Field Notes: Mamani

At most publications, food writers must write quarterly lists of the most anticipated, exciting, biggest, most legendary, and most thrilling openings for the season. The language is a headline trick to drive clicks, tapping into FOMO. These lists are rarely curated or even presented in any particular order — it's just a clump of things happening, lacking any more context or finesse than an events calendar with poorly planned opening dates. 

While at Eater, I produced many of these. Mamani was at the top of my "most anticipated openings" list for at least two quarters, thanks to construction issues that pushed its opening back from late spring to late summer. Like everyone, I've been curious about what the menu from a French and Italian chef who left a three-Michelin-star Las Vegas restaurant, the legendary and eponymous Joël Robuchon, would contain. How would chef Christophe De Lellis change the Dallas food scene; how would he drive it forward? De Lellis did not make this change just to be a chef; he is a partner in the Feels Like Home hospitality group behind the restaurant, along with brothers Brandon and Henry Cohanim, who also own Namo and Bar Colette. I am of the opinion that Namo is the best sushi spot in Dallas, and James Beard award-winning Bar Colette, under the auspices of barman Rubén Rolón, is one of the city's top cocktail spots. All this to say, my anticipation for this spot was as real as it got. 

However, I was a little concerned when I finally saw the menu. It is economical. Frugal, even. At a concise one page, it offers a tight list of options. And the prices for seemingly basic items are eye-poppingly high. Bread We Bake, or five or six slices of fresh bread served with a shaving of imported French butter, is $15. Murder Point oysters from the Gulf are $24, the highest I've seen (Blue Crystal prawns with a pesto sauce for dipping are a bargain at $16). Getting over to the right side of the menu, where the meats and shareable entrees are, is a pulse-raising maneuver.

I will share my thoughts on the food, which surpassed my expectations — eating it and chatting with De Lellis during the meal helped me get my head around the kitchen's philosophy — but I will also tell you about the perks of being a regular. And advocate for asking questions in a restaurant, getting to know the staff, and being a curious person who doesn't form opinions in a vacuum. 

When I made my reservation for 5 p.m. on a Tuesday, OpenTable only offered terrace seating. When I arrived, I was offered one of the tables in front of the open kitchen, at the right hand of the exposition station where the chef was perched as he waited for business to pick up. I chose that time because going in early or late, rather than the standard 7 p.m. reservation, is a great way to speak to the kitchen and get better service. I'd had the chance to meet De Lellis previously for work, at Namo, as he ran the kitchen there when he first came to Dallas, and to eat tacos and barbecue for an Eater piece, during which I asked him to speak at length about food and cooking. These are the best tables in the house, if you can handle the stimulation that comes from being between the front doors, where you see every patron enter, and the kitchen with its hustle and bustle. You will watch every dish get made, and De Lellis, along with his expo and sous chef, plus the bread and butter service servers, are on display across the main counter, which faces the dining room. The coordinated dance of orders going in and coming out, the chefs chanting "oui" in unison as De Lellis issues the odd order — it's your own episode of The Bear.

Service was a little spotty at first. The service is coordinated, with many hands touching all of the tables over the evening. My server appeared when I sat to give me a menu and affected a casual air, perhaps too casual. He then disappeared for so long that the chef got antsy and stepped out from the kitchen to personally take my order. The sommelier on duty that evening happened to be someone I knew from visiting Monarch to try its tasting menu, and she stepped over to greet me, chat about the wine menu, and offer suggestions in lieu of my server doing so. To most, it would have been a seamless experience. I strongly recommend talking to the people who touch your table. You never know when they will turn up again in your life. 

I landed on ordering the bread with butter, which I'd heard was phenomenal; artichokes; and lamb chops. De Lellis approved and said he would like to send out a few additional plates for me to try, suggesting that the agnolotti and croquettes were bites I needed. Of course, I agreed; no one knows the menu better than the chef. If he felt those were standout dishes, then it is my pleasure to have the privilege of trying them. Here is my pro-tip: When you find a restaurant you like, become a regular. If the restaurant is too expensive to be a regular at, which is the case at so many places, you may ask if the chef can stop by your table. The worst they can say is no. I would do this when you especially want to thank the chef and compliment the food. It is not a request to make to make yourself feel more special. If you'd like a lot of attention from the kitchen, ask to be seated near it. Chefs do not want to come to the far reaches of the dining room to greet guests. It disrupts their workflow. They are also unlikely to do so when the kitchen is bustling, so don't expect it if you have a primetime reservation. Sending a note to the kitchen to praise the food is also welcome, and yes, you should do it when it is exceptional. 

