![]() Crab cakes with lime Sriracha were genuinely full of crab, not extended with too much breading, and a slaw of mango, radish, carrot, and raw zucchini woke up the dish and gave it a hint of tropical interest. The pappardelle, with shiitake mushrooms, mascarpone, and a duck confit, had a sense of lusciousness without overdoing the richness, with grape tomatoes to add an acidic balance. Some of the pricier fare, which would not be out of place at a gastropub, is also good. ![]() Each has a literary title, named after an author or a book, as a nod to the location’s previous identity as the Clifton branch of the Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County. The Kokoro, for instance, is just ginger beer, whiskey, and cardamom syrup and powder, but is refreshing and satisfying. The cocktails are good, as well, and not too elaborate. The beer list is excellent and even has IBUs (International Bitterness Units) listed next to each offering, so you can get a sense of how hoppy or mild each will be. They have really good hand-cut french fries with a nice peppery seasoning and just the right amount of crispy skin and soft interior. Judged as a bar and grill, Gaslight is largely a success. None of this is a big deal at a bar and grill, but it is sort of a big deal when the price of an entrée crosses the $25 mark. Parts of orders were totally forgotten (they realized and apologized near the end of the meal), and there was a weird shortage of menus, regardless of how full or empty the restaurant was. This is just one example of the amiable disarray. On the other hand, if you are charging $50 for a bottle of good wine and a chiller is promised, the server needs to actually bring the chiller. Gaslight has just the right kind of service for a bar: friendly, chatty, considerate, and not particularly fast. After eating through both sides of the menu, I think Gaslight is going to need to un-smoosh itself, because only one of these establishments is delivering what it should.įirst, diners expect different kinds of service at various price points. It’s as if someone smooshed a decent bar and grill menu together with one from a fine-dining restaurant. Mysteriously, though, on the same dinner menu, you will also find entrées hovering around the $30 mark-seared scallops, filet mignon-and terms like fregola (just like couscous, but bigger and pearlier than the ordinary stuff) and Lambrusco (a sparkling Italian red wine) reduction. And the big TV is above the bar in the back, just where it should be. On the one hand, it completely conforms to expectations: You will get your burger and fries (for $12, with a little extra for cheese), your plate of fish and chips, plus a good beer from a carefully curated list featuring mostly locals, including a good Gaslight pilsner made by Karrikin. It feels like an important bit of living history, and behind every tortured, exhausted note you can almost hear the ghost of Son House in his fiery prime.Gaslight, which calls itself a bar and grill, is confusing in this respect. Still, just like you don't want to be caught by a Baptist preacher (an occupation House once practiced) trying to sneak out on the sermon, it's nearly impossible not to listen to this set clear through once it begins. The versions here of "Empire State Express" and "Death Letter Blues" (nearly nine minutes long and still incomplete, even at that length) are startling in their intensity, showing some of the power of the 1930s material, but it is obvious on most of the other tracks that age and a long, hard life have left House a mere shadow of his former musical self. The fire had long since gone out, although he was capable of generating a facsimile of the old roar on occasion, as this set recorded at Gaslight Café in New York in 1965 shows. House's rediscovery in 1964 led to some interesting sessions for Columbia Records, and a handful of live recordings from his time on the folk and blues coffee house circuit have surfaced, including a set from House's Rochester home, recorded in 1969, but on each of these House sounds increasingly tired, worn, and wearied. The field recordings he did for Alan Lomax in 19 are certainly indispensable, featuring a loose, ad hoc Delta string band on half the cuts, and the intimacy on these is amazing, but the larger-than-life roar of his 1930s Paramount tracks is muted (Catfish Records has released the early 78s and the Lomax field material on a single disc as Preachin' the Blues - still the best Son House purchase out there). Son House's earliest recordings, three two-sided 78s ("My Black Mama," "Preachin' the Blues," "Dry Spell Blues") recorded in New York on May 28, 1930, proved to be a hard act to follow, and House never really equaled these fierce, driving performances again, although he came close.
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