Dexter’s gets an upgrade
Plenty of good, zero ugly so far at this new outpost.
There’s a new standard in town, I type, and I hear the low, moody strains of “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” cue up in my mind’s playlist.
It’s not entirely out of sorts, I realize, as the chatter among Dexter’s fans of old is, in places, split into camps that place themselves at opposite ends of a figurative one-horse town, hands at holsters, ready to let word bullets fly.
Some miss the old place and its “bottomless mimosas at brunch” vibe. Others are eager to embrace the new, elevated version.
There’s no pleasing everyone, of course, when a restaurant like Dexter’s (for our purposes, the Hannibal Square venue) closes and transforms into a 2.0.
Dexter’s New Standard is now removed from its cozy and familiar enclave, ensconced in decidedly less Main Street-y digs in the Ravaudage complex in Winter Park.
Parking is easier, though — especially for those of you who never mastered the Parallel Arts.
That’s some of the “good,” even if that charming lamp-lit location is lost, and the folks who designed the new place have seemingly taken that into account, doing a stellar job shielding the exterior tables from feeling like they’re set amid a parking lot. Each patio, front and side, feels lush and a little more upscale than its predecessor, but hardly stuffy.
Interiors, too, have gotten a swanky upgrade.
On first visit, I popped in on a swinging happy hour before joining friends on
the side patio. We congratulated one another on the life choices that brought us to where we could enjoy al fresco dining in December. Drinks were in order.
A pistachio old fashioned arrived, looking gorgeous and tasting lush and boozy. One sip and the cocktail (inside the patio inside the restaurant inside the warm circle of loved ones) became an “Inception”-like womb far from the frenetic pace of the workday. More “good.”
I perused the mostly empty main room while orders were placed. A band was in the early stages of set-up. Fans of Dexter’s entertainment roster will be happy to note that live music is even more frontand-center here — the prominence of the stage shouts it from the rafters — and the kitchen, it turns out, is quite expeditious.
Once back, the table was awash in oysters, delicate and briny and served alongside a mild cocktail sauce (horseradish was on-hand to kick it up a notch), mignonette and a jalapeno puree that our server — who was exceedingly helpful (and tolerant of a raucous bunch) — warned was “super spicy.”
It wasn’t, actually — not for serious heat fans — but these things are for those who pair the seaborne with something familiar. This night, I believe the oysters were from the northeastern U.S. On my subsequent visit, they had plump Texas bivalves on the menu. On some nights, it’s Canada or Alabama or Apalachee Bay, Florida. My advice? Taste the oyster first, you may not want or need accoutrements once you sample them straight up.
The Cornish hen — oh, that tiny, succulent drumstick! — was tasty, skin crisp, the sweet potato puree beneath a light, smooth fall-infused delight. And my dining companion’s prime rib? The juicy, pink slab took up the entire plate.
“Meat-forward,” someone muttered. Indeed.
Next time around, I showed later — Saturday dinner hour, around 7:30. This time, the music was in full swing and I was happily surprised, as a longtime fan of his regular Lake Eola Market sets of yore, to see Joseph Martens up on the stage, ever the one-man band Orlandoans have enjoyed for ages.
His acoustic versions of the unexpected (Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” comes to mind) always delighted me.
But man, was he loud. I went to wash up while my dinner mates chose a table and noted the volume. Once out, I scanned, but didn’t see them (I was glad). I checked the side patio and no dice (it was loud out there, too)
They’d landed out front, where glass doors provided some insulation.
Mind you, we heard him just fine — every strum, hum, and tap of the tambourine. In fact, his set was a good portion of our dinner convo, but that was just it. Here, we could convo.
The BLT app ($15) was enjoyable, pairing pork belly and the cool bite of arugula with crisp fried green tomatoes, but our favorite was the Seared Scallop, entrée-like in its preso, with two impressive bites atop shrimp fried wild rice (nice chew!) with a flavorful pepper relish.
Crisp, too, was the finish on the amply portioned strawberry grouper entrée ($31), the flesh beneath tender. Large pearls of couscous were a nice texture add alongside green snappy broccoli. More flavor in the shrimp + annatto broth would have allowed for more “soupy” interplay with all the interesting elements.
That DNS burger ($17), ordered medium-rare, is a juicy keeper. Served with Swiss, pickle, garlic aioli and fried shallots, I didn’t want to put it down.
But I did. And good thing, too, since my friend’s massive ribeye ($44) came with a second right behind it.
Wait, what?
As he sliced into the thick, medium-rare-ordered cut, our server wondered aloud whether it was overcooked. He sheepishly held the cut open — one side was medium, he told me later (I hadn’t seen it from my vantage point) — and she immediately ordered him another.
I later assessed it to be
perfectly fine. As was the one that followed, completely unnecessarily, as it turned out. So, thank you, DNS. Your allowing for this highway robbery (my companion was duly chided) was service both above and beyond.
Desserts? They’ve got a ringer here in Lydia Murphy, the pastry punk who wowed at Scratch (oh, how I loved that place…) among other 407 kitchens. First visit’s chocolate torte was dense, bittersweet magnificence that extended to its regal presentation. And the artfulness of visit No. 2’s semi-freddo-spun offering — a cranberry-pistachio-white chocolate explosion (almost literally, just look at that plating) was laid to waste amid flying forks.
Had I thought of it, I’d have remembered the day I tried Chef Ryan McLaughlin’s shrimp and grits as it debuted at K Restaurant’s brunch awhile back. Now helming the New Standard kitchen, McLaughlin’s got a shrimp and grits app I’m hoping will be on the menu next time I visit.
So, there’s plenty of good and zero ugly thus far at this new Dexter’s outpost.
As for bad, that volume issue, for me, would have been moot for a happy hour visit when I wouldn’t have minded trotting out my “club voice.” Over dinner, though, I don’t want to shout about anything. Not even when the food’s mostly quite worthy of it.
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