DINING OUT: 21 FIR WHISKEY BAR AND KITCHEN,
Attempting to book a table at 21 Fir on King St. in Waterloo, I felt as if I had chanced into an episode of classic “Seinfeld.” You know the one, where the car rental company knows how to take, but not keep, a reservation ...
Me: I’d like to make a reservation for three on Thursday for 6 p.m.
21 Fir: OK. *click*
Me (calling back): I just called to make: a reservation for Thursday. 21 Fir: … Me: Er, would you like a name?
21 Fir: (significant pause) … Um, OK then.
Being unclear on the concept proved the prevailing theme of our visit. On arrival there was no acknowledgement of our reservation. The hostess asked if we were planning on eating or were just in for drinks. We professed our interest in food and were assigned a booth next to the washrooms. We balked, and were offered a marginally-better spot by the kitchen door. The bench seating was quite low, so our party’s heads floated disembodied at table height, and totally disappeared once menus were in play.
To be frank, 21 Fir, apparently named for the address of the owner’s grandparents’ house, is probably a far better bar than restaurant. Dim lighting, prohibition-era pictures on the walls, decent music, plenty of seating at industrial-style, high-top tables plus a few booths, and a lively crowd make for a pleasant and cheerful vibe. Youthful, friendly servers abounded: we were visited, seemingly at random, by people checking on us and topping up water. Or asking for our orders several times.
The 13-page drinks menu is appropriately imposing for a whiskey bar, with half devoted to offerings from around the world, the balance being cocktails, other spirits, and a few beers and wines. We ordered cocktails. A whiskey sour was a satisfying mix of bourbon, lemon juice, sugar and egg white. My wife asked if they could make something that was not too sweet: after consultation with the busy bar staff, a modified Vieux Carré arrived: rye, cognac, sweet vermouth, Bénédictine, and bitters came with an orange peel rather than the classic cherry. It hit the spot, and a second order ensued.
By contrast, the food menu fits compactly on a single sheet, and does feature some interesting-sounding dishes. Our starters, five uncomplicated but tasty cornmeal-battered Cajun Fried Shrimp ($14) in horseradish-y cocktail sauce served in a martini glass, and four fall-apart Bayou Buffalo Frog Legs ($13) served with three carrot sticks and a thick sauce arrived 40 minutes after we were seated. Sadly, the shrimp were the best thing we ate.
The mains arrived before the other dishes were cleared: Beer & Bourbon Braised Pork Ribs ($25; somewhat-overcooked but OKtasting) and the Big Smokehouse Burger ($17; severely overcooked). Neither dish merited its price point. A smoky potato salad was actually quite well executed, but the various other fixings — including pickles, bourbon barbecue sauce, and smoked cheddar — could not redeem the two leathery burger patties and the hard under-seasoned fries accompanying them, nor the perversely over-peppered coleslaw that came with both dishes.
I declined the server’s offer to bring me more salt and pepper for the fries, and grimly ordered the two desserts on offer ($5 each). I was not surprised: the Irish Whiskey Crème Brûlée — served with a dab of blueberry compote — was split and watery, and the Scotch Caramel Bread Pudding proved to have little to do with pudding, being deepfried bread — think large, hard croutons — served atop a thin layer of sweet sauce. A creative mind might have found a way to make the latter a bit more interesting, perhaps even palatable: maybe skewers of the bread to dip fondue-fashion in a pot of sauce?
As noted, the evening was a triumph of concept over execution. One in our party would consider stopping by for drinks before going somewhere else to eat. At this stage, I would not.