04/16/08 @ 11:34:54 am by archivesadmin
By: Rosa Bianca
FOOD: 3 stars (out of 4)
SERVICE: 3 stars (out of 4)
COST: 2 money symbols (out of 4)
AMBIENCE: 3 stars (out of 4)
It was a quiet and cool late afternoon when Fay and I stepped into the Black Horn Bar and Kitchen, one of the few places open on the Carolina Beach Boardwalk.The only other places showing signs of life were a T-shirt shop that looked to be selling as many bumper stickers and candy bars as anything else, an oddly empty arcade (“At least they still have the Dino ride,” Fay said, peering into the darkness at her own childhood memories) and a gazebo at the front of the boardwalk where a gang of teenagers were lounging around, acting tough and obviously wishing they were old enough to buy alcohol.
At almost 5:30 in the evening, the chalkboard sign outside the Black Horn still listed the lunch special. The doors were closed against the growing chill, but the lights were on, and we could see through the streaked windows that there were people inside drinking and talking.
Inside, the place reaches for a “Cheers”—“where everybody knows your name”—ambiance and, mostly, it succeeds. We walked in to see a light early evening crowd. The staff seemed to move casually around with their tasks while taking time to talk to folks sitting at the bar. The 19-plus televisions all seemed tuned in to the cooking channel, oddly enough, and the few folks not sitting at one of the two bars were clustered around small tables, talking quietly. We were seated immediately in a booth in the nonsmoking section and had hardly opened our menus before a young woman and man came over.
“Hello,” the woman said cheerfully. “Welcome to the Black Horn. “Can I get you something to drink?” Fay asked for a beer; I ordered a Coke, and the woman nodded. “Oh, this is Sean,” she added, “my sidekick. He’s in training, so feel free to order him around.” She turned to get our drinks, neglecting to mention her own name, with Sean following dutifully in her wake, hands shoved into his pockets.
When Fay and I go to a bar, it’s usually because we want to eat bar food: wings, burgers, pizza, crab dip, nachos and maybe the odd Philly sandwich. Black Horn has all those things, but none of them in the expected form. When they talk about “great food” in the Black Horn, it’s obvious someone has given the phrase a lot of thought.
It is, for example, the first boardwalk beach bar I’ve been to with sushi on the menu. And not just sushi, but “designer” sushi—the kind that gets a little daring with the ingredients and combinations. The most familiar item on the sushi menu is the California Roll, the most unusual is the Smoked Salmon Portabella Roll (yes, that is portabella, as in the mushroom). The one that sounded the most appealing was the Negamaki (seared steak tartar), and the one that sounded most like I’d try it at home was the Lobster Mango Roll, which somehow also incorporated poblano peppers.
It is also the first beach bar at which I’ve eaten that offers quail as an appetizer, wild boar and cranberry sausage in the entrées, and considers wings to be a main course. The latter they prepare with a dry rub and slow-roast “for that true Buffalo style,” so I feel obligated, as a patron of the original Anchor Bar that invented wings and a person who has consumed literally buckets of them, to point out that “dry-rubbed and slow-roasted” may make for great-tasting wings. Yet, “true Buffalo style” will always be deep-fried and slathered in a sauce that consists mostly of cayenne pepper, vinegar, salt, garlic and margarine.
Specious claims to “true Buffalo style” aside, I enjoyed reading through the menu and found myself interested in the creative take the kitchen had with even the most familiar of foods. BLTs are dressed up with cucumbers and honey-Dijon mustard. The average turkey sandwich is made with slices of green apples. “Tuna melts” are served with thick cuts of sushi-grade tuna, seared slightly and rendering the fresh baguette it is perched on completely extraneous. Even the grilled cheese sandwich deserved to be called “grown up” since it is made with a combination of aged cheddar, havarti and provolone. The Black Horn Bar and Kitchen makes sandwiches like Mom used to make—the type where every sandwich feels special, like it’s somebody’s personal invention.
When the nameless waitress and Sean-the-sidekick returned, Fay ordered a Cubano sandwich with kettle chips, while I dithered for a bit over the duck quesadilla before finally settling on the Black Horn apple-barbecue ribs. “And an order of scallops wrapped in bacon,” I added in a rush, “and some wings.” Sean-the-sidekick kept a blank face, but our waitress smiled like she was thinking, Jeez!
“She thinks we’re pigs!” Fay hissed as they left again. We were being pigs, but it turned out to be all right because they were out of wings. (Yes, that’s right, out of wings. Note to self: Don’t try ordering wings the day after 35-cent wing night.)
The Black Horn’s motto is “great food should be served quickly and enjoyed leisurely,” so I feel obligated to say that our food arrived eventually but not quickly. Since it was early in the evening and not yet crowded, it wasn’t a question of being busy, or even staff-in-training issues, since Sean-the-sidekick did little except follow his designated trainer and refill glasses. I think any delay may have partly been the fault of what I ordered—ribs take time, and there is no use in rushing them to the table. Nevertheless, we settled in to enjoying the food we had ordered leisurely.
I found the scallops in bacon to be slightly over-cooked, but Fay thought they were perfect, and since I tend to like my food rare to raw to still twitching, I’m guessing that most people would agree with Fay’s assessment. Her Cubano sandwich was a massive pile of pulled pork, sliced ham, Swiss cheese and dill pickles. The pulled pork was barbecue-style and seasoned accordingly. This made for a distinctively different kind of Cuban sandwich, but I have to note that Fay managed to finish everything on her plate in record time.
My ribs were also unusual—not the dry-rubbed, rack-style version an aficionado might expect, but what I think of as “country style”:separated and slow-roasted in a barbecue sauce that was sweet and smoky. I have to say they were about as Yankee a version of barbecue as the Buffalo wings were not. I loved them and like Fay completely cleaned my plate. I saved the bones for my dogs, but there wasn’t a shred of meat left on them.
Overall, it was a very satisfying meal—great food, enjoyed leisurely, with the kind of contentment that made us forget the car was sitting ‘round the block in a parking space where a quarter only bought 15 minutes. We had fed eight quarters into that bottomless pit of a meter, and by the time we got back, the time had just run out. Maybe it was a good thing we didn’t have the wings.
Categories: Reviews
