Replaces the Cue & Cushion -- Ha! I just like saying that.
Anyway, go there. It’s centrally located, yet far enough from Washington that the DBs haven’t discovered it. And when you do go, get the chicken fried oysters. I might have turned my nose up a touch when I read this on the menu, but the resulting dish is perfectly sinful. Rich, meaty oysters are lightly battered and chicken fried; they go down the hatch tasting a heckuva lot like buffalo wings, only a jabillion times better. Asdlkgjlsdkjg!
The charcuterie plate cannot compete with the betters around town and the mussels were overly fishy in a disjointed broth, but the remaining apps -- like prosciutto-arugula rolls and bacon-wrapped prawns under a poached egg -- are duly impressive.
The table favorite of the mains was the slow-cooked snapper, served with a flourish in a plastic bag that’s cut right open at your table. When the steam clears, you’ve got a mild and flaky fish, lightly flavored with complex Provencal herbs. Delicious. And ‘tis the season for Santa’s venison. The one at Branch Water is a tender delight -- beautifully cooked and with a sprinkle of salt in a huckleberry sauce -- but I wish it came with more of the lovely butternut squash and wintery Brussels sprouts served diminutively alongside.
In other news, you might have noticed that I’ve been writing for the food blog at The Houston Press. It's been fun and challenging, but means that I’ve been updating this bad boy much less frequently. I’m enjoying it, *except* for the fact that they don’t use the serial comma. I am semi-obsessed with the serial comma -- and quite loud about it, too -- but will attempt to reconcile my differences to promulgate a positive working relationship.
Place your bets, fools.