Cured
We enter the parking lot across the street from the Pearl complex in San Antonio. It is full except for one empty space right in front of us; a gift we don’t refuse.
Walking past shops with window displays that entice, we force ourselves to have tunnel vision and make our way to the former Pearl Brewery administration offices. Approaching the ochre brick edifice, I tell Michael, “It looks like a bank.” Solid. Impenetrable. It is short and squat compared to its surroundings, with a discreet sign all in caps—CURED—right in the middle of the upper façade.
The restaurant CURED, located in the Pearl Brewery complex in San Antonio, Texas.
We cross the artificial green turf where children play, climb the steps and enter a charcuterie lovers paradise. A wall of bacon and sausages made from chicken and duck and beef and lamb and pig and giant joints of ham hang floor to ceiling in a refrigerated glass enclosed case. Everything—cured.
Our reservations are for 5 p.m.—an early dinner necessitated by the timing of a Spanish Guitar concert later in the evening. Many of the bar stools are full but most of the tables are empty. Perhaps I didn’t need reservations after all, but it never hurts to have them in hand when visiting a travel destination city such as San Antonio.
Because it is early it is also Happy Hour which began at 3 p.m. and will end at 6 p.m. Today wines by the glass are half price, as are house cocktails and most of the beer selections. Looking over the varied and eclectic food assortment that will soon be set before us I settle on a 2016 Clos Cibonne Tibouren “Tradition” Côtes de Provence Rosé. A full-bodied, dry rosé made from the black-skinned Tibouren grape. A grape with a long history that has been grown in the Provencal region of France since 500 B.C.
Although I try to temper my expectations after perusing the menu online at home, I’m excited about sampling as many items as I can at a restaurant receiving 4.5 stars across the board. I convince Michael we want to try something from their charcuterie selection—which is large—move on to small plates and end with an entrée; eschewing dessert and coffee. We don’t have time for everything—we need to be at the Tobin Center by 7 p.m.
What can he do but agree? It’s my night to treat.
The Charcuterie
The charcuterie, which is made in-house is aged anywhere from 30 days to 12 months. Warned by our waitress that is easy to fill up on this course if we are not careful, she helps us choose an assortment of three to share: Apple Jalapeño Pork Rillettes, Smoked Duck Ham and Orange & Pecan Salami all of which are served with house-made Brewer’s Crackers.
When the appetizer platter is set before us, it is like an unexpected Christmas package containing more than expected, everything artfully arranged. There are two huge crackers, the three charcuterie items ordered, and a selection of sweet and savory temptations to complement the proteins. Pickled green strawberries—which I’ve never heard of and look very strange, are tucked in one corner of the platter.
The Brewer’s Crackers are huge and thin and crisp, the pork rillettes creamy, the duck ham salty and meltingly tender, and the paper thin sliced salami is savory and yummy and I want more of everything. It is all delicious. We don’t leave a scrap on the platter. Even the mustard seeds are gone!
Small Plates
BEET, AVOCADO & CITRUS SALAD Local Yogurt, Beet Cracklins
When it comes to the small plates Michael and I both choose a salad-like course, However, a third plate of fried oysters also appears. The result of a conversation that led to a misunderstanding with our server—my fault. As she begins to remove the masa encrusted shellfish, Michael says, “Wait! Don’t take that.”
So here we are with another assortment of three. My Beet, Avocado & Citrus Salad is garnished with a giant beet crackling (How did they do that?). The red and gold beets are cubes of perfect sweetness. They sit atop a creamy pool of avocado mousse along with refreshing segments of citrus that have been supremed, and everything marries well with the baby arugula. A myriad of taste sensations is in this one dish! Fresh, savory, tart, sweet, creamy and crisp. I think we have stumbled into food heaven.
Michael offers me a bite of his Cherry Tomatoes a la Plancha that swim in a sea of light and airy aioli, and gosh they are good. He agrees. Something so simple and so elegant and so delicious.
Then we both look at the uninvited guest—the fried oysters. They sit atop a large round sope which is spread with a smear of black beans. The oysters peek at us through a forest of avocado mousse, pickled red onions, and tender sprigs of cilantro. Beckoning. The oysters are fresh and tender and crisp, tasting of Mexico with their masa coating. We are both glad they came to the party.
