Salty Sow: random date night turn fancy

Who goes somewhere to eat and bitch about everything but the food? My moral conundrum is that I am like everyone else, complaining so that I have something to say. I feel that Yelp reviews are dotted with people offended by the idea of a restaurant’s shtick, with reviewers giving scathing reports against a restaurant’s reason for existence, “As a vegan I hate that this Indian restaurant offers goat on the menu, so much so that I will never taste their vegan selection. ONE STAR!” Other similar hypocritical comments come to my imagination. I start off in such a manner to prepare the internet for my opinions slamming the Salty Sow, the only thing negative is that my sense of style and comfort was offended.

The food was delicious and for an impromptu visit, I was pleased with the tastes that a whim led me to. Located on the east side it was close enough to the house to feel as if I ventured into the world, while allowing me the safety and ability to recede back into my shell. The website mentions another location in Arizona. This is just a rumor started by me, but I feel like the Arizona location may have even been the background to wrestling’s most public environmentalists. Doesn't WWE Divas film in that state, in restaurants that glorify fancy drinks and cheese platters?

I slipped in a date in the middle of the week, taking advantage of their online reservation service and arriving fifteen minutes earlier than expected. A server whisked my date and I on a trek that allowed me to make lame Sherpa jokes and had me terrified I would never find my way out again. Once seated in enfolding chairs, ones that you would expect to find in an Applebee’s booth sagging from too much use, I calmed down enough to make a couple nervous jokes about the walk and waited for our server.

I do not get the decoration, it is collection of items that does not seem cohesive or rustic. The restaurant is poorly lit and filled with voices. It is a popular spot, and the murmur of other conversations makes it hard to hear the polite words the servers have to offer. What you should be going there is for the charcuterie and the heavy use of salt. Being antisocial, the only way the restaurant could have done better was to deliver their dishes to my bed in a monastic silence.

My partner and I have an ongoing argument over salt and how much should be added to a dish. My opinion vindicated I did not reach for the salt shaker at any point, and it was missing from the table. Their pâté was creamy and I had it all to myself, while Zach polished off the sausage and headcheese options. Being my first time there I can not say if the charcuterie platter is consistent in quality, but for a first impression I was delighted. There was an interesting mix of exotic meats that manage to confound my expectations. I am not a fan of ham or duck, but the duck ham was appetizing and I could easily shovel down one of the slices. Their selection included two types of cheeses, the goat cheese being memorable and was meant to take a back seat to the meat preparations they try to excel at. 

For our main course Zach went the route of the expensive hamburger on the menu. He was content with the mound of meat given, especially since he was not the one preparing it. Though it looked delicious, one of my many quirks is an extreme pickiness that is not normal when it comes to eating. Soggy bread being an irrational fear of mine, controls a lot of my food decisions. Cereal is the ultimate offender in becoming laden with too much moisture, and is pretty much never going to happen for me. I know that this is irrational and bordering on crazy, but if you have a food phobia like mine stay away from the moisture grease pit that is their hamburger. It is a shiny, sodden mess visible from across the table. I watched as he struggled to keep a spot of dry bun under his fingers, I remember him shoveling the anxiety inducing mess into his mouth. His only compliant was that it was too salty.

The beef shoulder was cumbersome in that it is brought out in the pan used to prepare the dish. I am a small woman, mistaken for a middle school aged student if viewed from far away by a near sighted person who could only see my back. The pan was unnecessary, but the meat was perfection. It was not chewy and shredded easily under my fork, the sauce that it was cooked in was not thick nor had it been given too much time to overly saturate the meat. These plates may seem simple, but the components are comforting and paired well. It reminds me of home cooking, but done far more successfully and with less stress felt on my part as I was not the one working for hours on the dish. With yukon potatoes, thick rich cooked carrots, and nestled on a bed of creamy potatoes, I cleared out my pan and declared I was full and sated.

Having being disappointed by Austin restaurant’s in the past due to inconsistent pâté and dish recreations, I plan to keep visiting till Salty Sow gives me an excuse to curse them. With an appetizer, two entrees, two alcoholic beverages, and tip we left the restaurant ninety-something dollars poorer. At least for the price tag, they made sure to bring out more bread without us asking. What can better than a server who can assess what you shamefully need, without you having to address it?