Kerbey Lane Cafe

So my girlfriend wanted to go out to eat. Since I treasure peace, I agreed.

When arriving at the Northwest location of Kerbey Lane, the first thing you notice is the plain façade. I mean, you really have to look for this place. I thought we had parked in the back. But then I noticed the 3-foot brick wall surrounding the restaurant. I figured the building is attacked by hordes of Mongols on a daily basis, so that's why they need a wall. I'm no army general or architect, so I still don't know what the purpose of that wall is.

Once we made our way around the wall and to the door, I was relieved to see that there was yet another set of doors three feet in front of me. Good. I'm glad there's an air lock in this building. Is there a point to the second set of doors? This area can't be a waiting room, it's much too small. Is it a staging area? Am I supposed to wait for the green light and then race to my table like a horse out of a chute? And good luck if you happen to be wheelchair-bound. By the time you open the second set of doors wide enough for your hand to get through, your wheels are wedged back against the first set.

So if you're one of the lucky few that make it through the air lock, you'll be pleased to see the bar as soon as you walk in. I have nothing against the bar at Kerbey Lane Cafe. I have loved many a bar in my short time on this planet. What I don't like about the bar is the people at the bar. When I walk into a restaurant, I don't want to be greeted by drunks yelling at each other. And there's more good news: your journey to the dining room is split in twain. The hostess could choose the safe path to the left of the bar, and seat your party without risk of being showered in backwashed beer. Or the hostess could take the dangerous path directly through the bar. Weaving in and out of tables occupied by drunk yuppies like an Olympic skier on the slalom course. Hooray. Our hostess is a daredevil...and I left my umbrella in the truck.

We made it through as dry as could be expected to our comfortable booth. Looking around the dining area, I began to notice something was amiss. Well, everything was amiss really. There was a promotional package of Apple Wheat pancake batter on our table next to a small vase filled with Spring flowers. How nice, a comfy country-style restaurant. Looking to our left, an abstract painting in the style of Jackson Pollock. Ok, so we've crossed over into a hip, artsy restaurant. Then shifting my eyes toward the dining tables, I can think of only one place...Denny's. Imagine an art show inside a Denny's that's combined with a Cracker Barrel; Kerbey Lane Cafe.

The waitstaff was friendly, even though she had lost her trainee. Oh good. I'm going to trust you to remember what I order, and you can't remember where you lost a person. The menu itself was nice. Not too big or cumbersome, and had only one insert listing Kerbey Lane's specials. But this thing must have been written by M.C. Escher. Trying to find the beer list was like reading a Choose Your Own Adventure book. I was constantly turning pages, going back to pages I read four minutes ago, flipping the menu over just to see if maybe they had a special section where my meal was predetermined and all I had to do was hand the waitress my license...but to no avail. There was no beer list at all. I know they have beer, I passed 20 people who had beer not five minutes ago. So I decide to play it safe, keep my drink order simple so our waitress can join the search and rescue party for the lost trainee. A Dr. Pepper for me, an iced tea for my girlfriend.

We placed our drink order along with an order of Hummus and Pita. I hate hummus, but with the Cracker Barrel/Denny's/Modern Art Museum fusion that the dining room had, I was willing to give it a shot. Who knows, maybe it comes with biscuits, gravy and a biography of Andy Warhol. The hummus and pita arrived promptly, looking like brain matter, with a dusting of cayenne pepper. While mulling over our entrée choices I noticed something about the menu. There is no unifying theme. Kerbey Lane Cafe is all over the place. The menu must have been made up by a retarded kid spinning a globe. There's American hamburgers, Greek chicken dishes, Tex-Mex enchiladas, Middle Eastern salads...at that point, I wasn't sure if I was even still hungry. So I decided to pick something easy. Something light, something refreshing, something with a little bit of "zing." I saw Blackened Salmon Pasta. This pasta had everything that I was craving. It had the spicy zing I was looking for in the blackening, it had the refreshing crisp taste in a promising lemon vinaigrette, and it even had pork! Who doesn't love pork? My girlfriend ordered the Kerbey Chicken. This sounded scrumptious as well. Stuffed with a combination of kalamata olives, cream cheese and mushrooms, and served with a side of loaded mashed potatoes...wait. What? Loaded mashed potatoes? There they go with the crazy mash-ups. Greek influenced by American Continental? But who am I to judge? Maybe it'll work out.

The food arrives, along with the recently rescued trainee. By the look of his face, he must have gotten tangled in a fishing line. So many piercings, he looked like the Hang Tough course from American Gladiators. Everything looks spectacular. The reds were red, the greens were green, the blackened salmon was blackened. With the exception that my meal was presented on two plates, everything looked like we had expected. I kept both plates because it elevated my food, thus reducing any tiny bit of effort I might need to get this beautiful food into my mouth. But this is where our meal took a turn for the mediocre. The blackened salmon might not have been salmon at all. The blackening spices overpowered the fish. Not to mention the somewhat compact nature of the fish I received. It was like cutting into chicken breast. And that lemon vinaigrette that I so anxiously awaited...canceled out by the peppery capers. The pork, thank god, was porky. As for the Kerbey Chicken, it was some kind of culinary frankenstein. The flavor of the stuffed chicken and the loaded mashed potatoes just didn't mesh well. And the chicken breast wasn't technically stuffed! It was sliced in half and presented like a sandwich. Cheaters.

We finish our respective plates because we're not assholes, and our waitress returns with her trainee (his face must act as some sort of locating bell.) "Here's our dessert list, in case you decide you want something sweet" she offers. My girlfriend is an aspiring pastry chef who has made every dessert item on every menu. Don't believe me? Look at any dessert menu. Does it have cheesecake on it? Sure it does. How about a brownie/ice cream concoction? Yep. They're almost all the same, dessert menus. So she's kind of dejected when it comes to dessert at restaurants. She decides on her personal favorite, Tres Leches. A direct translation is "Three Milks." So what shows up? A piece of dry yellow cake, sitting in a puddle of milk. Mmm. It was as if the kitchen tried to make a deconstructed Tres Leches.

We got the check, which was entirely too expensive for the food we received, and paid. Our waitress thanked us and we heard a slight "jingle jingle" from the trainee who had once again disappeared. We made our way through the bar, once again remaining dry, and into the air lock. Once we made it past the Mongol barrier we were home free. Kerbey Lane Cafe was not a bad restaurant. It wasn't worth $47.22 either. Will we ever go back? Who knows. Kerbey Lane is open 24 hours a day, so I'm sure we'll make a drunken mistake sometime in the future.