claims 200 country gals hooked husbands with her recipe. Gentlemen, this dish
is definitely grounds for divorce—raggedy shreds of chicken and thick noodles
passing themselves off as dumplings in an eerily unnatural yellow broth. Better
to stick with Uncle Phineas' fried chicken. Or maybe Marshall Hezekiah Mantle's
Catfish Fillets. Best of all is the chili, meaty and hot, at $1.25. The hot
peach pie was a bit gucky, but the apple was good.
waitresses in sneakers and pinafores, oilcloth napery, Depression glassware
(you sip your cider from Mason jars), lots of blowups of Mickey around the
walls, Sunday biscuits and cornpatch bread. And the menu makes the Mantle clan
sound like Faulkner interpreted by Walt Disney.
I give this minus
even tough Texans can't take country cooking. A few weeks ago the franchisers,
no doubt full of dumplings, shut down this place and another one in Dallas and
reorganized the setup. From now on, starting in December with a new place in
Alabama, the chain is going to be called Mickey Mantle's and stress will be on
steak. No more of that cornpatch bread routine. Believe me, it's all for the
WAREHOUSE, 2609 N. PEARL STREET, DALLAS.
Rentzel and Ralph Neely hope to lure swinging Dallas to this 1890s warehouse
with its pub, billiards room, South Sea Island Lounge, live entertainment and
"continental cuisine." Membership $50 a year, dues $15 a month.
There was a
slightly tacky jitterbug crowd one night recently, with a few sedate football
players and one lively septuagenarian boogalooing with a bottle-blonde nymphet.
Enter through the docking platform, past the foreman and stacks of barrels,
crates and a coffin. Drinks are served by leggy barflowers in dowdy
mini-costumes and little else. And they are fast—two sips of your drink and
they are poised to bring you another one.
The kitchen is
wildly erratic. A la carte entrées start at $3.75 for chicken breast vin blanc
and run to $16 for a Chateaubriand for two. The fresh seafood is excellent, but
the broiled lobster tail for $6.25 was tough. A steak, slightly tough, had fine
flavor and was rare, as ordered, for $5.50. Chicken Kiev, a boned,
butter-filled breast, $4.25, was moist and good. Of the hors d'oeuvres, the
mushrooms stuffed with crab meat were two lonely Lilliputians at $1.25, masked
in a turgid, orange shroud. The same orange glop, cheese-oriented, no doubt,
was equally fatal to the au gratin potatoes at $1. The Warehouse tosses a fine
salad, however, for $1.25, serves beefsteak tomatoes in the dead of winter and
offers fresh asparagus for $1 in a respectable hollandaise. The Irish coffee is
reportedly "the best in Dallas," and fried strawberries and strawberry
cream sauce for $1.50 sounded ghastly but tasted divine. The menu lists
"assorted flambé." Loosely translated, it means assorted flamings, I
think. But it took considerable urging to persuade the captain to flame
cherries jubilee for $2, a superproduction number requiring an incendiary
Joey Heatherton, is on the club's board of directors. I'm not sure what that
Warehouse: 2½ trophies.