When Jason Owens stepped into the kitchen of
The
Biltmore Bar & Grille in Newton early last year, he inherited a
space with a pretty entrenched character of its own: from its oh-so-Anglo name
to a décor of dark woods and a pressed-tin ceiling, the Biltmore’s initial
impression is that of an English pub, all the way. But take a seat now (or
better yet, grab a fork), and it’s obvious how the Tennessee-born chef has
introduced a bit of culinary culture shock to the space, gracing taste buds
with a Southern twang hard to find in Boston, one that warrants a jaunt to the
Biltmore’s cozy digs in Newton.
On the savory side, we recommend the Mustard Catfish ($18) as the
single best example of the Biltmore’s down-home comfort food — a fresh filet of
fish with a mustard zest that’s perfectly complemented by a bed of corn salsa
and, more surprisingly, a dollop of duck sausage (who knew cats and ducks got
along so well?). To indulge a serious Southern sweet tooth, end on the
Fluffernutter ($7). It’s Owens’s homage to the favorite dessert of (who else?)
Memphis’s own Elvis Presley, a King-sized plate lined with deep-fried triangles
of peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches, stuffed with bananas and
drizzled with raspberry sauce. It’s sinfully delicious, but be warned: these
are heavy on the stomach, and you’ll soon understand why Presley ended up
adding a few extra inches to the waistlines of those rhinestone jumpsuits.
Like any good Southern experience, the Biltmore succeeds at spicy
fare, too. Served in a wire-mesh container shaped like a miniature deep fryer,
the Biltmore’s Hog Wings ($9) put an inventive, swinish spin on the pub world’s
staple, buffalo chicken. Here, grilled marinated pork shanks are covered in a
hot sauce that’s spicy enough to tantalize, but tempered with a tangy
sweetness. To truly put some beads of sweat on your brow, though, turn to the
Biltmore’s regularly rotating $5 bar-bite menu for the dry-rub ribs with a
light touch of hot sauce. A perfectly potent blend of peppers fill the mouth
with a slow-burn buildup of the “hot dang!” variety, but Owens says that diners
who can’t stand the heat are treated to an extra gift from the kitchen: a
Hoodsie cup of ice cream to douse the flames. You’ve gotta love that Southern
hospitality.
