COOL BEANS: LEGUMES TAKE CENTER STAGE
Chef Mark Holley’s promising new endeavor ably pleases the Houston palate
Houston is a maximal kind of city, where more is generally considered to be more. For better or worse, our collective palate tends to follow suit. At the table, we as a clan crave hotter, saltier, sweeter, contrastier thrills.
Chef Mark Holley fits right into that bold template. He came through the Brennan’s of Houston kitchen, where two sauces have often been considered to be better than one; then went on to claim his own fame at upscale seafood venue Pesce and later at Holley’s Seafood Restaurant & Oyster Bar, which closed in 2017, post-Hurricane Harvey.
Now he’s back at the promising but awkwardly named Davis St. at Hermann Park featuring Chef Holley — seriously, that’s the restaurant’s full name — in a bright, glassed-in space at the base of the Mosaic high-rise on Almeda.
Filled with the strains of classic jazz, this crisp, contemporary room is a more buoyant
setting for the chef ’s lively Creoleand global-inflected Gulf Coast cooking than the somber gray cave that was Holley’s in Midtown. It feels right from the minute the exceptionally welltailored young host greets you at the door to the moment the $10 bread service hits the table, to collective sighs of “wow, this is so worth it.”
That it is. A half dozen downy, benne-seeded Parker House rolls rear up on a slate platter, along with two dips and a relish dish brimming with pickled red onion and marinated grapes so explosively tart they could probably jump-start a balky lawnmower. There’s a poblano-laced version of pimento cheese to daub on the rolls, and a creamy smoked drum dip that exerts its own deep, oceanic pull.
I could make dinner out of this spread, with a nice glass of wine. And maybe a piece of Holley’s justifiably famous coconut layer cake, but we’ll get to that later.
Right now, you need to hear about the gumbo. “Boutte’s Gumbo,” as the menu bills it, is a chestnut-colored roux larded with soft flaps of duck confit, some big pearly shrimp and — in a brilliant textural flourish — a raft of fried oysters that snap with a crackle of cornmeal grit against the rich, suave soup. It’s really special stuff, a hymn to Holley’s time in Creole kitchens here and in New Orleans, and the ingredients of his adopted Gulf Coast.
Those staples show up in his Muddled Stew, one of many dishes revived from his menu at Holley’s. It’s a Gulf Coast version of bouillabaisse with a soft cushion of grits thrown in, so that saffron-tomato broth meets shrimp, fish, pork belly and a 13-minute egg in a wide, comforting bowl. The chef ’s garlicky, Parmesan-crusted NolaStyle Charbroiled Oysters are still prime, but the Baked Oysters Yvonne I remember so fondly from Holley’s, smothered in crabmeat filaments and a dab of caviar, had lost their light step. What happened to that airy champagne cream?
Prices for entrees here range well into special-occasion territory ($28 to $42, mostly), but Davis St. is a restaurant where I can happily graze through the left side of the menu. The gumbo meets its match in a deceptively gentle crab and corn bisque loaded with satiny crab lumps and bits of crisped pancetta. Then Holley’s signature twinge of heat kicks in, by way of floating dots of red chile oil.
That same sneaky heat applies to Caribbean Mussels, which sounds as if it might chime too sweetly in its coconut-curry bath laced with charred pineapple. But lo, the vegetal kick of shishito pepper dawns, making the dish riveting. At 14 bucks for a generous serving, this could pass for dinner.
So, if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, could the trio of Crispy Thai Shrimp, colossal shellfish fried only to silkiness in their crunchy batter jackets, then decorated with sweet/hot Thai chili sauce, a zippy slaw and drizzles of cilantro-shot aioli. More, in this case, is a blast. Holley manages his love for sweet touches like an acrobat.
I did mourn the slight devolution of the wedge salad I loved so much at Holley’s. At Davis St., it’s based on a romaine heart rather than baby iceberg; and despite the presence of a tempura-fried okra pod and a crunchy strip of candied bacon, its buttermilky ranch dressing seemed to have lost its oomph the night I tried it.
Blackened flounder for two seemed like the best idea ever on the entree slate, with its shrimp étouffée and tumble of mirliton (chayote) and okra. It would have been, too, had the thin, delicate fish not been overcooked. Next time, I’d ask for it on the rare side.
While Harissa-Dusted Cornish Hen with farro, feta and preserved lemon sounded frisky, the salt content proved too much for me. (A tablemate scarfed it up with pleasure.) But oh, that 16-ounce Berkshire pork chop! Its country-fried apples relaxed into the chop’s pan juices and sorghum glaze, making a gently sweet sauce. Against the vigorous salt and crunch of duck-fat-and-bacon fried potatoes, a side dish, the pork was powerful stuff.
The dining room is bordered by a glassed-in wine wall, and there is a thoughtful wine list to match, ably administered by general manager and sommelier Glenn Newbeck. You can spring $80 for a lovely Huet Vouvray that goes splendidly with much of Holley’s oeuvre; or $28 for a stirring Jean-Luc Colombo Côtes-du-Rhone that’s a real bargain. Seek Newbeck’s sound advice, right down to the dessert wines he pairs so well with your final course. (I admired his choices even though I don’t care for dessert wines, which tells you something.)
About that coconut layer cake: It’s a tall, bronzey swoon of pecans and tropicality, and I really can’t imagine coming here without ordering it. Also high in my affections is a spectacularly fluffy, tart key lime cheesecake round adorned with white-chocolate-coated cornflake crisps and brittle shards of gingery candied beet. Beautiful and effective.
And don’t even get me started about Sunday brunch, with its “pork debris” eggs Benedict that turns out to include thinly sliced pork loin in a lilting sherry gravy — not to mention a Hollandaise flavored with sprinkles of chicory coffee. The biscuits it’s housed on can be had à la carte, too, and they are square marvels of biscuitude served with one of the most compelling pepper jellies I’ve ever eaten. If they sold this jelly by the jar, I’d be first in line.
The dining-room service is both personal and attentive. There’s an ample bar, with both counter seating and tables, for patrons who want to dine less formally, a particular gift when there’s a menu this strong in first-course seafood ideas.
On Wednesday evenings, the estimable Vincent Gross plays trumpet and sings with his combo for Jazz Night. His oldschool repertoire from the 1940s and ’50s can transport you to another time, but Holley’s smart, modern Southern cooking keeps you rooted in our own Houston place.