Everytime I walk into Hibiscus, I think Giant. Something about the tall arched ceilings, the oversized leather booths, and the white plastered walls reminds me of Reata, the sprawling Texas ranch in the movie where Rock, Elizabeth, and James did their star turns.  Even the food--glorified steak-and chophouse fare-- fits the image, though I suspect that personable young chef and co-owner Nick Badovinus might have trouble tetting Reata's cowboys to eat tuna tartare.  No problem, though, with the two-fisted veal osso buco served with a long marrowbone that has been split lengthwise and piled high with foie gras and crunchy, lemony gremolata.  Good God in heaven, is it rich.  And if Badovinus could just get the crew to taste the fabulous dry-Jack-cheese-crusted lemon sole, he'd turn them into piscivores.  I'm not so sure about the wild king salmon, though; on one visit the fish filet was so scorched from the grill it looked like it has been branded (kinda tasted like it too).  But he would win the guys back with desserts such as the devil's food cake, sumptuously layered with chocolate-truffle ganache.  Like everything else here, it's as big as all outdoors--and much tastier. - Patricia Sharpe

Consilient Restaurants owner Tristan Simon and executive chef Nick Badovinus, the Pied Pipers of Henderson Avenue, have created an upscale Pacific-influenced chophouse and grill for their devoted see-and-be-seen hipsters and celebrity followers. The lights are low, a fireplace warms the redwood bar, and chocolate brown high-backed booths line the dining room wall. It’s a perfect perch to watch Badovinus run his exhibition kitchen. The “wow” factor is in full force: huge portions of food spill across almost every dish, and a waiter carrying a foot-long plate filled with tuna tartare and honey soy-glazed foie gras turns as many heads as the well-endowed females who float between the bar and the ladies room.

The food is pure sex. Dungeness crab dip is hot bubbling sin on a platter, and the bungalow salad is not the type you’d take home to Mom. It’s a decadent mound of iceberg lettuce chopped with tomato, avocado, apple-smoked bacon, candied pecans, and crumbled blue cheese tossed in mustard vinaigrette, big enough to serve four. T. Boone’s Tenderloin & Tomato (named for investor T. Boone Pickens) is a glorious feast of beautiful meat, juicy tomatoes, and Pt. Reyes—oh, so trendy—blue cheese.  Hibiscus is hip, hopping, and happening. - Nancy Nichols & Teresa Gubbins, D-Magazine

What is Hibiscus, anyway? Why is this restaurant so marinated in hype? Is it the special effects? Partly. In the beginning there were those black headbands with the bright red hibiscus blooms in the center that were worn by the kitchen crew. They were a chic trademark. They created buzz.

Now there are no headbands. "They're all depleted," says Hibiscus chef Nick Badovinus, who is part of the Tristan Simon hospitality combine (Sense, Cuba Libre, Candle Room, Fireside Pies and the upcoming Porch) that is crushing all competitors on Henderson Avenue and seems bent on building a dining trust. "They became the fashion accessory du jour for '05." Sure. In Dallas dining, the trends distill and diffuse with such rapidity the head no longer has time to spin. It simply forms sweat beads.

And Hibiscus is a trend. It's stuffed with 175 seats, and that butt real estate is often in short supply. Though it may seem like just another Dallas prance parlor, there are facets that crack the mold. Sure, local celebs such as Troy Aikman and Stephan Pyles slide into the leather banquettes every now and again. But there are also modestly dressed older couples huddling over small tables. Extended families cram around larger ones. On one visit, a thirty-something guy in specs, khaki shorts and a polo shirt stood near his place setting, bouncing an infant who was delivering a potent screed. On diaper technology. Do these scenes arouse the fickle, trendy flock?

Another question: After the food fetishists and trend-sweaters tire of suckling this chic teat, will there be anything left? Much, perhaps. One of my dining companions said that Badovinus looks like Han Solo. Star Wars pre-dates her by some 18 years. So maybe like the best movies, restaurant durability emerges not from dazzling special effects and buzz, but from good dialogue, like discourse on tomatoes, for instance. "We're always talking about tomatoes," Badovinus says. "They're an issue with us...At least 50 percent of my bitches are tomato-related." Does Badovinus actually pay attention to what comes out of his mouth, or is he this funny on purpose?

