
Visiting The Grape in November and December for an update review got me thinking about restaurants that sustain themselves long enough to earn the designation of “institution.” The Grape certainly qualifies: You can feel the progression of years as you sit in that dim, cozily squished dining room.
Before I recount a meal I had two weeks ago at a Baltimore institution I’ve loved dearly since childhood (and that manages to holds its own brilliantly), let me throw out: What Dallas institutions do you love? Which spots don’t merely serve nostalgia but also still offer food that maintains its dignity against the maelstrom of restaurant openings and closings? I’d also be curious to hear about places that are long gone that you particularly miss. I have one of those from childhood, too.
But the place that continues to thrive in Baltimore that I love is called Tio Pepe. It’s a Spanish restaurant that served authentic-minded dishes from Spain way before tapas was on the national menu. The restaurant is burrowed underground, the way a lot of old-school Baltimore restaurants once were. Its interior looks like a series of catacombs. It opened in 1968, and it looks it. Yet it still manages to be at once elegant and groovy. And romantic.
I knew Tio Pepe’s food before I even went to the restaurant: I would spring from bed the next morning after I knew my parents had gone there with friends. They brought home an abundance of leftovers: rockfish covered with crabmeat, paella and – best of all – the pine nut cake.
Tio Pepe’s pine nut cake. I sincerely want to eat this on my death bed. It’s the schlockiest-sounding dessert that conquers the taste buds of anyone who tries it. The official name of it is brazo de gitano a los piñones, a variation on a jelly roll sponge cake, called a “gypsy’s arm” cake in Spain. Basically, it’s sponge cake rolled with an obscene amount of pastry cream, then sprinkled with pine nuts. The pastry cream, which is lush and mouth filling and tastes faintly of vanilla and almond extract, has a yellowish-orange tint that no doubt comes from food coloring. I honestly don’t care.
They make a variation with sugared walnuts on top that my parents prefer. I’m squarely in the pine nut camp. As kids, it got to where my parents would order extra slices to take home to my brother Ben and me. We’d steal bites from each other’s portions and plot vengeance against one another. Mediations and punishments over the pine nut cake sometimes had to be delivered.
I hadn’t dined at Tio Pepe in years, but eating at The Grape and hearing longtime Dallasites wax sentimental made me miss it. I took another ex-Baltimorean who was also home visiting for the holidays. He’d just turned 60 and had never been to Tio Pepe. I was horrified.
He let me order. It’s a fairly sprawling menu, but longtime customers order from only a small pool of dishes: shrimp with garlic sauce, filet of sole with bananas, suckling pig.
Our family always ordered the lobster bisque laced with sherry, probably because Ben and I thought it cool that we were ordering something boozy to start our meal. It tasted just as I remembered: darker than most, more concentrated, smooth with not a lot of lobster bits but with a clear crustacean flavor.
Next, we split the rockfish, a local Chesapeake fish that doesn’t get much play beyond the mid-Atlantic. Its texture is akin to halibut, but more delicate. It was stuffed with crabmeat and topped with a creamy Champagne sauce that thickens under the broiler but isn’t too rich.
Then, the paella, which is a dish that usually flops in restaurants (The Harvest Vine in Seattle is one place that does it beautifully). But Tio’s did the dish proud as always: Lots of fresh, chunky seafood and dense chorizo. Interestingly, the paella tasted even better the next day – the saffron’s flavor had bloomed in the rice.
Finally, dessert. I watched my friend chuckle at that neon pastry cream and then fall silent with awed happiness. The pine nut cake had felled another soul.
I asked for four slices to go, two gluttonous pine nut chunks for me and two walnut hunks for my folks. Poor Ben didn’t come home this year. He missed out.
As for the shuttered institution I still miss: Haussner’s. Any “Balmer” old-timer will remember its walls packed with art (some of which, it turned out, was quite valuable) and the strawberry pie for dessert.
So, go on. Tell this Dallas tenderfoot where your favorite old classics are in these parts – and tell me what to order there, too.