Bloginception

Here is the post I just wrote for our criticism seminar blog. Since it is a private blog, I can't just link it here. Our assignment this week was to do a non-music review, so two musicology friends and I decided to have dinner at a popular gastropub in downtown Lexington and each write our own reviews without having discussed our opinions and observations during the actual meal. Don't worry, there was plenty of musicology-division-based gossiping and snarking all around, so conversation never lulled. (OMG the drama in this place. I need to blog about it--the most recent drama--soon!)

In this post, you will also see a guest appearance by my one and only beloved BB who is currently recovering from an ulcerated eyeball, likely caused by one of Tre's pokey claws.

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Who is the Village Idiot Here?

The "village idiot" is an archetype that has been well explored and utilized as both a literary and social construct. The traits associated with the character can vary slightly; this person is depicted at times as silly, sometimes ignorant, and still other times as stupid or unrealistically naive. The choice, then, to name a business establishment after a character that is meant to be the target of derision or designed to aggrandize one's ego through the mockery of another is interesting. One must assume that the association is meant to be clever, tongue-in-cheek, or otherwise knowing in some way, as though, with a wink and a smile, a joke is being shared between business and customer.

Unfortunately, when it comes to the dining experience at the Village Idiot, Lexington's premiere gastropub, it seems the joke can sometimes be on the customer.

To get the positives out first, as there are some: location, atmosphere, and its specialty beer list are the three most redeeming features of the Village Idiot. Situated on Short Street near Broadway, the gastropub can boast a location that is nestled within the vibrant yet charming and laid back energy of downtown Lexington. In fact, the Monday evening of this particular visit, a basketball scrimmage at nearby Rupp Arena ensured an even more bustling atmosphere than usual, both inside and out of the restaurant. On a more regular weekday, lucky patrons can find metered street parking, or ample space in the convenient parking garage directly across the street. This evening, however, necessitated "special event" parking throughout the entire nearby radius, at a cost ranging from $10 to $15. 

Inside the Village Idiot, the heavy dark wood and low lighting effectively create the feel of a European gastropub. The long bar--replete with a large overhead chalkboard sign touting its admittedly impressive and extensive beer selection--greets customers walking in through the door. Additional pub tables are found directly to the left, while, at both ends of the bar, staircases lead upstairs to a second bar and additional dining seating. The incidental decor throughout--retro, album cover, and film posters--and the choice of 1990s music playing overhead give a subtle, though not unappealing, twist to the traditional pub atmosphere. 

This is where the compliments end.

Boastful of their self-appointed title as Lexington's first "gastropub," it should be understood that there is a certain expectation regarding the food at the Village Idiot. The concept of a gastropub, as developed in England during the late twentieth century and becoming increasingly commonplace in the States by the late 1990s and early 2000s, combines the casual and comforting feel of a neighborhood pub with a focus on more sophisticated and high-end dishes. 

Full disclosure: this was not my first visit to the Village Idiot by any means. I have had several dining, brunching, and drinking experiences here over the course of the past two years, and my impressions have gone from hugely positive at first, to consistently underwhelmed, to downright disgusted most recently before this night. The wide range of personal experience, unsurprisingly, colored my expectations on this evening, and I approached dinner with both trepidation and a sense of optimism. 

Not a beer drinker by habit and rule (I know, what am I doing at a gastropub?), I ordered a Ketel One dirty martini. It arrived without much wait, plenty dirty, but perhaps slightly under chilled. Not a terrible beginning. From the menu, I chose all dishes that I had not tried before.

A perfectly unoffensive vodka martini. It is hard to screw up Ketel One and olives.

Side note: does anyone else see the resemblance? My poor puppy!

To start the meal, I had their Fig and Walnut Salad. I envisioned an elegant plate of delicate mixed greens with a light vinaigrette, succulent slices of fig, toasted walnuts, and perhaps a soft tangy cheese of some sort. What came out was a giant monstrosity of grocery store leaf lettuce, covered in chopped ham (Why ham?) and what must have been a fistful of grated parmesan cheese. Underneath this blanket of confusing ingredients I unearthed several halves of small post-season figs, slightly toasted walnuts, and a pool of a tangy overwhelming dressing. This dish succeeded in giving me a furrowed brow the entire time I was eating it. Though not inedible, the whole plate was nonsensical, as though two different salads had been thrown together. The dressing, cheese, and ham (Why ham?) all combined to create a largely salty and tangy flavor palate that the too-subdued sweetness of the figs could not balance sufficiently. 

"Fig and Walnut Salad"...? Hidden figs and disguised walnuts under a parachute of ham and cheese, more like.

For my main dish, I chose the Korean Fried Chicken Sandwich. The slightly toasted and buttered brioche bun and sticky crispiness of the chicken were appealing. However, the gochujang sauce that covered the chicken pieces, though nicely spicy, was also cloyingly sweet and overpowering to any other flavors that might have offered some balance. My eyes showed me that there were drizzles of a cilantro aioli, but there was no chance for that flavor, nor that of the chopped scallions and slaw to come through. A slight ray of sunshine: the french fries that accompanied were nicely crisped with a delicious hint of subtle smokiness. The presentation of the sandwich was also lovely.

How did this Applebee's sandwich get onto our table?

To finish, a serving of the Pear and Plum Fruit Cobbler was summoned to the table. This, like the entree, came charmingly presented. An individual-sized cast iron pan held the golden cobbler, which was topped with a small scoop of a spiced vanilla ice cream. In general, the flavoring of the dish was pleasant enough--buttery, sweet, spiced. The fruit was also not overcooked and retained some crispness, which was delightful. However, the batter of the cobbler itself was vastly undercooked. Each forkful offered a bite of fruit covered in a gooey sweet unbaked dough. I suspect that five more minutes in the oven and perhaps an extra minute under the broiler would have cooked the dough to perfection and lent a nice toast to the surface of the dessert. Just imagining the trio of flavors and textures--a fresh and slightly crisp pear, the slight crunch of the toasted cobbler edges, and the soft creamy ice cream--that could have been makes me slightly sad.

Needed more lovin' in the oven.

In all, this dining experience at the Village Idiot was not the most egregious I have had at this particular restaurant (this esteemed badge of honor goes to the dining visit directly previous to this evening, in which our party was served what can only be described as room temperature cat food in an overcooked sausage casing), but the food is certainly remains unworthy of an enthusiastic recommendation. At roughly $40 for a drink and three course meal, one does not expect a Michelin-starred extravaganza of course, but the designation of a hip downtown "gastropub" does imply that the dishes served are beyond what can be found at a neighborhood Chili's (shudder) or Applebee's (double shudder) and, truth be told, I can imagine all three of my dishes being served in such a chain restaurant. 

For happy hour drinks or a pre-meal cocktail, the Village Idiot might be a nice option. However, unbalanced flavors and lack of care and finesse seem to be characteristic of the kitchen. I fear that this place might fall victim (if it hasn't already) to one of the most common pitfalls of popular eateries and drinkeries, which is that it places too much focus on maintaining its cool and hip superficial image, and not enough on the bare bones quality of the product it serves to its customers. Luckily for the Village Idiot, its convenient location and strength of bar service ensure that it will remain popular for quite some time. It would appear that, although it does not take a village to create a sophisticated and thoughtful meal, it seemingly does take an idiot to keep returning to the same mediocre gastropub expecting one.