If Badovinus is oblivious to what exits his mouth, he most certainly isn't clueless as to what goes in, though sometimes it is overwrought. Take the deep-dish macaroni casserole--comfort food gone speed metal. The all-American elbows are robust and perfectly cooked. The yellow tar locking these elbows is compelling: sharp cheddar, Reggiano Parmigiano, fontina, port-salut, cream cheese and Sonoma dry jack cheeses. Panko bread crumbs and flecks of Reggiano form the crust. Sharpness, sweetness and a rotten fruitiness pound each other for advantage in this exquisite dumb drama.

But here is where American hubris can take a lesson from French pomposity. For example, the sublimity of crème brûlée (the Hibiscus version sings) hinges on the hot, bitter and brittle aggressiveness of singed sugar married to a smooth cool underworld of custard. When the flavors are tight, the textural contrast propels to transcendence. But this mac thing never reaches the next level. The crust isn't chewy enough. The cheesy underworld is more stiff and glutinous than silky and smoothly relenting. Plus it needs a swift kick of cayenne or something to stir it.

The mac highlights a Hibiscus eccentricity: It's named after a showy blossom, but the restaurant is shamelessly masculine--nearly unheard of for a restaurant that doesn't have some combination of "steak" and "house" on the shingle. Hibiscus is dim, but not dark. Crossbeams are blackened steel. The surfaces are stone, wood and copper. The bar top is a trunk slice from a 1,600-year-old California redwood (downed by natural causes), heavily polyurethaned into an impossible sheen. Banquettes are brown leather. Candles the size of brake drums flicker in the fireplace. Threaded pipe fittings serve as napkin rings. You almost expect the place to have lobster bibs stitched together from discarded boxing gloves (lobsters lounge on crushed ice in the open kitchen). Badovinus says the place has broad shoulders, though chest hair is evident, too. Hibiscus squeezes metrosexuality like a ripe pimple, and for this alone it should be revered (you think Han Solo uses cuticle cream?). 

Hibiscus has steak, too. Big steak. Even the name hits with a dizzying thud: prime strip "brick." It's an 18-ounce bone-in sirloin hemorrhaging roasted garlic butter. Badovinus contends that steak is easy because cows do all the work. Yet the hard part is finding cows without a French work ethic. Badovinus has found them. He's hired them. He's paying them overtime. This steak is stunning: brilliantly red with a huge flavor bandwidth wrapped in shimmering silk. Bob, Del, Rick, Kirby, Pappas and Smith should be quaking in their boots.

So should the good ship Oceanaire. Badovinus wrestles with the sea as well as any toothless mariner. Sample: barbecue-spiced lobster scampi. Description: "It's really obnoxious. I feel the authorities are going to shut us down at any point in time just for this kind of wanton disregard. It's extremely reckless." That it is. Halved lobster tails are surrounded by a perfect sprawl of orzo fragged in Reggiano Parmigiano grains. They all struggle in thick butter ooze. But this is no ordinary ooze. Badovinus roasts lobster bodies, hacks away the meat (including the green tamale) and purees it into a paste. He whips this paste into compound butter with chamayo chile, garlic, Dijon and white wine. Then he liberally smears the tails with this goop, creating a flavor profile that is vigorously rich, yet lithe.

Then there are the crab cakes, the bane of contemporary dining. Most times, crab cakes seem bred from Underwood deviled spreads and Shake 'n Bake. Hibiscus crab cakes are fantastically minimalist; a blend of backfin lump for texture and Dungeness for creamy sweetness. The cakes are loose and messy, with only chunks and shavings of meat to bind them into shape. The cake part comes from a bronzed coating of Panko bread crumbs blended with crushed Ritz crackers.

