It’s no surprise that at the new Largo restaurant named The Way, as in, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), the menu exhorts patrons to pray. Lest this suggestion — clearly stated as “not required” — scare off the pagans among you, there’s no active evangelization. The restaurant does, however, have a soft sell sandwich board that invites all to a weekly community service.
The stated motto is “simple, friendly, delicious,” showcasing Southern comfort food in a family-style setting. Chef Dave Brewer has cooked in Pinellas County for two decades and incorporates his passion and sense of caring for his neighborhood into the food he serves. And with the focus on family-style rather than finesse in plating, the prices are kind to your wallet.
The Way even offers a deal at $14 per person for groups of four or more. The meal features soup or salad, fresh baked cornbread and your choice of two entrees and three sides, served by the bowlful. It’s a fitting concept because as I reflect on the experience, I suddenly realize that the food reminds me of a potluck in a church basement — in the most positive way.
Chili and cheese dip, paired with crisp house-made tortilla chips, is a huge portion with mild, meat-filled chili and creamy cheese. Our table happily devours the combo as we wait for the accompanying fried green tomatoes we select as a starter. I’m sure we’re not speaking in tongues, but rather in mundane English; sadly, the tomatoes fail to materialize. I never rock the boat when I’m out tasting, preferring to report the experience to you as it happens.
The cornbread is light and cakey, and, reflecting its Southern roots, not sweet. While I prefer a denser, more rustic rendition, this is well done. And in any case, the bread comes with the meal, so slather on the butter.
Fish and chips highlights beer-battered cod that’s not particularly crisp and strangely tough. The chips, meanwhile, are lovingly crisp, and thin American-style French fries instead of thick-cut like in the U.K. More successful on the seafood front is the cornmeal-dredged catfish. Its savory earthiness goes well with the collard greens, which aren’t as flaccid as those stewed for days. They have plenty of flavor and just a tiny resistance to the tooth, making them a nice foil to the fish.
The “crowd favorite” — a house recipe of bacon-wrapped meatloaf — is appropriately smoky, with pleasing meaty flavor on the tongue. However, the meatloaf expert at our table pronounces himself disappointed that it’s a bit dry. The mac and cheese is standard. It’s not distinctive, but it does the trick.
Hailed as “just like Mama use (sic) to make,” The Way’s flavor star is the pot roast, slow cooked for eight hours. The beef is fork tender and full, full, full of savory goodness. Add a side of corn on the cob, and you’ll be transported to a Sunday dinner from your youth, visiting grandma. All is right with the world (except perhaps for ongoing congressional strife of which you were blissfully unaware).
There are plenty of sides to choose from, and two are included with each entree. In addition to the aforementioned ones, you may go with candied pumpkin, sliced tomatoes (not ripe, but as expected this time of year), home fries, mashed potatoes and gravy (simple; could use more seasoning), green beans (requested yet not available), coleslaw, fried green tomatoes, and watermelon (a nice juicy wedge).
The wines are, as you might expect, generic. As listed on the menu, the “sangria from St. John’s pass” isn’t available, but the substitute is acceptable, though served without fruit. Once again, a reinforcement of the potluck analogy; one’s expectations for the fruit of the vine should be appropriately in check. There of plenty of choices elsewhere if top-flight wine is your goal.
Both the peach cobbler and bread pudding hit the comfort food bull’s-eye. They are truly church social ready. I can picture someone’s great aunt adding a dollop of fresh whipped cream to the soft, sweet fruit and pushing her dish onto the congregation in some church hall. Meanwhile, just down from Auntie’s cobbler, Grandma is insisting it’s her bread pudding with caramel sauce that really shines. No matter. There are no dueling matrons here, merely great $3 desserts that aim to please — and deliver.
So whether you’re an apostle looking for a community, or a heathen craving Southern comfort, The Way delivers full-blown church supper fare right out of Norman Rockwell’s America.
Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system.
This article appears in Oct 1-7, 2015.