3rd place, Best Restaurant Criticism of 2013, Association of Food Journalists
LITTLE ROCK — Earlier this year a couple of vogue publications wondered aloud, how many years pass before we recycle an earlier time into an entertainment and fashion trend? In The New Yorker, writer Adam Gopnik made the case for 40 years, citing World War I movies in the 1950s, World War II movies in the 1980s, and today, the popularity of the 1960s in television (Mad Men) and fashion (skinny ties). A Slate columnist said no, no, it’s much shorter — consider the remembrances of Nirvana upon the 20th anniversary of Nevermind and 1973’s “period” flick American Graffiti, set in 1962.
When 1620 opened in 1990 (this story reads like a tax return), partner Paul Bash said they enlisted the address for the name because it was in vogue.
Now comes 1620 Savoy, a restaurant that plays old against new like nothing else in the city. It’s got a new name that borrows from the old. It’s a brand new restaurant, just, you know, in the same old spot. New chefs Payne Harding and John Masching have carved out a new sandwich board, along with old chef Tim Morton, who no doubt helped carry the Smoked Duck Caesar, Dover Sole and Grand Marnier souffle over. Finally, the restaurant’s got a new look, so very fresh and tony, and quite authentically 1920s Art Deco.
The synthesis is a sterling success. As capital as a zeppelin ride. As unexpected as the Leopold and Loeb defense.
WE ARE B-LISTERS
During the 2 1/2-month renovation, the owners moved the front door back to its original location fronting the intersection, capped it with a brushed steel eave and topped that with a neon “1620” sign. Most nights Depression-era jazz crackles on the air out there as if played through an old Victrola.
The main dining room is exquisite. With its lustrous white tile floors, full leatherbacked chairs, octagonal tray ceiling uplit by azure light, the Art Deco lamps and custom water feature on the far side, this dining room is one of the toniest, most memorable new spaces in the city.
Unfortunately, on our first visit my date and I were shown through it and into “the Blist room” — her words — a much dowdier place darkened by black tablecloths, mocha-colored walls, busy-patterned carpeting and plain wooden chairs. These digs are not exactly downscale of the menu but dramatically south of the elegance in the main room, a fact accentuated by the walk through it. There’s even separate bathrooms for each dining room — for the B-listers, it’s unisex.
I asked house manager Rick Qualls if diners are segregated by dress or perceived importance.
“It has nothing to do with — there’s no dress code on either side. Priority is given to reservations.”
On our second visit, reservation made, we were asked which room we preferred.
Readers, there is only one right answer.
So make a reservation.
Meanwhile, the patio is funky and urbane, entirely walled off from street traffic and jazzed up with lively wall murals, shielding our eyes from slow-whirling headlamps and directing our focus to the fire pit/stone water fountain. (Anyone nostalgic for the way-back when water and fire opposed each other?)
The website promises Club 1620 is or will be a “premier hotspot” under the auspices of DJ BeloDaRadar. We didn’t visit.
FIRST VISIT
Our first visit was the restaurant’s second night open, Sept. 22. The place was alive with solicitous servers. Our own, Karrie, remarked that eventually 1620 Savoy would settle back to a more reasonable staff size.
Qualls came over to shake our hands and welcome us to the new place. He warned us to think of the change not as a renovation but a brand new thing. We promised we would.
Right off, I complained to Karrie that the Spann Vineyards zinfandel ($10) I ordered had “no flavor at all” and asked if I could replace it with a certain cabernet sauvignon. I did it all with minimum courtesy, and yet, she was so lovely. She brought out the new wine in short order and offered that perhaps the zin was feckless because it was a blend. When the check arrived, the $10 charge was miszin’.
For starters we had the mussels and shrimp tempura ($18) and the turnip frittes with goat cheese ($9). The mussels were tender and mild, paired well as they were with a miso butter broth, but the shrimp was the winner. The turnip frittes and goat cheese fondue was not, as we expected, two separate things — face it, we are a dipping-happy people, all of us — but more like a plate of cheese fries too salty to finish.
My date tried the 1620 chicken ($13), a simple chicken breast smothered in a mushroom sauce not unlike a Campbell’s Golden Mushroom soup, accompanied by lots of quartered cremini mushrooms, three thick asparagus spears and cornbread dressing. The latter brought a little bit of sweet and a little bit of heat and was, to our palates, the tastiest surprise on the plate.
