The Queen's Feast, otherwise known as Charlotte Restaurant Week, begins this Friday, Jan. 17 and continues through Sunday, Jan. 26. The 10-day semi-annual event features 117 area restaurants that extend from Mooresville down to Fort Mill and everywhere in between. Participating restaurants offer a special three-course (or more) prix fixe menu for $30 (not including tax and gratuity) to Restaurant Week guests.
The event offers diners an opportunity to try new restaurants and brings business to dining establishments during a historically slow time of the year. Last summer, 130,000 diners filled seats at local area restaurants for $6 million in generated revenue.
Yet, with all the excitement from a large portion of Charlotte eaters, there are the naysayers who have created a longstanding debate, in town and across the nation, about whether or not Restaurant Week is a boon or a blemish.
The third concept from the Moffett Restaurant Group opened last Monday inside the historic Reynolds-Gourmajenko House off Providence Road. Stagioni is veteran chef Bruce Moffett's take on Italian fare, featuring a seasonally driven menu of small plates, wood-fired pizzas, handmade pastas, Italian specialties and craft cocktails. I'm looking forward to the porchetta dish, wild boar ragu and the brussels sprouts pizza with pancetta, parsnip puree and pecorino cheese. Also, prosecco on tap. What?!
At the helm of Stagioni (which means "seasons" in Italian), is executive chef Larry Schreiber, who moved from his position as executive sous chef at Moffett's second concept, Good Food on Montford, to assume the lead position.
Besides a focus on fresh, seasonal ingredients, the restaurant has a rich and storied history. The deceased lady of the house, Blanche Reynolds, is said to wander the premises. Stagioni honors Mrs. Reynolds with a stunning photography display from her son's wedding at the mansion in 1943 that spans nine canvasses and 30 feet.
Stagioni is located at 715 Providence Road and is open Monday through Saturday at 5:30 p.m. Closed Sunday. Call 704-372-8110 for reservations or visit www.stagioniclt.com for more information.
The first time I had the chicken mole at Three Amigos (2917 Central Ave.), it was a revelatory accident. A plate arrived covered in a deeply rich, almost cordovan-colored sauce sprinkled with sesame seeds. A molded mountain of yellow rice studded with peas and carrots sat sentry on the plate, surrounded by a generous pool of refried beans - the yin to the mole's yang. Hunks of hand-shredded chicken swam in the thick, all-consuming sauce. One bite was all I needed to know. It was warm and intense. Complex. Comforting. My taste buds didn't know where to begin. Notes of cinnamon and chocolate permeated my palate and an ever-present heat from the ancho chiles lingered and intensified after each bite. I slogged my tortillas through the pools of sauce, completely taken aback by what I was eating. It was that good.
Mole is considered the national dish of Mexico. It is a sauce made for celebrations and typically has no less than 20 to 40 ingredients, flavor that is built on tradition passed down over generations. Abuelas (that is, grandmothers) fire up la cazuela, a giant cauldron, for holidays and tend to the pot of simmering ingredients that have been roasted, spiced and carefully combined. Mole preparation is something that is passed down through families, a legacy left for the rising generation.
Got a favorite dish in Charlotte? Share it with me at keiaishungry@gmail.com.
We have a weird culture of naming food-related things. First, there's the low-bar version - the TGI Fridays version, if you will - where every menu item has to scream itself at you and replace a bunch of s' with z's to make itself sound super cool, since apparently the marketing execs at these places think all of their customers come directly from Warped Tour in the late '90s. Here, you'll see such Guy Fieri-poisoned dishes as "Jack Daniels Kickin' Chicken Bitez" or "Dave's Super Hot n' Crispy Jalapeno Jammers." They always have to be in a convenient, bite-sized form so you can shovel them in handfuls at a time, and they always have to belong to a person (Dave's!) or liquor (Jack Daniels!). God for-fucking bid they should just exist as regular pieces of food.
Then there's the high-brow shit. Instead of telling you what genius in the back room of an Arby's decided to name your combo meal, these fancy places like to softly whisper the entire history of every ingredient in your meal to you. We can't just have a steak with a cocoa-rub marinade, oh no. It has to be "Grass-Fed Oregon Free-Range Gently-Petted Prime Rib with Malaysian Dusted Cocoa Powder That's Been Excavated Out of the Tomb of a Dead Prince." I don't want a damned novel, I just want a steak. Is that so hard, you Michelin-starred bastards?
In that super long-winded way I love oh so much, that's why I decided to make a spice cake this week. Because it's simple - it's a cake, it has spices in it. Done.