Crave New World
Sometimes a restaurant opens in a location that just seems so … wrong. Kansas City’s best example is probably the late, great Café Allegro; when Steve Cole opened his upscale restaurant at 1815 West 39th Street in 1984, the neighborhood was better known for its raucous saloons than for anything close to fine cuisine. But Café Allegro had enough panache that even the snootiest customers became regulars. Within a few years, other restaurateurs followed, and the stretch of 39th Street between Terrace and State Line evolved into a diverse and lively restaurant row.
On the flip side, I’ve known a couple of restaurant owners who found great locations — highly visible from a busy street, lots of accessible parking, distinctive buildings — only to lose their shirts. That’s because even the most fabulous location can’t overcome inconsistent food and mediocre service. Does anyone remember the expensively appointed fiasco that was Jules’ Seafood on the Plaza? How about the Fountain Café or Martini’s?
So if it really doesn’t matter where a new restaurant turns up, why am I so concerned for the fate of the Pangea Café & Market, which opened in March? The fast-casual restaurant is the first — and, so far, the only — tenant in “West 39,” a brand-new, suburban-looking little strip mall on 39th Street just west of Southwest Trafficway. Its closest culinary neighbors are Nichols Lunch to the east and, due west, an inexplicably popular Chinese buffet. Sometimes the buffet seems to be doing better business than Martin and Wendy Rudderforth’s Pangea. That’s disheartening because the place has a lot going for it. In fact, if it were closer to the Plaza or in the Crossroads District, I bet it would be mobbed.
The Rudderforths are urban pioneers in much the same way that Steve Cole was two decades ago. The difference — and it’s a big one — is that Cole’s bistro was all about style and formal elegance. Pangea’s food is definitely stylish, but the dining concept isn’t that much different from that of Chipotle or The Mixx. Customers order at a counter, get their own drinks — including a wide array of imported beer — from refrigerated cases, or fill plastic tumblers of bubbly stuff from a self-serve soda fountain.
True, waiters do bring out the food, which arrives on pretty china plates. The dining room is also attractive, with its sunflower-yellow walls and black ceiling. But it’s not half as stunning as the more elaborate dishes and desserts prepared in Wendy Rudderforth’s kitchen. The food is so visually appealing that several friends of mine insist it often looks better than it tastes. I don’t necessarily agree, but so what if it does? We dine with all of our senses — particularly our eyes — and I’ve always favored picturesque fare over stuff that looks like dreck but tastes divine.
The uniquely charming Pangea is named for a hypothetical supercontinent that included all the landmasses on Earth before continental drift broke it apart during the Triassic Period. The Rudderforths chose the name because their menu is a crazy quilt of international dishes — thom yum gai soup from Thailand, Spanish empanadas, grilled panini sandwiches from Italy, and a beef and Guinness pie in puff pastry that’s probably better than any version you’ll find in London.
None of these are too exotic for Midwestern tastes; in fact, a generous dish of Pangea’s phad Thai, even heaped with fat chunks of chicken breast and slices of lap chong sausage, can’t compete with the same offering at most local Thai restaurants. And though none of my friends agree with me, I think panini is uninspiring in any language. But I adore what Pangea serves along with them: “Spanish potatoes,” which are actually crispy homemade potato chips seasoned with fresh parsley and garlic. The Pangea kitchen staff fry up these chips each day, an effort that prompted one customer to tell the Rudderforths, completely straight-faced, “You know, you can buy these at the supermarket.”
Wendy Rudderforth laughs when she tells the story because there are probably plenty of areas where Pangea could cut culinary corners but doesn’t. That’s the reason I have high hopes for the place. When Wendy is really on her mark, the kitchen puts out some truly memorable meals. I love the crispy, flaky pastry she uses for her empanadas, which are so extraordinary that even a lowbrow ham-and-cheese filling seems otherworldly; her “creamy humita” version, stuffed with corn, broccoli, garlic and potato, had me humming, all right.
And she turns out a clever twist on traditional Indian tandoori chicken. Instead of marinating and baking her bird in a clay oven, Wendy pounds out thigh meat; seasons it with paprika, turmeric, coriander and garam masala; rolls it around a filling of ginger-scented basmati rice; bakes it in a regular oven and serves it in a puddle of spiced yogurt sauce. I seriously considered ordering a second plate.
My friend Bob’s new favorite summer salad is the ensalada con carne asada, a jumble of chopped romaine with black-bean-and-corn salsa, slices of tender grilled beef and a fiery adobo vinaigrette. On the night that he and I dined with Linda and Richard — Linda is in the “looks better than it tastes” camp with regard to Pangea — even she raved, albeit somewhat grudgingly, about the thick tomato and feta crepe tart, a luscious layered concoction of crepes, feta cheese, leeks and tomato. She thought the prosciutto-wrapped shrimp skewers were visually stunning, arranged in a sculptural fashion like something at the Kemper, and we all agreed that they tasted as lovely as they looked.
Even my fussiest friends will drop their guard when they talk about Pangea’s desserts, which are not only beautiful but also exceptionally delicious. Bob swears that the dense, fudgy flourless chocolate torte is the best in the city. I prefer the more unusual sweets, such as a summery lavender panna cotta (tasting more of lemon than lavender, thank goodness) that quivers on a plate scattered with cherries and blueberries. Wendy Rudderforth uses puckery sour tamarind pulp to create a mahogany-colored sorbet that’s somehow tart and soothing.
I’m not a fan of the trashy tricolored ice cream that many Italian restaurants pass off as “spumoni,” but Pangea’s silken spumoni semi-freddo, with layers of real cherry, pistachio and chocolate “half-frozen” meringue and whipped cream, is a revelation. And I highly recommend Wendy’s newest summer delicacy, a tower of pastry and intensely sweet caramel called dulce de leche mil hojas. The name translates as “a thousand layers” of pastry, though it’s actually more like 30 crispy, paper-thin layers of phyllo pastry layered with dulce de leche cream and topped with knobs of toasted meringue. “The desserts taste as gorgeous as they look,” Linda admitted. “I could come here and make an entire meal out of pastries.”
That’s such a brilliant idea, I might just do it myself.