Meanwhile, feeling a bit outre, I selected the veal liver ($20), four thin cutlets of lightly breaded and fried liver, stacked on a seasoned brioche and smothered in a delicious balsamic reduction with crushed pecans and shallots. I’m not sure the staging (stacking the meat) isn’t counterintuitive for such small slices, but the flavor profile isn’t like anything else on the menu. Delightful.
A-LIST, FINALLY
Last Thursday I returned, reservation made, and my date and I were shown to a booth on the raised perimeter overlooking the main dining room. The booths are intimate, the seat cushions firm leather.
For starters we had the tuna crudo ($15), a puck of compressed Otoro tuna (sushi-grade and uncooked), finely cubed and mixed with olive oil and tiny minced Bermuda onion, and dusted with chives and green sesame seeds. That it’s given a slight lemon squeeze gives it a quality reminiscent of ceviche in South American cuisine.
Fellow reviewer Eric Harrison, giving the restaurant a go on a separate occasion, said it wasn’t satisfying for the price and the flavor, while I maintain the opposite. Clearly, this one will spark discussion.
She had the miso-glazed Tasmanian salmon ($21), a thin filet served with braised leeks and a risotto cake. The risotto was a tad gummy and far chewier (rice al dente?) than anything, but the salmon was perfectly sweet and succulent.
I had the aged porterhouse ($48). It’s served with charred Brussels sprouts leaves, potato souffle and a mix of sauteed mushrooms (oyster, chanterelle, shiitake and others). The souffle was quite oily, but served separately as it was in a baking ramekin, and accompanied by a steak of 18-20 ounces, it was easy enough to forget.
The aged beef was incredibly flavorful. It’s given a house treatment of eight seasonings right before it hits the grill, and capped by “Jacques” butter (a mix of tarragon, parsley, ginger, anchovy paste, dijon and other ingredients rolled into butter, named after an old recipe used at the late Jacques and Suzanne). It is as decadent as its price tag indicates, and while I wonder sometimes if the last good steak I eat doesn’t echo loudest in my mind cave, I would put this one against any in the city.
As for steak toppings, diners have the choice of Jacques butter, bernaise (butter and egg yolks with tarragon), escoffier (a reduction of port wine, sherry and tomato coulis, finished with bernaise) or bordelaise (veal bone marrow base with red wine, shallots, carrots and herbs).
For dessert, 1620 Savoy offers just two souffles, one with Grand Marnier and the other Jamaican rum and chocolate. Both are served with heavy sweet cream. My date complained the Grand Marnier souffle lacked zip, while I found both a bit mushier than necessary.
Again, Eric Harrison must disagree: “At $8, that’s coming close to the dessert bargain of the year. [My] waiter properly spooned in a couple of dollops of St. Cecilia creme, then left the ewer on the table, a nice touch.”
SOME FINAL THOUGHTS
Here are a few tasting notes from other dishes we tried.
The house salad ($7) is just wetted with oil and vinegar, but the pickled red onions really tang it up.
The lobster bisque ($9) was a little spicy with a nice curlicue of lemon tarragon foam that seemed to bring almost fungal notes to the mix and definitely cut the extreme savory quality of the soup.
The phyllo dough pizza ($9) is messy, but far tastier than the “mini pizza” appetizer I was imagining.
The braised collards that my date asked for on the side of her chicken entree was not part of her meal, and was graciously not added to the bill. They were noticeably sweet but spiked with heat that hits at the back of the tongue.
Qualls was the one who designed 1620 Savoy’s Art Deco dining room.
“We sort of stepped back in time to the glamour of … the Roaring ’20s. I’ve always loved that era,” even as he acknowledged that some of the people he’s welcomed to the new place “have sat at the same booth here for 13 years” and that “that’s the kind of restaurant we want to have … even if we’ve made some changes.”
Qualls, Morton, Harding and Masching are asking us to welcome a new place that recalls the old. Not a renovation, Qualls warned us the first time we met him, but a brand new thing. Then here’s to never growing old! Or getting reborn every few decades.
Originally published in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette 4 October 2012. The restaurant closed early in 2016.
