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As with many things, the cream always rises to the top. There are some excellent establishments to be sure, with many superb hand-made brews of all sorts. Our bet for the best overall package is the Bitter End.
Food, atmosphere, staff and refreshments of all kinds meld together to create the classic Austin experience. An excellent venue whether trying to impress a date or client, or treat a friend or even yourself. The Bitter End draws a diverse crowd of some of the cities brightest creative sparks. We've seen everyone from a former Miss America to the guys from one of Austin's hottest MultiMedia studios -- Virtual Studio. In fact, you can seldom go to the "End" without seeing someone you know.
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Menus | Interior of | Brews |
Every time we walk into the Bitter End we are greated with an inviting and elegant atmosphere. Before we can begin to ponder where to wend our way, we're greeted by the hostess and usually by the manager, Alan. Of course, Emmett, the End's inspired chef, insists that we visit the kitchen before doing anything else. (Not wanting to risk raising the ire of this brilliant, yet bent character, we always comply.)
Tonight, even though they're packed, Alan takes time to get off the phone and fill us in on the latest wine selections. Mike, over at the bar, pulls back his hair and yells a friendly hello from across the room. Veronica (our favorite waitress) makes a point, with every table full, to come over and gesture us in from the door.
"Sit outside guys," she says emphatically, "our bat colony is visiting tonight. By the way, should I bring a couple of beers to your table?" (It's nice to have your mind read.)
The patio happens to be our favorite spot. On beautiful nights like tonight, it is a casual and charming place. All in all, we've been here less than five minutes and we've been acknowledged, made to feel at home and offered a drink. (What dude wouldn't trade his soul or pocket protector for that?!)
Anyway, I have to say (somebody run this past our lawyers and ad execs), Bitter End has the best brew pub beer in town!
There! I've said it and I feel better. I mean, it's not that we're dissin' the other guys. Maybe they can get there, but ... Bitter End just has that extra quality. You know ... IT TASTES AND FEELS GOOD. Ranging from the Ales and Bitters to the special limited brews they are so fond of doing, we have yet to try one that was anything but excellent.
The Bitter End, not satisfied with having a cool place, killer staffing and the best beer in town, further complicates matters by offering a fully ( yes, I said fully) stocked bar and an exquisite wine selection. (insert wine list graphic)
Meanwhile, back to our story. Over at the bar we spy a few mates. A friend named Trevor and an associate are sitting at a small table writing. It seems they have a bite from some TV producers to submit a script for a sitcom. Trevor animatedly tells us about his wacky, but very funny TV family in his thick South African accent. We move on from there to greet other friends at the bar.
Once we have thoroughly terrorized the bar crowd, we opt to adjourn (and no, they didn't make us leave the room) to our awaiting patio table.
OF COURSE OUR BEERS ARE WAITING FOR US. We sit down and Veronica immediately glides over to expound on the evenings specials and present us with menus.
The menu changes monthly, or so, and is the creation of Chef Emmett Fox. We like Chef Fox, he cooks the way we do. Unexpected combinations and extremely fresh ingredients that make your taste buds stand up and yell, " This is much to good for the likes of us." But it's OK gentle reader, you do deserve the best, you should experience what life has to offer. I mean, what's the worst that could happen, the Heimlich manuever after your mouth has died from Cuisine Orgasms.
But before we decide which morsels to start with, we need to have wine. During a previous experience we had listened as the bartender, Mike, gave us his recommendations for beer and wine. Our selection? An old vine, Australian Shiraz from d'Arenburg. Upon bringing it to our table Veronica tells us we are lucky because this is the last bottle in cellar. (Never fear, a new shipment arrived this week.) She also told us our friends in the bar were just talking about ordering it and she cleverly absconded with it before they had the chance.
We agonize and argue but finally give the poor girl our appetizer choices. We really loved Veronica's tempting suggestion of Polenta with mushroom broth, but selected instead the Polenta with Stilton. (Don't get scared, Polenta is an Italian cross between pasta and pureed garlic-cheese grits.)
Our second selection was a Duck Confit (Glazed Duck over a bed of walnuts, pine nuts, greens, herbs and stilton).
Lastly, we chose Semolina Fried Calimari with roasted, sun dried tomato, ancho chili suace.
Following this orgy of pre-appetizer delight, we decide that Veronica can not be shared by both me and my dining companion. She returns with our selections to discover us dueling to the death with butter knives for the privelege of her attention. She glares at us sternly, gently sets down the precious cargo and informes us that we'd feel very foolish indeed if one of us won, only to discover that she didn't like either one of us.
Thoroughly abashed, we lay our weapons to rest and begin contemplating the food, afraid to discover the truth. Was this a fast and clever, yet tactful way of saying we are a couple of old lechers? As a parting gesture, she asks if she may serve us in any other way before attending to her other, better paying clients. We suggest that she give us a chance. She retorts, "Give peace a chance!", and trods away before we can respond.
Fortunately, we are quickly distracted by the overwhelming aromas rising from the plates. Endless supplies of fresh baked faccacio from the wood fired oven accompany the polenta and the duck, which had arrived first. Additionally, the ever undaunted Veronica had insisted that we try the aforementioned mushroom broth, which she brought on the side. It was, of course, incredible.
With our palates still reeling from sensory overload, the calimari arrives in all its crowning glory. (Piled in a 4" heap were a boggling amount of the lightest, crispiest and flavourful squid I have ever had the pleasure of wading through. The robust flavour of the dipping sauce was a welcomed change from the standard cocktail sauce.)
About this time we had finished our extraordinary Shiraz. Not knowning the fate of our South African scoundrel friends, we sent the empty bottle to their table where they were chastised for not ordering it first. They were also informed that we were putting it on their tab.
Somewhat chagrined, we then inform Veronica that we no longer have room for a main course. She executes a smart 180°ree; and we suddenly find ourselves facing the manager. (Would he revile us for not staying the course? Would the chef come out with a cleaver to avenge himself of this insult?) "Not to worry," Alan informs us. "With such an eclectic array of choices, many people come in and make a meal of the appetizers."
"...but...", he queried ( and here is where the other shoe fell, dear friends), "I'm sure you saved just enough room for Ports and dessert wines."
Notice how the gifted manager inserts the crafty, statement of fact, in place of a question. What choice did we have? So, back to the bar for resounding port and dessert wine selection.
We end the evening by forcing all the remaining patrons at the bar to engage in lively reparte about the future of wine, rock music, and the social conditions of the Web.
Epilogue
They finally closed the kitchen and bar around 1am and we percieved a desire for us not to wear out our welcome. We stood to leave, but not before we were fortunate to introduce ourselves to a young woman at the bar who turned out to be an intriging mix of Figure Skater ne: writer.
Enthralled with her work, we talked incessantly about the serendipitous karma of chance meetings. We left her there, but not before begging her to write a few stories for the magazine.
Upon ponderously waddling to the parking lot, we looked up, breathed in the fresh air and thought about the following day's work schedule. Suddenly, we found ourselves pounding on the front door to be let back into the safe, sensual environment where everyone catered to our every whim. But, alas, everyone had split, gone to live their lives outside the fantasy world of restaurants. We were crushed, inconsolable.
Parting was not sweet sorrow.
For that night ... for us ... it was surely ... the BITTER END.
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