Del Frisco’s Grille
2.5 out of 5 stars
4138 W. Boy Scout Blvd., Tampa. Appetizers: $7-$16; entrees: $13-$46.50; desserts: $8-$11; wines by the glass: $8-$15. 813-878-6890. delfriscosgrille.com.
As a general rule, CL usually sends me for tastings at home-grown restaurants. National chains often have ample advertising budgets to establish brand identity in the Tampa Bay market. But every once in a while, we check into the big guys to see what they can deliver.
Off I go to Tampa’s Boy Scout Boulevard, where upscale chains line up, ironically, like good scouts. As I turn my key over to the valet and my posse enters Del Frisco’s Grille, the obviously well-drilled and ever-gracious staff ushers us past a table of a dozen women who sit under the patriarchal motto emblazoned on the wall: “Do right and feed every man.” Irony, indeed. Otherwise, it’s a sleek, welcoming place, both inside and out — all glass, leather and wood beams — with some crazy hanging pendant lights. They’re made from what looks like a bunch of curly pale cranberry paper strips jumbled together to resemble a wild Carnivale headdress or some kind of Medusa craft project.
We decide to begin with what DFG calls “food to fight over,” sampling two signature dishes as well as the flatbread recommended by our crackerjack server. These turn out to be fine choices, indeed. The cheese steak eggrolls are a collision of two American stalwarts, where Philadelphia’s most famous sandwich meets NYC’s Chinese-ish adaptation from the 1930s. It’s bite-size cheese steak with crunch. My tasters are a bit unsure, but with sweet and spicy chili sauce, plus a dot of honey mustard, it’s an intriguing mouthful.
Even better are a quartet of enticing mini tacos, with creamy avocado, a squiggle of spicy citrus mayo and the freshest bright red cubes of ahi tuna tartare. Even my normally fish-adverse friend is happily convinced by the crunch of the taco shell juxtaposed with lush fillings.
After 2015’s Pizza Marathon, I’m always eager to jump on the flatbread bandwagon when the opportunity presents itself. The success or failure thereof tells you a great deal about the imagination and skill of a restaurant kitchen. DFG’s wild mushroom flatbread gets a thumbs up. The crust is uniformly crisp with balanced toppings of fontina, caramelized onions, baby arugula, and just enough white truffle oil to enhance the mushrooms without overwhelming the other ingredients. Truffle oil often shouts when all that’s required is a seductive whisper.
Our entrees begin with another “signature” — prime beef short-rib stroganoff with pappardelle, a centuries old Russian favorite that took America by storm in the mid-20th century as home chefs embraced using Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup as a culinary springboard. However, high-end versions with strips of beef bathed in a luscious sour cream-mushroom sauce with hints of Cognac make it a perennial classic. The DFG version is a huge chunk of braised beef with stingy sour cream drizzle in an inedible, artificial salty sauce that tastes like it came from a corporate package. The noodles are good, but everything else that makes stroganoff great is absent.
Mushroom-shallot-crusted prime steak lures a companion with the promise of top tier beef flavored with earthy porcini mushrooms. We order pink and juicy medium rare. Since Del Frisco’s is a noted purveyor of steaks, my expectations are high for a perfect strip of succulent prime beef. Sadly, the steak disappoints on almost every level. The meat is very salty and over-cooked well past pink to near medium well, with a chewiness that argues against it being a prime cut. Sadly, while the creamy jalapeño-bacon mashed potatoes have a lovely texture, they’re out of balance for the average diner. The taster who craved the steak found them too hot to eat.
Unless you offer diners a choice of spice level (as you might at an Indian restaurant), any enhancement must be subtle enough to please middle-of-the-road palates. A touch of heat to accompany the smoke and salt that bacon provides would be scrumptious; these, unfortunately, are too hot to handle. My friend’s sad eyes tell the tale of dashed excitement as a fork plays with the peppercorn gravy lacking the magic to remedy the situation.
Our seafood dishes fare better. A lovely coral salmon fillet is upgraded by the gently spicy Creole mustard vinaigrette enrobing the fish. The charred broccolini coated with lemon and Parmesan proves to be the highlight of our entree service. Meanwhile, a perfectly pleasant Parmesan-crusted sole fillet in mild lemon chive butter is festooned with peppery arugula and sun-dried tomatoes, dotted with bits of crab meat. It’s enjoyable rather than memorable.
My companions wonder aloud if our desserts will excel like the starters, or disappoint like the entrees. The lemon doberge cake is a New Orleans creation in the mold of the wonderful multilayered Hungarian Dobos torte. In this case, the ample slice is five layers of moist sponge with lemon filling and a lemon buttercream icing. The cake has a lovely soft texture, but I’ve got a table full of critical cake makers abuzz with ideas about how to increase the punch of the lemon, which is far too timid.
When our server presents the coconut cream pie, there are gasps of delight. The free-standing circle of pie is topped with a mountain of cream that rises a good five inches above the tabletop. It’s sprinkled with flecks of toasted coconut and long curls of white chocolate shavings perpendicular to the table, reaching toward the ceiling. Talk about impressive.
But our elation crashes as we bring forks to our lips. The custard is almost tasteles. Without the garnish, you’d hardly know what flavor the pie is supposed to be. How can so visually opulent a creation be such a failure? I almost want to cry. We end “not with a bang but a whimper.”
CL Food Critic Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system, or email him at food@creativeloafing.com.
