Sorrel isn't for everyone, in that regard. Not everyone is going to be charmed by seared duck breast on blue corn blini or flounder with vodka-spiked basmati rice and a cantaloupe salad. To each their own. But for those of us who are intrigued by such menu items, Sorrel should make it a little easier to tell what we're ordering. The dinner menus and the weekday lunch menus are more helpfully constructed, with standard "starters" and "main courses" sections, so this shouldn't be tough to do on the weekends, too.
That day, for instance, our waiter told us that a flatbread with sorrel pesto — the same lovely pesto that's delivered along with Texas olive oil and a sun-dried tomato pesto with your bread service — was "more of an appetizer." We ordered it only to find that it was enormous, and better suited for a main. The flatbread was good for a few bites, then the pesto became overpowering, its oil soaking the bread through and through. We turned to our main courses.
Troy Fields
The diver scallops are a favorite.
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My roasted quail was beautiful, stuffed with purple potatoes and wilted, red-edged Swiss chard that made for a striking rainbow on the plate. The potatoes, however, turned out to be mealy and overcooked. My friend's burger with white Cheddar was equally lovely on the plate, but also overcooked — a shame, as the salty-sharp white cheddar and simple dressing of farm-fresh lettuce and tomato were otherwise fetching. His burger came with an enormous side of pommes frites — which would have been nice to know before we ordered a side of the fries, which turned out to be completely extraneous.
"Why didn't the waiter tell me my burger came with fries?" my friend despaired of the twiggy frites that now covered our table. The waiter had been exceptionally helpful in our cocktail selections — an excellent "skinny" guava-rum concoction for me, a summery hibiscus margarita with black salt rimming the edge for my friend — but fell short when it came to the food, just as the kitchen often does.
It recalled my first visit to Sorrel many months ago for brunch, when the waiter had neglected to inform my friend that her "breakfast sandwich" would actually be deconstructed and — when finally assembled by her bleary, angry hands — the size of an English tea sandwich. Nor had the waiter told my other friend his "biscuits and gravy" were actually of appetizer size, measly half-dollar-size biscuits topped with drizzles of gravy. You don't do that to a hungry Texan boy expecting a full breakfast.
Thankfully, Sorrel seems to have remedied its portion sizes since then, and the frustratingly misleading menus do actually show signs of improvement as well.
On a recent weekday afternoon, I went for the $24 three-course "Innovation Menu," a lunch tasting menu that I'd recommend for both its value (Sorrel can otherwise be quite pricey, in spite of reasonable beer and wine prices) and its inventiveness.
Like the rest of the menu, it changes every day due to Chef Pedersen's whims and the food's own seasonality, but this most recent incarnation saw tender duck confit shredded and draped atop fat chunks of fried green tomatoes for a first course that was large enough to function as a main. The entrée itself — marsala-spiced diver scallops on top of cilantro-saffron rice in a creamy pan sauce — was my favorite dish at Sorrel to date. The scallops were seared off but still pillowy inside, the saucework again outstanding. Simple lime sorbet carved into abstract roses finished the meal on a third high note, the entire lunch a triumph.
It's meals like this in which I can really see the appeal of Sorrel, and which make me eager for return visits — with caveats firmly in place. Perhaps the reason I'm harder on Sorrel for its consistency issues is that I feel it should know better: This is a slick operation, with a chef and an owner who both know their way around the business. Owner Ray Salti is responsible for the extraordinary Ray's, a modern hunting lodge-style restaurant in Fulshear, and the Danish Pedersen has a strong pedigree to back up his classical European style blended with a smartly updated take on farm-to-table dining. They both have the chops to make this work; I just don't know what the disconnect is.
Take away those silly TV monitors in the dining room, trim down the opaque menu a bit and make the dishes that remain more transparent. Keep it as fresh and simple as the sunny dining room — the right ingredients are already there, after all — and I think Sorrel could become a knockout. Just stop trying so hard, kid, and be yourself. You're already halfway there.
katharine.shilcutt@houstonpress.com