Confession may be good for the soul, but it’s probably not the best way to begin a restaurant review. But in the spirit of full disclosure, certain things must be acknowledged: I haven’t been a fan of Dallas, Texas since November 22, 1963. When you combine the horrific events of that day with an general dislike of Cowboys (I’m a Giants fan), big hair and bigger belt buckles, you could say this city on the Trinity River ain’t exactly my cup of chili. The fact that I haven’t been here in twenty-five years has kept these prejudices firmly entrenched, even though this city has now outgrown them by such a degree that thinking of Dallas as a cow town is like referring to Manhattan as a Dutch trading post.
Anyone who ever shared a meal with Josh Ozersky knew three (over-sized) things were always on the menu: opinions, meat, and pitch-perfect impersonations of famous movie scenes. One night at Botero, a couple of years ago, he practically recited the entire screenplay of Godfather II to an audience of one (me) without missing a beat, a bite or a sip.
For a guy with a beef fixation, Josh was a big ham. Unabashedly so, and it made him all the more charming in a mad scientist/crazy Jew/food nerd/fan boy sort of way.
How wrong could we be?
In the months it took Glutton to open, we predicted its downfall for a number of reasons. One, it seemed to take months too long to get launched; two, there was the name (and that awful logo); and three, just who in the hell was this Bradley Manchester fellow anyway?