MY PROJECT TO EAT AT EVERY EATING ESTABLISHMENT ON COLFAX, FROM GRANT TO COLORADO BLVD IN GEOGRAPHICAL ORDER, MINUS THE CHAINS.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Irish Snug: Where's the salt?

This project never ceases to surprise. First, I want you readers to understand the objectivity I am forced to deal with. I don’t pick the eateries, they just exist where they are, lined up on Colfax like dominoes that I slowly knock over one week at a time. Most food writers are either assigned or personally choose to eat and write where they do, and with that comes some sort of expectation, and perhaps excitement, knowing there is press or buzz or rumor of deliciousness. Not that some of my eateries don’t possess those things as well, but they are not the impetus for my visit. And so, when a place like the Snug pops up, I do get excited, I do have expectations, I think about what I’m going to order days before I go. I can imagine the smell of the steam wafting from the plate, the first bite of comforting Irish pub food, the last bite, a little sad, wanting more but satisfied enough with a shot of whiskey for dessert.

And so I had these expectations, on my umpteenth visit to the Irish Snug. We snag a table in the main room and are greeted immediately and have our beers within two minutes. Score. 20 ounces of Murphy's Irish Amber to whet my palate and sip as I peruse the menu. Kristin looks like she's going to pass out from low blood sugar so appetizers are a must. The Snug's menu is neither typically nor traditionally Irish, but they do have the smattering you'd expect, meaning, corned beef and cabbage, liver and onions, shepherd's pie. We start with hash-browned zucchini, which is mixed with parmesan and fresh garlic. I'm reminded of (and hoping for something akin to) one of my favorite side dishes cooked by mom in the summer: little zucchini rounds breaded and fried in the ever-loved electric fryer. What we get looks similar to latkes, two triangles of hash with diced roma tomatoes and sour cream on the side. It's hot, steamy, my mouth is watering and I take the first bite and, and. . .well, it's not bad, but, where's the zucchini? I can see specks of green but taste something only subtely vegetal. If I were blind-folded I would not know it was supposed to contain zucchini. But it's fried well and the parm and garlic are there and when you're dying of hunger you might tend to be less discriminating. 

For dinner I opt for corned beef and cabbage and Kristin for fish and chips. A caveat: I have only had corned beef here. Once, the corned beef egg rolls (sounds odd but when you think about it, it makes perfect sense). Another time, the corned beef sandwich. I like me some corned beef. And while I do try to branch out when I eat for this project, I just can't do liver and onions yet, especially after Kristin described the horror she experienced as a child, the metallic taste, etc... And quite frankly, I was hungry for corned beef! You know, my expectations and all. The menu uses the word "traditional" twice in it's description of the dish: first, "a traditional favorite", then, "with a traditional white wine parsley sauce". The former I can agree with, the latter not so much. Correct me if I'm wrong! But after a Google search, images and all, I could find no reference to any sauce being applied to corned beef and cabbage. But I like white wine, I like parsley, and I (usually) like sauce, so I feared not. The plates arrive, and sure enough, mine looks like a heaping mass of food covered in white gravy. Always with the gravy! I dig out some corned beef, a little cabbage on the end of the fork, and all I can taste is pasty flour. Unsalted, pasty, flour. There is not even a suggestion of white wine or parsley, just bleached, white flour with perhaps a teaspoon of butter. And unquestionably no salt. I take another bite, and another, hoping for redemption in the mashed potatoes, but alas, completely under-seasoned. This begs for an explanation of my relationship with table-top condiments: I never add salt and always add pepper. Truly, most restaurant food doesn't need salt. It should be a chef's first thought, the assaisonnement imperatif. This dish, known for it's homey, comforting, dare-I-say blandness, should at least activate my salivaries from the beef ("corned" meaning cured with salt corns). But the Snug chef has chosen to make the dish utterly tasteless by drowning it's key ingredients in liquefied flour. Of course, I break my rule and shake on some salt, to no avail. Salt applied after the food is prepared does not have the same gustatory conclusion, and in this case, didn't help the situation one bit. On to Kristin's food: same story. The fries had not a kernel of salt and tasted like they'd been sitting a while. The fish batter, again, no zest, no flavor, no salt! 

Our half-eaten plates get swept away and followed with a Naked Tinker Ale, from Tommyknocker Brewery. Believe it or not, when it comes to alcohol that often is described in edible terms, i.e. beer and wine, I am not usually able to come up with the right word. But one sip and I am instantly transported to the beautiful edificio that is the Mayan Theater: buttered popcorn. It's just all wrong. We need something to end the meal properly. A shot of Redbreast 12yr., neat, with ice on the side for me, and a Tullamore Dew 12 yr. for Kristin. There now, that's the ticket. The waitress brings a pint glass of ice, not quite right, but it'll do. I've never experienced a lack of sodium when visiting the Snug on previous occasions, but tonight just wasn't on point. Thankfully their Wednesday night band, the Gypsy Swing Revue, started playing and we sat back and relaxed with our whiskeys, thankful for the atmosphere and the opportunity to support a decent local band.  And mom, if you're reading this, which I know you are, did you pick up on some clues? (:

P.S. Eat Colfax is taking a week off, as I'll be on vacation. Woo hoo!
P.P.S. That's the last time you'll see an emoticon on this blog. 
Irish Snug on Urbanspoon

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