The first thing that popped onto the screen when I looked up Restaurant BT's website was a large picture of chef/co-owner BT Nguyen-Batley in all her glory. Well, maybe not all her glory. She is wearing what appears to be an extra long white chef's coat, and that's it. Except for sandals. And a watch. Check it out (at www.restaurantbt.com).
A cult of personality surrounds this Vietnamese chef. It seems that much of Tampa was waiting with bated breath when Restaurant BT took a few months longer than expected to open. All of us local critics were likely stepping over one another to test the new place and whip out a review. (Sherman won. He's one quick sonuvabitch and another fan of BT.)
BT's popularity doesn't rest merely with her stern beauty, although she looks great for someone who ran three restaurants while she had her first child. It isn't just her back-story, filled with drama (she fled Vietnam at the fall of Saigon) and unlikely success (she never professionally trained as a chef). It isn't even the serene feeling her restaurants always seem to evoke, especially the uber-calm meditation chamber that was known as the Yellow Door. Her popularity really stems from her food.
BT takes Vietnamese cuisine and pushes the French colonial influences. The food is basically like that at your neighborhood pho joint, only nicer, with all of the rough ethnic edges sanded off. Sometimes, this results in elegant and poised constructions. Other times, though, grace veers into homogeneity and a dish's rough-and-tumble heritage gets lost in BT's translation.
After experiencing a vivid shock of heat from Thai peppers and minced garlic in the excellent chili chicken salad ($7.95), the similar bo tai chanh ($9.95) was a pale stepchild in comparison. This dish of rare shredded beef lacked the heat of the previous dish, and missed the bright punch of lime juice typical (and necessary) with this salad, instead relying on merely a bit of freshness from cilantro.
Moving onto entrees, grilled langoustines a la BT ($22.95), sweet and gingery, were also humdrum, although the coconut sticky rice that accompanied that and other entrees was perfect, fragrant and nutty. Unpleasantly chewy cubes of shaken beef ($20.95) were barely seasoned. They needed a kick in the pants from some pungent fish sauce.
On one visit, I had to wrestle a bit with a whole steamed snapper special ($27). I loved seeing the beady eyes staring up at me as I ate the moist flesh coated in chili-ginger paste. Sadly, every bite produced a profusion of tiny little bones that made me leave most of the succulent meat untouched. A few bones are the price you pay for this type of preparation, but my cheeks felt like a pincushion after a few bites.
There were several high spots, however, to balance that one low point. Giant translucent sea scallops ($22.95), braised in coconut milk and fragrant curry, were perfect, the natural sweetness heightened by the rich broth. A sweet slab of dark roasted eel ($7.95) sat atop a simple cucumber and herb salad dressed with ponzu and rice wine vinegar. It was one of my favorite items of the evening.
Not surprisingly, BT and husband/partner James Van Batley have maintained their ability to infuse modern design with an almost philosophical sense of peaceful being. The bar area is linear and dynamic, with rows of light wood chairs and two dramatic walls – one filled with close-up photos of people's faces posed with a favorite drink, and one paneled in horizontal slats of natural stained wood. Natural elements play a big part in the drinks, as well. Martinis flavored with kaffir lime leaf, lemongrass, rosemary, ginger and chrysanthemum are exceptional, reviving the sadly passé concept of aromatic herbs blended with alcohol. Maybe gin will come back, too.
The dining room is restrained: White tablecloths cover square tables placed at an angle, rimmed with ebony chairs. The walls feature monotone art with large expanses of white matting. There is an island of energy in this sea of calm, almost as if a counterpoint were needed so that the full calming effect of the dining room could be felt. In this section, buttery yellow upholstery covers sweeping, crescent-shaped banquettes in front of deep red walls. It looks like what every other modern designer wants to accomplish, except with a soul.
Some of the food is soulful as well. A duck stew special ($23) was pure comfort food, beefy hunks of tender duck and cubes of yam. Sweetness from the yam, cardamom, and aromatic Chinese five spice infused the broth, but it was more like your mama's cooking than any rarefied fusion experiment. Vegetarian pumpkin soup ($6.95) had the same quality – big sections of melt-in-your-mouth stewed pumpkin bathed in veggie broth fortified with coconut milk, galangal, and the occasional crunch of crushed peanuts. Both of these dishes were outstanding.
If you ever went to The Noodle Lounge for lunch, then you've essentially had lunch at Restaurant BT, as she kept the menu largely the same. There's even a rumor that she wants to turn the noodle shop concept into a chain. Lunch includes similar offerings as dinner, but you can skip a lot of that in favor of the home-made noodles prepared a variety of ways. The pho ($9.95) is one of the best I've had in Tampa, even though it could use some more star anise. Or you could shovel some Good Karma Tofu & Veggies ($8.95) like a Japanese businessman.
Sure, sometimes BT's restaurants seem to be more about her than the place itself. And sometimes, I get the feeling that BT tones down some of her dishes in order to please as many palates as possible. In any case, it seems to work, considering the big crowd present at her restaurant on a recent Tuesday night in Old Hyde Park Village, an area not known for its nightlife. I may not be a member of the BT cult, but I sure do like to attend the meetings.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in May 12-18, 2005.
