Every time we've visited at lunchtime, there are only a few occupied tables at Prohibition Supperclub & Bar, and that's just criminal. At a time when the rest of the city is fried-chicken-crazy, Houstonians are missing out on one of the best renditions: a smoked fried chicken with a thin, crispy crust laden with "house seasoning" (essentially Creole).
The crust is determined to slide off the chicken, and while that may be a technical flaw, it's not really a bad thing. As it falls off, it releases even more of the smoky chicken aroma. No one is going to complain about the salty, spicy crumbs of goodness landing on sturdy but tender green beans the color of springtime or the perfect mashed potatoes.
Perhaps people are afraid that visiting during the workday constitutes some sort of impropriety since Prohibition hosts burlesque shows by The Moonlight Dolls on Friday and Saturday nights. These are held on the stage in the big, opulent dining room in the back with a curling baroque staircase that leads to a mezzanine.
Rest assured, the most risqué thing going on in the genteel front dining room is the sinful slab of seared foie gras, fried quail eggs and mixed wild mushrooms laid atop coarse, buttery yellow grits. The foie gras is a $10 add-on that is supposedly optional but should be mandatory. These grits are not humble -- they're highfalutin.
Whether you're there for a show or not, leave the kids at home. It's not that kind of place. It is, however, a very good place for a business or personal lunch among grown-ups.
At least it will be when the waitstaff -- who are often attentive, kind and conscientious -- shake off the languor that seems to plague them when the dining room is slow. It's an odd phenomenon in many restaurants that when business is slow, the waiters tend to drift off to other duties.
While making the best use of time is admirable, during one lunch visit, it took us from 12:10 to 2:15 p.m. to work our way from appetizers to dessert. Business people often can't luxuriate all afternoon in decadence and cocktails, even if they want to. Dinnertime is busier, and service is snappier, too.
The dining room strongly evokes a sense of Creole-style luxury. Lucky duos might get seated at one of the tables that sport porter's chairs, richly upholstered in deep purple and printed cream fabrics. These veritable thrones are so deep that sitting back all the way in one has a noise-dampening effect, which is great if you have to take a call. Porter's chairs were originally designed to keep doormen (or porters) warm as they sat by an entrance waiting to greet visitors.
The current ubiquitous trend toward mismatched silverware rescued from resale shops makes Prohibition's matched sets seem novel. Even the little oyster forks match. Overhead, ornate crystal chandeliers cast twinkling light across the black and white marble floor.
Chefs Ben McPherson and Matt Wommack really seem to have found their calling with Gulf Coast cuisine. McPherson initially came to Houston to be the chef at Batanga, but his prior years working in tapas restaurants left him longing for something different. Wommack has been a fixture in Houston's food scene for years, working at the likes of Uchi, Down House, Goro & Gun and Revival Market. There may be flirtation on the stage at Prohibition, but the chefs are committed to their love for Southern food.
Both understand the importance of seasoning and have obviously passed that knowledge on to their staff. Here, the power of bacon, onion, garlic, salt and butter is wielded wisely. The duck and andouille gumbo can vary here (as it is wont to do), but when the silken, dark brown roux is on point, it's in the same ballpark as Holley's and Brennan's. It might not win, but it could definitely come play.
Yet Prohibition is not limited to these signposts of traditional Southern cuisine. Occasionally, some surprising ingredients are invited to dance. A case in point: the preserved lemon and tomato conserva (oven-dried tomato paste) that give deep tang to a bumpy sea of dark brown lentils. Those lentils in turn support big, ruddy slabs of bigeye tuna. The meaty planks are perfectly seared, with a tan exterior that intrudes in the barest way on the deep red flesh. A fine hand is at work in the kitchen with the salt -- there's enough to bring the fish alive, but not so much as to complicate things.
There's an extensive chargrilled Gulf oyster program with potential for excellence. Whether the Rockefeller oysters, with herbs, butter, Parmesan and bread crumbs or the simpler New Orleans-style barbecue oysters, the flavors are always spot-on.
