The way to a man’s Oxheart is through his Underbelly

Last time I was in Houston, I did extensive research on where to eat, best restaurants, best chefs, and local flavor. At the suggestion of many, I went to Underbelly, had a great meal, and did a post on it (see below). This time, going back to my research, I went to one of the other highly touted restaurants in the Houston area, Oxheart. The name of the restaurant came from the fact that they feature both meat and vegetables (both locally sourced when possible) prominently, trying to use every part of the animal and plant. Oxheart happens to be not only a piece of offal, but also a variety of tomato.

Oxheart is a small restaurant, seating only 30 patrons at a time. The dining room has an industrial feel, with brick walls, air ducts, and adorned with maneki-neko (lucky cats). About ten of the seats are in a ‘U’ shape around the kitchen, giving a front row seat to the culinary action. The team of chefs, adorned in their whites and aprons, moved past one another gracefully. The kitchen was oddly quiet, lacking the clang and chop of knives, pans, and stoves along with the shout of “behind!” Rather, you heard the muted clatter of metal spoons and tweezers as teams of chefs artfully plated eat dish with practiced motions.

Diners have an option between two, seasonally rotating, tasting menus, one vegetarian, one not. About half of the menu is the same between both options. The meal was paced intentionally, even with the preparation of the first course timed with your reservation arrival time. Each phase allowed enough time to savor the dish, pause, watch, anticipate, and savor again. Each dish’s contents, origin, and preparation were articulated as it was served. Sometimes this was done by the waitress, sometimes by one of the chefs.

I’ve gone three paragraphs without talking about what I ate, which goes to show how much of Oxheart is an experience, not just a meal. My experience started with amaranth (a leafy green with red veins akin to spinach) and bitter herbs. Each leaf assembled with tweezers, it was complimented with pear and dried figs, set in a broth derived from smoked pear cores. The bitter and sweet contrasted and contained one another on the pallet. An almost thought provoking beginning to the meal.

You know the creamed pearl onions your mom used to make. The second dish is what those onions wish they could have been (pictured). Texas sweet onions were shredded thin and provided the base. Larger slices of onion were placed on top, then dabbled with marjoram leaves and oregano oil, adding a light, bright, and slightly bitter component. The onions were drizzled with butter and raw milk, luxurious and smooth. Finally, bread crumbs were distributed on top, providing a crunch that never dissipated.

Red snapper came next, flavored with cane syrup, brown butter, and smoked mesquite, still maintaining the slightly rubberized (and I mean that in the best way) mouth feel. Collards were blended and blanched, the former rolled into the latter. Pickled cauliflower was shaved paper-thin over the whole dish. The best bites had a bit of each, the sour, smoky, bitter, and sweet flavors balancing against each other.

A knife from a selection presented to me in a cigar box. Duck breast, seared on the bone, cut off the bone, scored, cooked to medium rare. A cannel of tomato fondant, almost like a sundried tomato in taste, but without the roasted flavor, just tomato with no water to dilute it. A duck jus reduction, dark and sweet. Miso-garlic cucumbers on the side, bright and acidic. These things composed the next plate.

A bowl of summer stew finished the savory potion of the meal. Mushrooms were cooked, the moisture squeezed from them to a make a broth. But let me be clear, there was no steeping, no extra water added, just the water naturally in the mushrooms was present. It was umami at its finest. The broth contained beans, caramelized sauerkraut, and horseradish dumplings, cut from a piping bag as they were dropped into the cooking broth, they were soft pillows like gnocchi.

Dessert was a lemon parfait, airy, citrus, and light. It was topped with thyme toasted oats, a crunchy and hearty component, and candied lemon. Next to it was Texas hard cider, foamed in a CO2 canister. The combination was refreshing, like an aperitif.

Chef Justin Yu and team were able to let me luxuriate in a playful world of flavor for a few hours, and gave me a front row seat to the construction of that world. The long waitlist and high spot on restaurant charts is well-deserved.