Yet a couple of dishes leave the head ripe for a scratch. The much prattled about tuna & foie is one. I've always believed that foie gras--like fine caviar--should be left the hell alone, especially this foie gras. It's flash-seared, leaving a stiff charred crust on the outside sheltering a creamy lushness on the inside. The lobe is brushed with hibiscus/fruit tea-infused honey blended with soy. This creates a subtle floral breeze coiled with a delicate fruity mist, a more appropriate treatment than the extracted and distractingly dense fruit reductions usually paired with foie gras. With foie gras this delicious, why bother with anything but a few greens and a wedge of passion fruit? Not that the coarse-chopped tuna tartare blended with lime juice, soy and sriracha (chile paste) mayo isn't stellar. It is. Yet it's difficult to see how the two relate. These are two completely different shades of richness that talk over each other when forced to converse. The sum is less than its parts--much less.

There are inconsistencies as well. On one visit the osso bucco--brilliantly paired with a blue cheese polenta that stabs with a searing tang--was dry and sticky. On another, the meat was rich and moist. Yet the best part of this dish is the topping: a split shank bone with the exposed marrow smeared with a foie gras gremolata. Skip the veal and just serve a bowl of bones for God's sake. Likewise, the spicy lobster cocktail, with healthy claw chunks soaked in lime, tangerine and OJ and paired with amazing Canton tomatoes and avocado, had barely a peep of citrus. On a second visit, the acids were pumped up, and the dish hummed.

Long-bone pork chop isn't slapping pink. My dining companion even pronounced it overcooked. But it's still an impressive slab with a tender sternness and a cured intensity as chile stabs duke it out with dry rub sweetness. "Pork is a love," Badovinus says. "I'm so down with the hog it's not even funny. I think I ingest pork six different ways seven different days." He says this after admitting he pan-sears fresh-caught salmon in bacon grease. Someone cut his Han Solo hair before he grows Hasidic curls. 2827 N. Henderson Ave., 214-827-2927. Open Monday-Saturday 5-11 p.m. $$$$ ~ Mark Stuertz

With the addition of Hibiscus, Tristan Simon is continuing to lead his own personal Henderson Avenue reformation. The upscale New American restaurant is only a few hundred yards away from his other hot spots -- Sense, Candle Room, Cuba Libre and Fireside Pies. Hibiscus is the most elegant offering Simon has delivered thus far. The restaurant is segmented into three separate areas. The reception lounge includes a bar and is casual and cool. A friendly, professional wait staff awaits in the main dining room, and a private room in the rear has an outdoor-meets-indoor feel. Simon has also brought his chef from Fireside, Nick Badavinus, to put together a delectably diverse menu that includes sea bass served with diver scallops and mussels, a thick (and pricey) lamb chop and a peppery T-Bone steak. -- Jeff Speicher (Photo: Erin Wade)

Small, New, or Offbeat  HIBISCUS This high-energy steak, seafood, and chop house from the folks behind Cuba Libre and Fireside Pies serves up a sophisticated version of American food, not to mention lots of it. The Bowl of Soul—a.k.a. chicken soup—tasted as if it had simmered for two days; its intriguing hand-rolled dumplings were long cylinders instead of the usual blobs. Huge Voodoo Shrimp presided over “bleu polenta” that was, alas, inundated by blue cheese. Stucco and stone lend a Hill Country look. Bar. 2927 N. Henderson Ave (214-827-2927). Dinner Mon-Sat 5-11. Closed Sun. Reservations recommended. This review from May 2005.

Few restaurants have been more breathlessly awaited or gushed over than Hibiscus, the latest Tristan Simon-Nick Badovinus collaboration.

Mr. Simon, wunderkind restaurateur, and the extremely talented chef, Mr. Badovinus, are on a streak. The duo's restaurant trio (Cuba Libre, Fireside Pies and the latest venture) and their two clubs (Sense and Candle Room) create traffic jams on narrow Henderson Avenue.

Hibiscus' atmosphere gleams with high energy, looks music-video hip and feels as sexy as a Guess layout. High raftered ceilings and a long, narrow interior inspire blurry travel poster fantasies of rocky coasts and Polynesian longboats. Rustic wood, stucco walls with craggy stone wainscoting, and flickering fire create a relaxed West Coast-Pacific Rim vibe.

