After amassing thirty Michelin stars across fifteen restaurant visits in three weeks, I knew I would need a gentle return to the real world and thought the Roadhouse would be just the place.
I must admit it’s refreshing to be able to walk into a restaurant without having to make a reservation one, two or even three months prior to a meal. That, of course, involves tradeoffs. By 7pm, they had already 86-ed the mussels and the paella. On the other hand, for the price of some restaurant entrées in LA, San Francisco or New York, I was able to order three courses, the first two of which were large enough to constitute lunch the following day. And I’m happy to report the burger was cooked medium rare (as requested), which seemed to be a bit of a challenge during my previous visit last July. Their desserts are almost entirely on the stodgy side–the kinds of desserts that give the Midwest a bad rap (e.g. a donut with whipped cream, gelato and a bourbon-caramel sauce)–though the vanilla gelato is actually really tasty, but do avoid the raspberry sorbet, which is grittier than kitty litter.