The student has become the teacher. Maybe that’s not what Goodwins is going for, and, even if it was, they’d be too modest to admit it. But if you spend enough time at this all-American bar and grill, assembled by a team of cooks who learned their trade working at spots such as Neighborhood Services, The Grape, Town Hearth, and Remedy, you’ll start to think that Dallas’ neighborhood restaurant movement has reached its high point.
You’ll also start to wonder if Neighborhood Services is looking over its shoulder. That’s where much of the Goodwins leadership crew first met. Jeff Bekavac was executive chef of the original Lovers Lane location, and Austin Rodgers worked there before becoming general manager at Town Hearth. (Danyele McPherson, chef of well-remembered Remedy, is in the kitchen, too.)
Neighborhood Services impresario Nick Badovinus isn’t involved with Goodwins, but you could easily make that mistake. Rodgers and Bekavac show his influence in their minimalist website, jokey menu names and descriptions, reservations that are a lot easier to get if you know somebody, keep-it-simple-and-don’t-mess-up recipes, and cheekily nostalgic desserts.
Part of the pleasure of reading a Badovinus menu is deciphering the eccentric sauce names, unusual abbreviations, and inside jokes. That experience is replicated at Goodwins, where you might consider “Spicy Tuna Cone’s ’01,” “Lil’ Rippers,” “red o’s,” steaks served with “fitting sauce,” or a burger made with “black angus CBS.” (In order: spicy tuna tartare in miniature sesame waffle cones; cocktail-sized Chicago-style hot dogs; red onions; your choice of steak sauce, peppercorn, or salsa verde; and a blend of chuck, brisket, and short rib.)
Once you decipher the code, everything is exactly as promised and just what you want it to be. Zucchini chips are fried just right, not too hard, then dusted in sea salt and served with green goddess dip. Crab salad has light dressing, celery and cornichons for crunch, and a clutch of Ruffles-style chips. The “Caesar-esque” (one of six salad choices) is dressed well, topped with an anchovy and big chonky croutons. Cheese beignets are probably 90 percent cheese by weight: fried cheese with cheese dip.
Goodwins may not be a wild culinary safari, but every neighborhood needs a spot for that night when you want a martini, a Caesar, and to not need to think.
Servers encourage you to try The Underhill, a steak sandwich with “carmy” (caramelized) onions, provolone, and a side cup of fries. They’re right. It’s one of the rare steak sandwiches that has thick slices of medium-rare steak, still pink in their centers. If you’re used to glorified roast beef, The Underhill will be a jolt.
Every dish on our early visits has been executed just the way we want it, from spicy, salty crab pasta all’amatriciana to a grilled pork chop topped with sweet-and-sour peppers. The cocktail list only gently tweaks the classics. Even better, someone has told service staff to let all their personalities out, so we spent the night joking away. And compared to Neighborhood Services, comparable menu items at Goodwins are just a few dollars cheaper.
There are an awful lot of comfort-food Dallas restaurants. They know what we like, they cater to us, and that’s that. Goodwins may not be a wild culinary safari, but every neighborhood needs a spot for that night when you want a martini, a Caesar, and to not need to think. Goodwins is the newest restaurant to uphold this play-the-hits tradition. It’s also the best new example in a long, long time. Maybe, in fact, the best since the glory days of the kitchen where its founders met.
This story originally appeared in the October issue of D Magazine with the headline “Street Food.” Write to brian.reinhart@dmagazine.com.
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