At Last, Actually, Really Good

For the longest time, nothing would stick at 332 15th Avenue East.
Over 10 years, the space housed Kozak’s (bar with barbecue), Maguire’s
(Irish pub with Irish grub), Mango’s (possibly tropical themed), Jake’s
(no one knows—poor Jake!), Hopscotch (a Scotch bar with dining),
and, very briefly, Cypress (a
Mediterranean-oriented restaurant
and lounge that no one but me was ever inside). Was this land formerly
a Native American burial ground? If so, it’s a small one; the Bagel
Deli next door has been successfully serving just-okay bagels since
circa 1886.

When Linda Derschang opened Smith there in 2007, it was cause for
cautious optimism. If anyone could banish specters, dispel doom, and
make something good in the drinkery-
with-food department, it would
be she of Linda’s and King’s Hardware. Derschang has the magic touch;
her makeover of the space’s interior was the first convincing one,
embracing the darkness to make a kind of goth hunt-club study/pub.
Wainscoting and doors were salvaged from the renovation of Garfield
High School. Burlap and faintly patterned, dusky wallpaper covered the
walls, with creepy and wonderful taxidermied birds and comically
terrible portraits for decoration. Stacks of books came from the
public-library sale. Two long tables met the au courant
communal-table requirement, while a whole wall of wooden booths
gave one a choice in the matter.

From the beginning, it was packed, loud, and convivial, an excellent
place to drink, with a laudable beer selection. The gastropub menu? Not
so much. It was more ambitious than Linda’s and King’s, but met with
critical crickets: not so bad you’d want to warn people, just not that
good. Blue-cheese-stuffed, bacon-wrapped dates were a popular snack
early on, as was the poutine; the burger was fine; other dishes were
heavy and/or bled grease for no compelling reason. Hot food sometimes
came out cold, regular food sometimes came out hyper-salinated,
and service sure could be bitchy. (One memorable exchange: “Is the
kitchen still open?” “I dunno. [Sigh.] Is it 11 yet?” What do I
look like, Big Ben?) Stranger reader-reviews vacillated wildly.
Among food people, the word was, “Eh.”

The alchemy of a restaurant is far from a perfect science. Derschang
is currently more involved in her newest place, Oddfellows Cafe + Bar
(criticized for suboptimal food here recently—criticism that, in
an online comment, Derschang agreed with and pledged to address).
Meanwhile, two years in, Smith seems to have lucked out with its third
chef: Eliot Guthrie, 24 years old, who’s worked in the kitchens of
Campagne, Lark, and Le Pichet. At last, the stars have aligned: The
service is startlingly improved, and the food is actually, really
good.

The fried items on Smith’s menu now earn their oil content. Barely
thicker-than-normal house-made potato chips ($3) taste like potato
while still shattering crisply. Salt cod fritters are very
black-peppery and made of perceptible chunks of fish. (The fritters are
$6 at night, $7 with a soft-boiled duck egg as an awesome weekend
brunch plate.) The poutine’s still around ($6/$10), and so’s the marrow
($9, now served with grilled bread instead of cute-but-dumb Triscuits).
But in general, the food’s moved away from self-consciously
neo-British—gone are the trotters and brawn, fried duck leg,
venison meat loaf, beer-potted cheese.

You won’t miss any of it (and vegetarians will no longer starve to
death). Now there are oysters on the half shell, six for $12; last
week, they were Ocean Pearl, Penn Cove, and Snow Creek, shucked without
shards, cool and delicious with a champagne mignonette, and served with
crostini smeared with simple horseradish cream. About service: In the
past, questions prompted gaping and “I’d have to ask,” to which you’d
have to say, “Um, well, would you?” Now if you inquire about the
oysters, they tell you where they’re from on the map and lob a couple
worthwhile descriptors to boot (e.g., “cucumbery”). They ask you how
you’d like your meal coursed; they check back often, yet
uninterruptively. Whatever miraculous ennicening and ensmartening
process has been utilized here should be applied to the entire world.
(And that crostini with the oysters is another nice touch: A little
treat on the plate that’s not on the menu is a low-cost, very smart
gesture.)

The daily-changing crostini (three for $10, like beet/blue cheese
and tuna/piquillo pepper/capers) are a swell innovation, too, for
appetizers or drinking snacks. These are listed on the specials
blackboard; you could order solely from it and be happy. A watercress
salad was a joy, with lightly pickled, practically translucent baby
carrots (both orange and golden), ricotta, and Meyer lemon, all zingy
and spring-tasting ($7). Another night: watercress with thin slices of
artichoke, spring onion, more ricotta ($7), at first almost offensively
strong, but then like a slap in the face you didn’t know you needed.
These are simple salads, but ones that make you think, feel, and react.
The richness and grandness of a braised short-ribs special
($13)—a big block of push-apart-tender beef with fingerling
potatoes and snips of asparagus in a tomatoey romesco
sauce—caused me to eat so much of it, I had to go home and lie
down. A bacon-wrapped quail special was gone by eight o’clock one
night, about which I am still bereft.

The regular menu is on the cusp of changing for spring, but if the
Cuban-style sandwich ($12) sticks around, and you like spiciness and
pork and things that are good, it’s got your number. The chicken ($14),
too, was terrific, with a big, creamy semolina-gnocchi square,
floppy-braised escarole, and olives combined with (I’m guessing)
balsamic vinegar and magic to make a plummy-tasting pan sauce. One
off-note: chalky, possibly cooked-too-fast lentils with kale ($7).

Finally, Smith’s portions are shareably large, the prices are right,
and the eating’s as good as the drinking. Everything’s all sorted out
at 332 15th Avenue East. Knock on wood.