Oakhart Social — DISPATCHES

We're always amused by the puzzled reactions we get when explaining to outsiders that a small town in Central Virginia boasts one of the most dynamic food scenes in the region. Thanks to local restaurant veterans and artisans who lean into their passions and grind through the years to maintain a vibrant industry reputation, a tractor beam has reached out far and wide to draw badass new talent into the pool, bringing a spike to the local punch that Charlottesville needs to stay fresh. Bright-eyed and ballsy, with few fucks to give about existing conventions, these transplants drop in and infuse this town with a bravado and creative swagger that turns heads.

Count us among the groupies who push to the front of the line when any baller brings their talents here from the likes of Brooklyn, Chicago, Washington, DC, et al. We’re not hard pressed to tell you Oakhart Social is one of our favorite restaurants in town. Straight out of Chicago (go figure), the duo of Chef Tristan Wraight and GM Ben Clore delivers a gritty, urbane dining experience that is a shot in the arm every night we land there. Oakhart rarely plays it safe with the nightly menu and, on a super hip scale, has pulled off some really dope popup concepts and collaborations.

Which brings us to the latest bombshell: the Oakhart guys are partnering with Chef Ryan Collins (yep, another transplant) to open a new restaurant this summer called Little Star, right up the road at the spot formerly occupied by Three Penny Cafe.

We’ve been tuned in to Collins since his days with the José Andrés culinary empire, Think Food Group, where he helmed Oyamel Cocina Mexicana and opened new restaurants in Las Vegas. Collins was also Andres' go-to traveling chef for celebrity events and worked in showcase kitchens for a few stars you may have heard of — Eric Ripert and Anthony Bourdain. So, he’s not exactly what you’d call a wallflower. Little Star won’t be his first stop in these parts. Since early 2016, Collins has been elevating the food game at Early Mountain Vineyards where he developed a friendship with Wraight and Clore (and J.M. Stock Provision’s Matt Greene) through some cross brand collaborations, eventually joining forces with these roughnecks on occasional popups that drew and pleased ridiculous crowds. That friendship paved the road to partnership which brings us to this threshold of anticipation.

Just to tease the masses with a preview, the trio staged a two-evening, Little Star popup at Oakhart on Feb. 27 + 28. We were all over it like a cheap suit and made it both nights. While we obviously can't paint a picture of the entire experience until they open across the street (another former gas station), we can't help but gush on some of our first bites.

Tuna Ceviche (kumquat, coconut leche de tigre, almonds, serrano, cilantro, toasted amaranth)

If ceviche didn't land on the menu, we'd feel cheated because Collins basically majored in the art of this dish. At Oyamel Cocina Mexicana, back in Washington, DC, one of his specialties was conceptualizing and executing a ceviche bar with the deepest menu of offerings in the league. We've lost count of how many nights we spent saddled at the bar and making an entire meal of his creations. This iteration is a refreshing dose of tuna, crunch and spice that gets the endorphins firing as you settle in for the ride. We'll even be so bold as to say that if you currently "don't like ceviche" (what??!), this dish will be your religious conversion.

Dry Aged Ribeye Carpaccio (grilled cactus, parmesan, chive blossoms, migas)

Carpaccio has been around the block too many times to raise our eyebrows when spotted on a menu. Generally, if you've had one, you've had them all. Then Little Star's version shows up and chases that fatigue straight away. Instead of posing as a salad like its weird cousins, this one flies its freak flag with no shame—ribeye dry-aged for 75 days, delicately sliced and perched on a bed of grilled cactus. Yes, you read that right, grilled cactus. The only carnivore's dilemma at our table was which jackal's fork would stab the last shred. Also, shoutout to parmesan—another overused, under-appreciated ingredient that truly shines on this bed of meat.

Sunny Side Up Eggs (salsa negra green onion, cilantro, sesame seeds, hickory syrup, grilled bread)

A signature Oakhart move is to harbor a wolf in sheep's clothing on every menu (we're looking at you, chicken wangz.) Sunny Side Up Eggs is the first clue that Little Star will play the same contraband game. Textually this read like almost any other hipster brunch dish. On the eyes it's also basic AF, Wraight's trademark topping of fresh herbs notwithstanding. When you follow the server's direction to thrash and mash the eggs and dive in, this unassuming jam jabs you in the mouth with a haymaker of hot, sweet, smoky texture. By the way, where the hell have you been all our life, hickory syrup?

Soft + Crispy Pork Ribs (salsa naranja, white onion, epazote, crispy ancho chile)

It's taken us too long to mention that many of the dishes come with simply divine corn tortillas, cooked in-house with masa from local producer Ula Tortilla, procured for restaurant consumption via Local Food Hub. These are not your #TacoTuesday tortillas—they are a hipster foodie's dream, made fresh with certified organic, non-GMO corn using an ancient process called nixtamalization. We mention them now because these pork ribs will lead you to forked path: do you, A) eat them with your hands, T-Rex style or B), shave off perfect slivers, cover them in the slightly sweet salsa, wrap them up all cozy in a tortilla, and then indulge? The answer is obviously C), you do both, because there is no right way to enjoy a damn fine selection of pork ribs.

Wood Roasted Lamb Neck (braised cabbage, guajillo chile broth, hominy corn)

If we told you we were lamb neck aficionados, our pants would burst into flames. It's not a stretch to say this could be our first time feasting on that particular section of anatomy. Now that we've come clean on that, humor us as we wax hyperbolic—this is by far the best goddamn lamb neck we've ever eaten. The hominy corn unexpectedly played a special tune for us, offering a carb texture with a vegetable finish. Think rice + corn hybrid on steroids with a nutty meatiness, and you'll start to understand why this was the perfect, if subtle, pairing with the rich, gaminess of the lamb.