The Entree
Bloody Butcher Heritage Corn Kernels
The first two courses are history and we tell our server to delay taking our entrée order while we relax for a bit and sip another glass of wine and think about things. We both opt for seafood for our main course. I’m leaning toward the mussels while softshell crab is calling Michael’s name. He really wants the crab but worries about the side dish, Bloody Butcher Polenta. He can’t imagine it, and neither can I.
I on the other hand really want the mussels but don’t exactly know what PBR stands for in the description of the mussel broth—an essential part of the dish. Michael explains that PBR stands for Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, thus the name, Beer Can Mussels. I’m still really not sure, but I trust the chef.
I’m especially happy because they serve the mussels with fries and ailoi—very French—moules-frites. I discovered the combination of tastes and textures in Quebec years ago and have been hooked ever since. I also learned that eating the mussels with a spoon so that you can get a bit of broth with each mussel is the only way to go. Not many restaurants in Texas have learned this essential trick. I seem to always be asking for a spoon.
“What is Bloody Butcher Polenta,” Michael asks our server when she returns.
We get a farm to table history lesson from our lovely, young, patient waitress, learning that it is a heritage variety of corn that is dried and stone ground, providing an earthy and complex taste and texture. The name comes from the flecks of red mixed onto the white kernels — like a butcher’s apron.
Our entrees arrive. I ask for a spoon. Michael inhales his crab. He has been yearning for the crispy fried softshell crustacean for over a month—but that is another story. The creamy polenta is a perfect foil. Meanwhile, I have barely made a dent in my mountain of mussels. They are a piled high ebony tower of flavor. The perfect bite is a single tender mussel, a bit of savory broth, the salty tasso ham and freshly diced red ripe tomato. It takes a while to dig and dip in order to achieve this bite each time, but it’s worth it.
SOFTSHELL CRAB Bloody Butcher Polenta, Spring Onion & Tomato Vinaigrette
BEER CAN MUSSELS Housemade Tasso Ham, PBR
Whipped Aioli, Fries
The fries come covered in an ethereal cloud of aioli. I pull a frite from under the cloud and take a bite. I move the dish from my left to my right, offering them to Michael. He tucks right in and makes a giant dent. But I am disappointed. I feel like this is an epic fail on the part of a brilliant chef and I can’t believe it. The yin-yang allure of moules and frites is the creamy tender bite of mussels complemented by the salty crispy frite. Unfortunately, crisp left the building the minute the blanket of aioli topped the fries. If you are into potatoes no matter what, you will be happy. Me, I am sad.
But the mussels are perfect, and they make me happy.
I look around the restaurant. Fifteen minutes before seven o’clock and there is not an empty table in the place. Groups of women, men, businessmen, businesswomen, couples, families with tiny kids (who order mussels too), are happily munching and imbibing in one of the best restaurants I have been to in San Antonio. CURED—remember the name.
Chef Steve McHugh
It was serendipity that brought us through the doors of CURED. My criteria for choosing a restaurant was that it needed to be close to downtown San Antonio, and their doors needed to be open at 5 p.m. Google maps gave me oodles of choices and throwing the proverbial dart we landed at CURED. What a lucky accident!
Further research on this restaurant uncovers the fact that chef-owner Steve McHugh is named a Finalist in the James Beard Foundation’s 2017 Restaurant and Chef Awards. The foundation is a deeply established culinary institution whose awards are one of the highest achievements for a chef. And, James Beard happens to be one of my personal heroes—so I am doubly impressed at Chef McHugh’s nomination.
A Note on Why James Beard is My Hero
James Beard introduced me to food and cooking and entertaining. I stumbled on this icon, the father of American cooking, in my early twenties when I purchased his cookbook on entertaining—Menus for Entertaining. Tattered and torn and put back together with duct tape, I still use it. James Beard had me as a forever fan when he wrote of picnics in the country with white tablecloths and good china and crystal and ice-cold martinis. And then he sealed the deal with his recipes. So simple. So good. So flavorful.
CURED
You will want to go to CURED, so here is the low down.
306 PEARL PARKWAY, SUITE 101
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS 78215
210-314-3929
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