My other tip is one I did not follow during this dining experience, but that I often to. Ask what the specialties of the house are. If you are a welcoming eater with an open palette, let your server guide you to make choices based on what the kitchen does best. Be wary of the most popular dish with diners, or a dish that has been selling a lot. You don't want what the lowest common denominator likes; you want the thing that is the standout on the menu, the can't-miss item.

The bread was warm and soft, delivering on the promise of being freshly baked. The butter was divine, and watching scoops of it be pulled off and smaller scoops that didn't meet the standard of service being mashed back in was hypnotic. De Lellis sent out a single croquette, a heavenly, melting bite of ham and manchego cheese. He also sent a single Blue Crystal prawn with a dish of vibrant green basil, one of the most unexpectedly perfect bites of the meal. The seafood was firm and fresh, coated in the lightest of fried batters, and the bowl of basil ground into a pesto was an unassuming compliment. This would become a theme in the food — De Lellis's ability to perfectly match flavor profiles that don't outshine each other, but effortlessly complement. 

Next were artichokes served in yogurt mixed with Za'atr, with confit tomatoes, mint, and a complex-looking arrangement of greens. It was the dish that looked most like the fussy Michelin-style dishes one might expect. It was also the least satisfying and flavorful, aside from the tomatoes, which were giant bursts of flavor compared to the rest of the plate. Chef followed that with a half order of the agnolotti, which is stuffed with sweet corn and dotted wth gorgeous chanterelle mushrooms, and served with a sauce made of a mixture of the house chicken broth and chicken au jus. I am so glad he sent that dish, because it is a must-order. The sauce is so cozy, evocative of a fall evening, and does a lot to mute the sweetness of the ground corn inside the pasta. Chanterelles are so meaty and firm, they offer the proper textural complement to the pasta and corn, with an earthiness that bridges the flavors of the chicken sauces and sweet corn. 

Finally, the lamb chop which is another simple but brilliantly executed plate. Two healthy servings of chops come with the bones crossed and perfect medium rare. It is served with what the menu calls baba ganoush, but is actually three slices of eggplant topped with a sweet take on baba ganoush that echoes sweet potatoes, and then a thin slice of dehydrated and roasted eggplant. The sauce is black garlic mixed with the chicken au jus. De Lellis told me three house sauces are in every dish — chicken broth, au jus, and veal au jus. It speaks to an elegant economy that is present deep in the roots of French cooking, following the modern version back to its roots as peasant food. That is what the menu at Mamani honors: simplicity, concise ingredients, economy, and using everything in the kitchen (which we today consider minimal or zero-waste kitchens). Once upon a time, French cooks did that because they were poor and had to stretch ingredients as far as possible. Today, it can be a way to honor the roots of rustic French cooking techniques and a smart business decision. When I return, I'd like to try more from the starters section, including the endive salad and scallop and caviar, as well as the veal "cordon bleu" and Amish chicken. 

Mamani isn't reinventing the wheel. In its debut menu, diners aren't going to have a dish that highlights gastronomy, tweezer chefing, or fussiness. Garnishes aren't going to waste, and neither are chicken bones. The prices are high because the servings are large and the prices of food continue to rise — and, in fairness to the diners, the kitchen has just shy of a dozen chefs, and the menu has to pay all those salaries. It is worth treating yourself if you can't afford to be a regular here. But when you do, ask for all the extras. Get the sommelier to come to your table and talk you through the wine offerings. Ask your server everything about the menu — they are well-trained. Request the table by the kitchen to watch the show, and thank the chef. 

Disclosure: This meal was comped by one of the owners. The comp was not requested nor expected by me, nor was it discussed in advance, but it was accepted.