Just past Lois Avenue in Tampa, as you head northeast on the diagonal that is Henderson Boulevard, a triangular lot is home to a one-story, flat-roofed Mid-Century Modern building bisected by a curved concrete drive. The path is now partially blocked, but it’s clear that in its heyday, customers could drive through the portico structure and drop off passengers at a front door protected from the elements.
My mind is racing. WWSD? (What would Sherlock do?) What is, or rather, what was, this place? What in the world are the huge varied cutout circles (now filled) that distinguish the outer wall holding up the overheard carport-like roof? Portholes? Bubbles? My synapses are firing, but I’m having trouble connecting form to function. Pool supplies? Dry cleaners? Dentist?
I know the space most recently served as The Wine Bistro, but earlier this year, two Florida State University Chi Phi fraternity brothers, Perry Dube and George Tsambis, decided to open The Blind Goat Food and Drink Co., a “modern industrial, happy hour hot spot, designed for the social, working adult,” according to the restaurant-bar’s website. They call it a homage to the Prohibition-era speakeasy, without passwords or antiquated rules.
And so, still in Holmesian processing mode, we pass through the floor-to-ceiling glass entryway to encounter a huge blackboard chalked full of daily specials. Still stumped, I make a polite Watson-like inquiry as to the building’s pedigree. “It was originally a funeral home,” comes the chipper yet edgy reply. It’s then that I cast a glance to the back wall. And there it is, the joint’s namesake — a hipster embalmed goat head, with oodles of dark fur but also a blond soul patch and matching dark glasses, giving off the aloof countenance of a jazz master. The animal is, after all (how do I say this politely?), way past its expiration date. I guess the more appropriate term relates to taxidermy, but given the history, well… it’s elementary.
We, too, order drinks and choose to taste the trio of dips. Skipping salsa, we opt for hummus, tzatziki and smoked fish with all the dipping tools — kettle chips, pita chips, fresh vegetables and tortilla chips. We, however, dodge the decadent meatballs (at $4 more) as a “partner in this dipping adventure.” Were we not on an official CL tasting, this selection alone could feed a group. The hummus is humdrum, but the others shine, and it’s fun to switch up your scooping options as you sip one of the yummy craft cocktails.
There’s an Old Fashioned infused in-house with bacon and mixed with fresh mandarin orange, as well as a version of gin and tonic called the CBG Smash, which adds muddled basil and grapefruit. Plus, one margarita incorporates agave nectar and muddled cilantro with jalapeño. You get the idea.
The focus is on spirits and beer, and while a limited wine list is showcased, there's also a daily rotating “fancy” vino collection of reds, whites and bubblies. A bottomless glass of decent Montepulciano box wine is just $15. As the bathroom sign brags, the “beer is as cold as your ex’s heart,” and a wide range is offered by the bottle alongside some great craft brews on tap, including local IPA and amber stalwarts.
Applying Sherlock’s deductive reasoning, the “sando” lineup reflects wisdom learned by the savvy owners who, in the not-too-distant past, embraced the lessons of a responsible collegiate drinking career: All sandwiches come on a rustic roll with tangy house-made slaw (vegetable), an egg (lushness), kettle-cooked chips (crunch) and provolone (extra protein). The menu is reassuring: “Sound like overkill? We promise, it’s not.” Surprisingly, this formula, which seems like it comes directly from Animal House, is spot on.
The food choices are constrained by a hoodless kitchen that limits the cooking options. That said, The Blind Goat is really not so much about the food as it is about drinks and camaraderie. But the sandwiches are nicely done. I particularly like a companion’s Condor Club, combining chicken, sun-dried tomatoes and square chunks of applewood bacon that keep dropping from the roll. They seem more like pork belly as I quickly scoop them up.
There are multiple offerings for sandwich lovers, ranging from meatballs to chorizo and even a veggie mix called Farmer’s Market, or you may indulge in inventive salads with house-fashioned dressings. The lone sweet is (surprise) a dessert pizza du jour, which features the same crackly crust. It’s slathered with Nutella before being finished with golden brown sliced marshmallows and slivers of fresh ripe strawberries.
As we exit, a tabletop shuffleboard game nestled in an outdoor nook beckons, and we partake in a match. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to know the blind goat would approve.
Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system.
This article appears in Jun 11-17, 2015.