OnTheTable: When Dining is Decent, Just Not 'Fine'

MARGARITA AT PINE CREEK
Rating: 3/5
7350 Pine Creek Rd
www.MargaritaAtPineCreek.com
(719) 598-8667
Dinner Hours: Mon: closed; Tues-Sat: 5:30pm-8:30pm; Sun: NA
Lunch Hours: Mon: closed; Tues-Fri: 11:30am-2pm; Sun: 10:30am-1:30pm
Prices: Three Courses: $37; Five Courses: $43; Two Wine Pairings: $16; Three Wine Pairings: $22
What you need to know: Good yet uninspiring offerings; no à la carte menu

British food critic, Nicholas Lander, has noted his preference to never look at a restaurant’s online menu prior to sitting down and “experiencing” the physical menu.

Lander may have been delighted to know that dining at Margarita at Pine Creek proved a last minute opportunity for On The Table, thus precluding consultation of the online menu. Hence, expectations were fabricated merely upon rumors and the moniker of “fine dining” self-professed on the establishment’s website and entrance.

Expectations are baked-in with every life experience. Life teaches that intentional calibration of expectations—rather than subconscious acceptance of tacit expectations—will influence experiences. High expectations will likely result in disappointment; shallow expectations may lead to pleasant surprises. Similarly, touting a “fine dining” experience will certainly lead to high expectations; and as such, the eatery is tasked with meeting those expectations, and not resorting to apologies for being out of thyme (requisite for one of the restaurant’s signature cocktails) within one hour of a Saturday night opening.

While it is not assumed that fine dining necessarily equates with molecular-gastronomy, with its foams and foraged edibles, it is not an unreasonable expectation that fine dining deliver a memorable experience that takes the diner upon a culinary journey of delight—something beyond the simplistic salad with a single, imaginative ingredient of crisp wontons. In short: fine dining must, unquestionably, offer a menu of choices that the experienced home chef could not herself easily replicate.
Roasted Salmon with a dill, leek and parmesan aioli, even upon a second go, after an overcooked first fillet, was as uninspiring as it was reminiscent of backyard grilling. (“We’ve made this at home.”) 

Even the recommended panna cotta, once stripped of its few toppings of fruit, was left with little to commend it. While creamy and smooth, all that remained was an unremarkable cup of custard.

More imagination was found in the diminutive appetizer. Beet and goat cheese gratin with harissa caramelized carrots, fennel and leek, played to seasonal availabilities (beet harvest occurring in summer and fall, notwithstanding), even if the earthiness of the yellow beets somewhat overpowered. Nonetheless, the harissa lent a welcome, meaty essence.

The vegetable bisque offered a smooth creaminess true to its name. Relying solely, albeit tenuously, upon the vegetables for depth of flavor, the aftertaste felt somewhat bitter. While it would be unfair to fault a vegetable course for not exhibiting the traditional niceties of the protein-based alternatives (classical French bisques build upon crustacean broths), one may fault the menu for not offering an alternative. (The lobster bisque was, disappointingly, available exclusively on the Valentine’s Day menu.)

The pinnacle course came in the form of fried eggplant manicotti. A dish that otherwise would have simply offered a comforting, Italian embrace, but rose above, via the accompanying wild mushrooms: the evening’s only ingredient that stopped conversation midstream and demanded full attention—a incontrovertible sign of authentic fine dining. 

Margarita’s pedestrian selections fail to “wow” the clientele who commit to the prix fixe menu with expectations of true fine dining. Nothing is bad. In fact, most is quite good. But “good” is not “fine,” and fine ought to be, at this level, the only mark.

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