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Photo by Beth Furgurson
One of the specialties include filet mignon topped with brown butter hollandaise, served over mashed potatoes.
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Photo by Beth Furgurson
Soft-shell crabs with cilantro-pesto cous cous
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Photo by Beth Furgurson
Art by Nancy Cecere-LeBlanc decorates the wall at Zeus.
Zeus Gallery Cafe, the Belmont Avenue hideaway with black-and-white tiled tabletops and rotating artwork, opened the year the band Nirvana hit — a bellwether predating many of the quaint indie businesses leading to the Museum District. Zeus served all kinds of customers — certainly the pressed Polo shirt set — over 23 years and three ownerships. Other restaurants opened and closed. Zeus made its bones.
Andy Howell opened Zeus in 1991, serving filet mignon as a special. The steak remained with the next owner, Ted Doll. Doll knew his way around a corkscrew and got fired up by West Coast boutique wines. In January, he sold Zeus to the Dudleys, Anne and Randy, former managers of Buddy's. The wine list became easier to read, printed rather than solely presented by chalkboard. The filet mignon, and most of the kitchen, remain unchanged. (I’m coming back to that wine list.)
Think back to Zeus’ inception in the Sundried Tomato era. Carytown was dead after dark. Zima and Miller Lite happened in the Fan. Fierce Fan dining rooms included Davis and Main and Fat Daddy’s. They were the post-show, celebratory spots. Beef and crabmeat came decked with béarnaise sauce, not arranged like a game of Jenga on saucy skid marks. Garnish meant an orange slice, not micro greens. Dining rooms smelled of smoke. Compound butter slid down grill-marked proteins. Small plates were sent back.
Zeus has kept this style of menu. Large portions of beef and seafood delivered with a starch, sauce and veg, are simply updated. There was no broccoli rabe here in 1991 — now it harmonizes with the rockfish’s lemon-caper vinaigrette. Crab cakes decadent enough for a 90210 ZIP code oust bacon-fetish mashed potatoes from top billing; piles of fried oysters prefer sambal mayo over 1990s remoulade. Thick filet mignon, expertly salted and cooked to a warm-centered, pink-with-pops-of-red medium-rare, makes me want to order it every time. (Hold the port reduction that tastes degraded.) Only the orange slice is missing. Zeus regulars take note — the Dudleys aren’t out to reinvent what’s always worked.
But they’d be remiss not to pay more attention to their wine list and its service. One night, I walk up to the empty bar seeking a table (there is no host at the door, as it would be awkward in the Lilliputian room) and notice a server struggling to open a bottle. Two other employees watch her rotate and shift the corkscrew, trying to find that sweet spot to pull the cork. After five minutes, without any acknowledgment from the staff, I leave.
I understand busy. I don’t understand too busy to say “hello” or make eye contact. Besides inadequate training (wine presentation is dial-up slow), the wine list, online and in print, is incorrect. A bottle of Viognier, upon inspection, is actually a Chardonnay-Viognier blend. The Loire Valley is erroneously placed in California. These are the flannel nightgowns of wine list faux pas that hint at a lack of passion. The bases are still covered — there are crisp whites that go with fish and intense reds for beef — but without imagination or finesse.
One solo meal at the bar puts me in the thick of dinner prep. I smell garlic sizzling and see tomatoes crushed for veal and ricotta meatballs. Service is attentive, but feels like an aside instead of part of the show. I can’t help but overhear staff mockingly repeat silly customer comments to other employees. As I’m handed my bill, my server talks over her shoulder to someone else about bridesmaid dresses at the same time she thanks me.
One Tuesday night, I arrive at 8:15 to a darkened front door. When I call the next day, I’m told that “no one came, so we closed early." Lunch service started in March and ended in May due to “bad weather." June relaunched midday dining, with spotty attendance. These kind of things make me question going back. Will they be open for lunch? Will the tangy, creamy key lime pie that makes your mouth do the Macarana be there?
Zeus Gallery Cafe
201 N. Belmont Ave., 359-3219, zeusgallerycafe.com
Hours: Monday to Thursday 5 to 9 p.m.; Friday and Saturday 5 to 10 p.m.; Sunday 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.
Prices: $9 to $30
Handicapped accessible
