Even more reasons to love Dario's Brasserie

Dario's Brasserie has held a special place in my heart — and my stomach — since it opened more than three years ago.

The then-new French-Belgian bistro in Dundee was the first restaurant I reviewed as The World-Herald's critic. It easily made my 2007 best-dining list. I've returned to it since on special occasions, on the rare Friday nights I wasn't scoping out other restaurants, and whenever I craved its frites, mussels, beer and fabulously laid-back atmosphere.

Its simple decor hasn't changed much: a long red banquette, bare wooden tables and wobbly chairs that seem more charming when the votive candles are twinkling, the room is full and the globe lights are turned low. It's still as comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans and as classy as a freshly ironed shirt.

But the offerings have expanded and evolved in wonderful ways: seasonally shifting beers and specials (not to mention soups, quiches, terrines and ice creams du jour). Tremendously good sous vide dishes (more on those later). And flashes of chef-owner Dario Schicke's Bosnian roots.

Though I met Schicke after that first review and have spoken with him by phone since for restaurant- and food-related stories, I dined at his restaurant without being recognized on New Year's Eve and twice since.

Those visits yielded more than one “a-ma-zing.”

Two went to a pork belly special offered on the holiday: one to the pork and one to the flash-pickled cabbage accompanying it. The tidy pork package, a scored and seared cube, was equal parts tender pink meat and fat. It had been cooked sous vide — vacuum sealed in a plastic bag and submerged in a low-temperature water bath — for 48 hours, then crisped in a hot skillet and glazed with a sauce that tasted of Riesling and pear.

The cabbage — red and green shreds doused with a sweet-sour pickling brine and marinated briefly in a vacuum-sealed bag — had just enough tartness to cut the pork's richness and just enough texture to make it interesting.

Another dish cooked sous vide also delivered: two thick slices of beef tenderloin served with cabernet egg noodles, golden raisins plumped with cognac, sautéed pearl onions and a few perfectly cooked green vegetables.

From edge to edge, that luscious beef was just a hair over medium-rare. Each slice was ringed with a superthin, supercrisp crust — the result of a quick dip in hot oil before slicing — that recalled toasted nori, the seaweed wrappers used for sushi. The short eggy house-made noodles, reddish-purple in the dim light, were cooked in cabernet, finished in butter and served piping hot. They were a little bit sweet and a whole lot of fantastic.

The signature Belgian fries, double-fried batons of potato served in a paper-lined metal cone, came with two thin dipping sauces. This night, one was flecked with chives — not unlike a gourmet version of ranch dressing — and another was laced with white truffle oil. Mmmm.

Though still enjoyable, a duck cassoulet with a loose tan-colored sauce suffered by comparison to everything else that night. Its best part: seared coin-size rounds of a dark, garlicky sausage called boudin noir. Slices of a paler boudin blanc were bland. I'd have liked more tender white beans. And the crisp-skinned duck leg (also cooked sous vide) tasted more like chicken than duck.

The house-made ice creams (champagne, apple and caramel) were interesting and excellent. And a chocolate cake, topped with rich ganache and loaded with high-quality cocoa, reminded me why it still belongs on dessert menus.

Dario's maintains a small but serviceable wine list and has added several cocktails in the past few years, among them drinks made with the apple brandy Calvados, the anise-flavored liqueur pastis and the elderflower liqueur St. Germain.

But it's clear Schicke's heart beats fastest for Belgian beers, of which he carries a constantly evolving selection. While red and white wines often are served in the same shallow, thick-stemmed bistro glasses, beers always get the appropriate chalice, flute or snifter. And, in my experience, the beers almost always trump the other beverages.

A glass of Maison Bouachon Chateauneuf-du-Pape wine, for example, smelled of maple syrup, cherries and smoke and had a mouth-pleasing dryness and a see-you-later finish. But the St. Bernardus Abt 12 beer was much more complex and resounding: The foam-topped, chestnut-colored liquid smelled and smacked of cloves, coriander, orange, cinnamon, chocolate, coffee, leather and tobacco. It had no unchecked bitterness. Its flavors lingered in a lovely way. And it seemed to enhance everything I ate.

While many other dishes showed a Parisian's portion restraint, the cleverly named Popeye Mussels appetizer I tried on a lunch visit was enormous: 18 open-faced mussels in a platter designed just for them, topped with a sauce of bacon, blue cheese, cream and spinach and a melted lid of Gruyere.

Schicke told me later “it's like our version of pizza.” Agreed. All I needed was a little bread to sop up the sauce and cheese — and a few more folks to share it with.

I couldn't leave without trying the pljeskavica (plee-YES-ka-veetsa), a Sarajevo-style sandwich that falls somewhere between a burger and a gyro.

Added recently to the lunch menu and often featured as a dinner special, at Dario's it's a juicy half-moon-shaped patty of spiced ground lamb and beef, stuffed with tangy cheese. Schicke uses a mixture of goat, mozzarella, blue and cream cheeses in place of the traditional kajmak, a creamy cheese he said is hard to find in the States. He serves it between two grilled pita halves with a schmear of ajvar (EYE-var), a flavorful relish of roasted eggplant and red peppers, and tops it with tomatoes, onions, mixed greens and a yogurt-cucumber-dill dressing. It was messy and wonderful.

A Sunday brunch was no less delicious, but the sparsely populated room we found on a relatively balmy January morning made the prices (about $20 per person including drink, tax and tip) feel a tish too high. Schicke told me later that he hasn't been pushing the brunches — “our own little secret” — but he does get better crowds when it's warm enough to dine on the sunny front patio.

A nutty maple-syrup-drenched crepe was a nice Parisian upgrade from the standard pancake. I loved the way it looked — folded in quarters like a dainty, lace-edged handkerchief — in that pool of hot syrup. Sides of herbed, oiled and roasted baby red potatoes and sweet house-made breakfast sausages with crisp casings were also quite good.

Scrambled eggs were light, fluffy and studded with asparagus tips, ham and Gruyere — and just a little underseasoned for me — tucked inside a crepe rolled up like a burrito and accompanied by a fresh green salad.

A hot, flaky croissant (from the estimable Le Quartier Baking Co. in Lincoln) sprayed the table with crumbs and pulled apart in pretty rolled layers that we slathered with cold butter and a mixed fruit jam. And a cafe latte was like a postcard from France: a deep saucer, a bowl-shaped mug, rich Blue Line Coffee espresso and terrifically hot milk and foam.

Servers were graceful and friendly, knowledgeable about the dishes and chatty when appropriate.

And even when Schicke was too busy to pull up a chair with diners, as I've seen him do often, I could hear his voice: in the blend of gourmet and comfort, in the balance of creativity and consistency, in the clear and soulful perspective behind every dish.

Contact the writer:

444-1069, nichole.aksamit@owh.com

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