. Impatient with the long line at Crabtree Mall’s Cheesecake Factory, we journeyed next door.  Though Red Monkey’s parking lot entrance gets eclipsed by the jazz of its neighbor, don’t pass it by.  If you’re in the Mall look for the spiffy red bi-wing plane that hangs over its mall entrance.

Inside, the club like atmosphere beckons one to enter a world of imagination and delight, where quality trumps excess quantity.  An incised red arabesque swirls across the ceiling, beckoning exploration. I love the large bronze monkeys, especially the one golfing and another geared up in a Paddington coat. Nooks hold various whimsies, including a toy British double decker holding candy.  Antique lights and crystal chandeliers shine on portraits and posters of by-gone Hollywood stars. Everything seems a bit off center, even a bit hokey, but in its own asymmetric style, it all fits. Though the room tingles with the warm hubbub of groups having fun, the well-stuffed burgundy crescent banquettes and the high backed, mad-hatter chairs frame individual eating nooks for cozy, and intimate conversation.

After our first experience at Red Monkey, I read the reviews; not so great.  Several complained of the recent changes. Though retaining the five TVs over the bar, the Monkey, under manager Guy Meacham’s guidance, had metamorphosed from sports bar to chic restaurant frequented by families and couples. Never has Guy not been there to greet us; has he a bed in the basement? With mixed feelings the other night, we noted his success, every chair occupied. I hope the owners truly appreciate Guy; it is so easy to take such talent and work ethic for granted.

Last Saturday, I called to reserve a banquette only to be told by Laura, in her truly gentle voice, that they did not take reservations. At my request, Guy came to the phone and said not to worry, there would be a table waiting for us.  When we got there, a hand-printed sign on the table read, “Reserved Headmaster.”  What a fleecy warm stroke to my ego.  I waved to Zack who tended bar; he waved a great smile back.  Young couples sat tête-à-tête; families gathered around the larger tables; and kids of all ages (even those sulky teen years) seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Patrick, our favorite waiter, was off that night; Daryl took his place.  He chatted with us and played a bit with Nicholas our three year old grandson, who had already informed me, “No cherries -- olives tonight.” Referencing the Manhattan I’d had a few nights back, he now staked claim to this night’s drink garnish.  As we all got settled, I took off with Nicholas to “interview” Zack.  Without slowing his pace, Zack managed to discuss the importance of Hemingway, bring another couple at the bar into our conversation, hand Nicholas a few more olives, and go on to recommend my reading Milan Kundera, a Czech now living in France and nominated several times for a Nobel Prize in literature.  What fun.  I so rarely get to talk about our literary world.  Red Monkey is quirkily confident enough to enjoy and keep a bartender so literate and engaging.  Guy hires great people, no mere tray holders or menu rattlers. Daryl, tonight’s waiter, presented well:  a warm, friendly smile accented by a short well-kept beard. Originally from the Princeton area of New Jersey, he and his wife have moved to Raleigh where he works in human relations with a large company.

Red Monkey’s menu strives for understated quality; the chef takes ordinary American dishes and amplifies them to high levels of excellence. My son, a food truck chef and owner, had the On the Border Burger ($12) which he raved about: great concept, great taste, juicy burger and fantastic fries.  His wife, a vegetarian, had the Rock Shrimp Bisque ($6) and the spinach and feta cheese South of the South Empanadas Haven ($10); three per plate, flaky dough, moist and savory.  My wife had the Lobster BLT ($18); my sister the Monkey Field Green Salad ($9).   Nicholas also had his usual, kid’s mac and cheese ($4.95), he loved them -- and so did the rest of us.  Tonight I decided against my very favorite, Harrys Carpaccio Rustic ($12), in order to try the Braised Beef Ribs ($22) with its rich mushroom and onion gravy. A real delight.

Our only mishap that evening came when Nicholas accidentally spilled a glass of water all over the table (and my wife).  We all jumped, startling him to tears; others at the table proffered napkins, which proved useless being the non-absorbent, no-iron variety.  Neither Guy, at the far end of the restaurant, nor Daryl, in the kitchen checking on an order, could come to our rescue.  This left only the nearby door receptionists, who produced an unopened package of bathroom hand towels.

This review has been difficult to write.  Witty and acidic come easily; praise not so much. Red Monkey is our go-to place, our Cheers. I hate malls and rarely shop there, we actually go there for the food and the company. To quote its website, “The red monkey has seen the world beneath the wings of his one man biplane. He comes back home to relax in this home away from home with family and friends!”

Red Monkey Tavern is located in Crabtree Mall. 919-896-7412.  http://redmonkeytavern.com

SWAD INDIAN CUISINE

A great meal, but at what price?

