Chef Steven McHugh had me at “cabrito sliders.” Then again, he might have had me at “cabrito tacos,” had they been on the menu. Or maybe simply “cabrito,” especially considering that the goat he uses comes from the Farmers Market that blossoms each weekend just steps away from his kitchen in the ever-expanding Pearl Brewery development. Most of all, the sliders are distinct and welcome reminders there’s a lot more to McHugh’s week-old San Antonio restaurant than the cured meats known in France as charcuterie and in Italy as salumi. No, not salami. Though salami is a kind of salumi. But that, as the Italians are quick to remind us, is un altra storia.
The restaurant’s name, Cured, is a joyous pun: alluding to one of the main menu components - as in this sampler of meats like rilletes, pate, verrine, even “pork butter” - as well as to something far more personal, McHugh’s life-changing victory over lymphoma. That event made the self-described “Wisconsin farm boy” open to the idea of seeking his future away from New Orleans (where he’d worked for mentors like Ralph Brennan and John Besh) in the second largest city in Texas. To McHugh and his New Orleans-born wife Sylvia, San Antonio has more than just lots of people. It, like New Orleans, has terroir.
Like all talented and thoughtful chefs, McHugh brings to his food at Cured a lot of what he learned, most recently launching Luke for Besh on the San Antonio Riverwalk. He definitely understands the big, bold flavors that both South Louisiana and South Texas invariably demand. This dish, for instance, is a total blast from his New Orleans past: boudin noir (yes, “black” blood sausage), served with an adept spin on pain perdu, which in French means “lost bread” but is French toast to you and me.
The ever-popular Bandera quail, served all over Texas but a local food in San Antonio, turns up once removed from its usual bird shape, transformed by classic technique into a kind of French roulade that resembles loosely bound sausage. The meat is delicate and delicious after pan-searing, and given even more local character by mole grits to go with those bright orange tubes of “carrot marrow.”
It’s worth noting, amid all the talk of foods being “local” at Cured, that foods tend to be seasonal as well. In fact, unless you have a lot of greenhouses handy, all local foods tend to be seasonal. Among the winter vegetables on the menu, there’s this eye-popping pumpkin and pepper salad that’s already emerging as a major hit. Accents for taste and texture include smoked pecans, preserved celery and local goat cheese.
When dessert time tolls around, McHugh sidesteps the usual array of six or seven items for three he believes Cured can do very well. And based on this evidence, I think the guy’s onto something. Above is a tribute to the citrus of the Rio Grande Valley, all done up as a custardized fruit tart with a side of Meyer lemon sorbet and kumquat tuile. And below is one of Cured’s best sellers so far, called simply Winter: a carrot and cardamom cheesecake (in a glass jar!) with quince caramel and apple creme brulee. Winter has never looked so bright, colorful or delicious.
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