The copper-topped front bar is usually SRO with beautiful people. Women see Angelina Jolie or Paris Hilton in the mirror of the unisex bathroom. Men (except for the staff of Orlando Bloom wannabes) come predominantly from the Michael Douglas genre. (Note: In a unisex bathroom, there's only one thing worse than failure to lower the seat: not raising it.)

The bustling dining room has been a major draw for restaurant industry insiders as well as food fashionistas who flock to what's hot. Those who want a quieter evening may retire to the mostly out-of-sight, lower-lighted rear bar and dining room with tall tropical plants cushioning the atmosphere.

No doubt Hibiscus is a hit. Yet while Eater-Me had several really good meals at Hibiscus, Critic-Me felt let down. Eater-Me and Critic-Me have some issues.

Eater-Me: A casserole bubbling hot with nearly 3-inch-deep ooey-gooey macaroni and cheese topped with a crisp layer of crumbs is reason enough to do Hibiscus, as is the tub of baked crab dip ($12, crackers included).

Critic-Me: The long list of sides both sized and priced ($6) to serve multiples helps make Hibiscus just another steakhouse. Does the restaurant scene really need one more menu with a choice of five different kinds of potatoes, from mashed with Reggiano to smashed with truffle oil?

Eater-Me: Try some of those giant crispy onion rings for an appetizer. But skip the gingered (snow) peas and carrots. They're wilted. Spinach with roasted garlic is real good if you want something green. So is the broccoli with melted cheese.

Critic-Me: Pan-fried oysters ($9) may sound pedestrian, but these bivalves rise above from a bed of bacon-laced spinach and a squirt of blue cheese aioli. They're giant, not always a plus for oysters that are batter-bound and headed for deep fat. Yet these are so creamy, tender and succulent they're mouthfuls of sea-foam foie gras. Mr. Badovinus couldn't name the species, but he special orders whatever they are from the cold waters of the West Coast.

Eater-Me: How can you miss with a grilled 18-ounce bone-in sirloin ($38)? Or a 22-ounce bone-in rib-eye ($38)? Or a 10-ounce flatiron steak with fries ($20)? Or a 9-ounce fillet ($28)? Or a daily special of chopped sirloin steak with a medium fried egg on top ($17)?

Critic-Me: See comment four graphs up about spuds list; substitute "steaks" for "potatoes."

Seafood is where Mr. Badovinus breaks out. Lobster a l'orange (market price, $75) has quickly become the restaurant's signature. If you're going Thursday through the weekend, reserve a lobster along with a table or you're likely to hear the words, "We're out." Presentation of a whole 3½-pound lobster makes the dish a centerpiece. Access is easy, however, because tail and claw meat are carefully picked from the shell. Citrus-butter sauce and a slight smoke taste from the hot wok make mouth magic with these chunks of sweet shellfish.

Inverted osso buco ($38) is no less dramatic, with the shank bone split lengthwise and roasted, making it easier to reach every morsel of the crisp, exposed marrow. The bone rests atop, and separated from, a hunk of braised veal (hence the "inverted" moniker), all on a pillowy nest of blue-cheese spiked polenta.

Eater-Me: An appetizer pair of fried shrimp for $12 sounds like a rip, but they're really big: the size of a top-water bass lure or a mouse. And the batter's great. Split the giants and a salad like the bungalow ($12) with tomato, avocado, bacon, candied pecans and blue cheese for girls' night out. Then you can share that enormous banana split ($7).

Critic-Me: Besides the size, something else is quite special about the banana split. Candied cashews add crunchy, salty sweetness to the ice cream flavors with chocolate and caramel sauces. Lavender ice cream on the apple tart ($9) gives this big dessert nuance as well.

No doubt, Hibiscus has got it going: food, atmosphere and service. The last tends toward gushing over VIPs, regular customers or a critic, and may be dismissive when a guest is not obviously one of the above.

The wine list is clearly written to complement the dominant flavors in the food, whether prime beef or Asian spice. Relatively few wines are available by the glass ($8 to $20), but those that are do nicely. Cocktails are excellent, especially the watermelon cooler ($9) and the mojito ($8) with fragrant fresh mint.

Eater-Me and Critic-Me are trying to reconcile.

Published in The Dallas Morning News: 05.06.05

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