After putting my grandson down for his nap, I scurried out for a haircut, where I met a charming, athletic, young man also waiting his turn. I’m always envious of the young, with their full heads of glorious hair.  Neil turned out to be a former football player from Campbell University, who had emigrated from India with his family at age five.  Currently he was studying to become a physical therapist.  Such manners, such poise.  Such a haircut!  When we talked Indian cuisine, he told me about this great restaurant, Swad Indian Cuisine, which was owned by his friend.

The small storefront restaurant, though comfortably furnished, seemed disconnected from its ethnic cuisine. We learned later that the décor was unchanged from the previous owner, right down to the pictures on the wall, landscape photographs more reminiscent of Lawrence’s Arabia than the Jewel of the British Crown. 

A smiling gentlemen greeted us warmly at the door and helped us select a table.  At my request, so that I could share Neil’s praise and recommendation, the owner promptly appeared.  His dark complexion and heavily accented commanding presence, underscored Neil’s claim of Swad’s authenticity.

We ordered our drinks: a malbec for my wife and a gin and bitters for me. The waiter’s blank face uttered, “What is bitters?” So much for the allure of those old British Raj movies.  So on to my usual: a gin martini, straight up. Doubting my ability to express through our limited shared lexicon the intricacies of my ice ritual, I settled on a drink, but with no ice.  Half a glass of martini arrived; Raleigh bar customs, capitalizing on juice flavored “-tinis”, re-defined one drink as two ounces of liquor. Sprung across the top were three olives; with the reservoir so low, however, they dangled helplessly mid-air, unable to embrace the gin and bestow the final olive kiss. My martini lacked the proper classic and passionate pas-de-deux.

Minutes after receiving our menus, well before we could read their entirety, the owner returned.  “You must let me make you something special. You like shrimp?  Lobster? Cheese?  What do you like? I make it special just for you as a friend of Neil.”  We were helpless to say no. Who doesn’t accept a personal gift from the kitchen?  We split the appetizer which turned out to be four jumbo breaded shrimp, bathed in a wonderfully balanced Indian sauce, laced liberally with sautéed diced vegetables.  So good; so very good.

The fawning owner returned to take our entrée, ”How did you like our shrimp? It was special, just for you.”  I selected goat off the menu – nothing made-to-order.  My wife paused to glance at her menu; into the gap gushed the owner beguilingly, even flirting with her taste buds. Again he paraded a panoply of possibilities “cooked special” for her. She settled on more shrimp, no cream, no batter, scant oil.  Both orders arrived almost immediately, accompanied by basmati rice and naan bread.

The meal was excellent.  The service was prompt and congenial.  The waiter was friendly, even giving us his email listing.  We delighted in our savorings.  The timing of the service was, however, strangely awkward.  The traditional Indian restaurant of cracker-bread and dipping sauces arrived immediately – our drinks took much longer to arrive. The first sense that something was wrong came with this reversal of the accustomed order: cocktails first then the nibbles.

Generally a long lull in service, if only to allow time for cooking, allows patrons the opportunity to linger over drinks and glide gracefully from first taste into relaxed, mellow conversation. The wine or cocktail is its own course; water is the beverage.  Some would argue with this reasoning; they only go to eat, not to experience. Though I managed to quick-sip through three mini martinis, we were finished in slightly more than an hour.  We did not feel particularly rushed, but we did feel robbed of the delight of lingering, the enjoyable leisure time between courses. Per our request, the meal came “medium” spiced. It was aromatic, gentle to the palette and so well balanced that I could feel and savor each spice’s contribution to the whole.

Our waiter, a short, young, fine looking man, uniformed in a wide, happy smile, appeared bowing at our table so often, chatting, commenting, and asking after us, that we felt luxuriously singled out.  Could we be his only customer?  Not so.  Two waiters and the owner worked the dining room.  We later met the chef. Both he and our waiter enjoyed warm, full smiles despite being far away husbands and fathers, here to make some money for their families back in India.

Our happy evening amidst smiles, decadently fine aromas and really tasteful food ended with the bill.

The final accounting, always the least pleasant aspect of an evening, rarely comes as a surprise.  This bill for two, however, shocked us; with tip it fell just shy of $150 dollars.  The martinis alone came to $42, that’s fourteen dollars each, seven dollars an ounce.  Both of the made-for-you-because-you-know-Neil were $20 each. Goat, one of priciest items on the menu, cost only $18.

The owner did indeed get our goat. The old adage about no such thing as a free meal hit our pocket hard. Neil’s esteem for the food was justly deserved.  But beware, his “special-just-for-you” comes at a great cost, stick to the menu.  When I complained about the price of the drinks, the owner assured me that “next time” they would cost much less. 

Next time?  Yeah right!

 

 

Swad Indian Cuisine is located at 9650 Strickland Road #145, Raleigh, NC.
www.swadindiannc.com