By KIM HARWELL / Special Contributor to The Dallas Morning News
dining@dallasnews.com Kim Harwell is a Dallas food writer.
USA- KVUE - Austin,TX Oct, 19, 2008
Phoulorie and doubles are popular Trini street foods; the former are fried dumplings made of split-pea flour (similar to hush puppies), while the latter are sandwiches made with two pieces of fried flat bread flanking curried chickpeas. Cassava pone is a dense cake made with grated yuca root and coconut. None of this was known by our apologetic waitress, who frequently went to the kitchen in search of answers only to return with erroneous or muddled information.
ADDISON – For a diner in landlocked Dallas, unfamiliarity with the cuisine of the Caribbean is understandable. For someone working in a Caribbean restaurant, it's not nearly as excusable. Thus, the first major problem I experienced on a recent lunch visit to Scarlet Ibis.
The menu has an emphasis on specialties from Trinidad, the West Indian island whose national bird is, not coincidentally, the scarlet ibis. Among more common Caribbean dishes such as jerk chicken and Jamaican beef patties are several regional specialties mostly unrecognizable to the uninitiated, including phoulorie, doubles and cassava pone.
Phoulorie and doubles are popular Trini street foods; the former are fried dumplings made of split-pea flour (similar to hush puppies), while the latter are sandwiches made with two pieces of fried flat bread flanking curried chickpeas. Cassava pone is a dense cake made with grated yuca root and coconut. None of this was known by our apologetic waitress, who frequently went to the kitchen in search of answers only to return with erroneous or muddled information.
We were the fortunate ones. Armed with a passing knowledge of Carib fare and a previous dinner visit when we were attended to by a server much more in the know, we were able to navigate
the menu despite our waitress's shortcomings. It was a good thing, as I would have hated to miss out on the phoulorie, light and pillowy nuggets of airy, golden dough served with a sweet-tart tamarind dipping sauce.
Doubles were another matter altogether. Our first attempt to try the beloved snack food ended in disaster: The thick fried bread patties (called bara) surrounding the chickpea filling were completely raw inside. We sent the dish back for a redo, but its replacement wasn't much more edible. Though cooked through this time, the turmeric-
tinted bara was hard, tough and nearly impossible to eat, half-inch-thick pucks of impenetrable crust rather than the fluffy bread we expected. The curried chickpeas, called channa, were OK but
a little bland. You can jazz up the dish with a touch of hot pepper sauce, but
use a very light touch: The intense yellow-orange condiment is made with scorching Scotch bonnet peppers, and
it means business.
Stewed oxtail was a highlight. The bone-in chunks of beef were rich and full of flavor. The long cooking time resulted in wonderfully tender meat that fell into languid bites. A side of curried potatoes made for down-home perfect island comfort food in a velvety-smooth curry sauce laced with a deceptive heat that grew bite by bite. Mixed vegetables were a fresh medley of squash, zucchini and the like, well-prepared but a little boring compared with their plate mates.
Curried goat was also a winner,
with fork-tender meat bathed in a moderately spicy gravy infused with cumin, turmeric, coriander and a touch of cayenne pepper. The goat was lean and so clean-tasting as to be a bit of a drawback; I would have preferred it to have held a little of its characteristic gaminess so as to have better stood up to the robust curry. A side of rice and peas made a nice starchy complement, a good choice to help soak up any leftover sauce. Plantains were cut into large chunks and cooked until dark brown and lightly caramelized outside.
Jerk chicken was surprisingly timid. The boneless fillet, served sliced in strips with a choice of two sides, could have used a bit more of the spicy rub. The edges boasted a compelling mix of char and fiery jerk seasoning crust, but the interior slices were tame and lifeless.
Grilled salmon is one of the more Americanized offerings. The slightly smoky fish was mild-tasting and a little dry; I found it overcooked, but my companion, a woman who never met a steak too well-done for her tastes, had no quarrel.
Dessert time is another arena where instruction can be helpful, so we turned to the chef for explanation when our waitress proved once again unreliable. Currant and coconut rolls resemble strudel. The flaky, fruit-filled pastry was fine, but the bread pudding packed much more of a wallop, thanks to an intense bourbon sauce, sticky sweet and noticeably smoky from its whiskey base. Less complex was the sugar cake, a haystack of pink- or yellow-tinted shredded coconut held together with sugar syrup. Hard and crumbly, the sugar cake was also tooth-achingly sweet. At the other end of the spectrum was the cassava pone. The flat, dense square tasted more like a health-food-
store meal-replacement bar than dessert. We quickly put this one in the acquired-taste category and dug back into the bread pudding.
The restaurant doesn't serve alcohol yet: BYOB is allowed until the license comes through. Until then, there's a great selection of exotic Caribbean drinks, including coconut water; a wildly fruity, floral sorrel tea; an intense, nonalcoholic ginger beer; and Peardrax, a light, carbonated, pear-flavored soft drink that worked well to cut the heat of the spicier dishes.
The Scarlet Ibis is a reincarnation of sorts of the old Caribbean Pan, which closed in January. The new space is tucked away behind a handful of more- visible restaurants (the nearly hidden side strip also houses longtime steakhouse fave Stone Trail), and its vibe is slightly disjointed. The signage, the pressed black tablecloths, the understated chandeliers and stylish pendant lights hanging from the ceiling lend an upscale touch that is belied by the utilitarian banquet-style red-and-black chairs. Perhaps they were chosen because their color scheme harkens to the bird that gives the restaurant its name, but neither their garish functionality nor the clueless lunch service does any favors to a place with so much promise.
Kim Harwell is a Dallas food writer.
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