Now and then we cross paths with bites or sips that stay with us and leave us daydreaming, blushing a little the way you might in the wake of a harmless flirtation outside your formal relationship. It was nothing, but it was a tiny something, and you can't stop thinking about it. Let's be honest.

In that spirit, we're looking back on winter so far and the steamy encounters set in our path.

Seven minutes in heaven: a pork stir-fry from the Oakhart team (Photo courtesy of Oakhart Social) — Seven minutes in heaven: a pork stir-fry from the Oakhart team *(Photo courtesy of Oakhart Social)*

By now, we know to be on guard for some provocative wrinkle from Chef Tristan Wraight, but apparently we like our lessons the hard way. Just when we think we have a handle on his skills, he slips a culinary dalliance that leaves us flushed and grasping for composure. Yes, somehow Oakhart Social's ballsy small plates have become the restaurant analog of 7 Minutes in Heaven.

It's been noted that Wraight loves to color outside the lines. To our delight, rhyme and reason are not prioritized on his menu. You'd be very hard pressed to characterize the style of cuisine here with any tired label. Thankfully, it's all over the (global) map and consistently well executed. So, when a Pork Stir-Fry special is introduced with lurid detail one evening by our lovely server, we aren't at all prepared for the hedonistic ride in store—we just know we must have it. (Pro tip: if there's a special on the Oakhart menu, sign yourself up.)

In this wild-card dish, Wraight delicately balances meat and vegetables and spikes it all with an illicit unctuousness that finds us looking over our shoulders as if we're committing a crime. Pork shoulder from Autumn Olive Farms is marinated in pineapple juice, sambal and soy sauce then charred. It all comes together when the pork is paired with some virtuous red leaf mizuna from Wayside Produce, and seasoned with fish sauce, gochujang and aioli. Taking a "great idea" from his sous, Wraight then tops with the dish with a slutty, soft egg "to elevate that fatty element" even more. Then, as he's oft to, Wraight throws a bunch of fresh herbs and pickles on it. "At the end of the day, it was a really fun dish to put together that was greatly improved through collaboration," he says.

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Another siren that's drawn us too close to the hot stove lately is Brasserie Saison's Pork Schnitzel Sandwich. We live in the South, ergo we suffer from bouts of southern fried chicken sandwich fatigue. There are some legit players out there, but mostly it's a field of throwaways we move past without a second glance. Then, along comes this head-turning fried pork sandwich that compels us to rationalize more diet detours than we're willing to admit to in writing.

Sandwiched between a kaiser roll from Albemarle Bread Co, the protein is pounded pork loin that's dipped in buttermilk and flour. The chef tells us the key to the abundance of "crusty bits" is to dredge it properly and to make sure the flour is a little crumbly, not too cakey - a fine line, and something that takes a lot of attention to do it right. Out of the fryer, the loin gets hit with local honey and salt. That fatty, salty, crunchy goodness is contrasted with a red cabbage marmalade (blanched red cabbage folded into a red wine vinegar caramel). On the side? The perfect kind of french fry—crispy and thin, but with enough potato that you still feel like you're getting a serving of veg.

Here, Will goes off on a rye-fueled writing tangent about this game changer. Indulge him, dear reader:

Some of my favorite bites today are the ones that inspire nostalgia and transport me back in time to simple moments free of pretense and window dressing, indifferent to other opinions. I celebrate chefs who can pull it off.

In this case, Chef Tyler Teass takes me back to a sweaty summer night in 1980, at a roadside McDonald's somewhere east of Orlando where I destroyed a McChicken while reflecting on that day's Magic Kingdom adventure. It was the first fried chicken sandwich I'd ever eaten, right on the heels of my first Disney World experience and would put Happy Meals in the rearview mirror of my life forever. It turned out to be a rite of passage - that crispy chicken patty, shredded lettuce and a cold spread of mayo. And it launched a love for the genre. Who knew?

Today you couldn't pay me to eat a McChicken, let alone set foot in a McDonald's. It's safe to say my grownup palate wouldn't tolerate one and sure as hell would not draw modern comparisons to the dope Teass riff on the fried chicken sandwich. Still, the evocation of this nostalgic moment, in all its trashy glory, resonates deeply and elicits miles of smiles from my inner child.

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Finally, that indecent proposal we just can't shake from our heads—the Braseola Pizza at Lampo. Truffle oil spritzed arugula pops bright green, scattered with torn bits of buffalo mozzarella, bedded by rose petals of seductive beef shavings, all languidly lounging on the Neapolitan crust and garnished with a lemon wedge. The only thing missing here is a trail of discarded clothing.

We hate to admit it, but our pizza order sometimes comes with an uninvited side of guilt. Blame the villainization of carbs. Count on this pie to mitigate that dramatically—in fact, just think of it as a salad. As Chef Ian Redshaw puts it, "This is my fun riff on beef carpaccio." It's also what makes Lampo a P+K favorite: here it's all about the ingredients and virtually nothing to do with manipulation.

Ok, there is some mad genius in the curing and aging of the beef: Ian soaks juniper berries in Junipero Gin (so meta) then smokes them. Once he gauges the berries to have the right smoky, peppery flavor, he grinds and rubs them onto the high round cut (upper back) sourced from Sherwood Farm. The beef ages 30 days and cures another 60 before it's swaddled into a sexy pose atop that pie. Savage AF.

Pizza without red sauce is rarely, if ever, our jam. Lampo's sauce is so legit that going sans inspires a mild case of FOMO. And oddly enough, for us regulars, pizza itself has been subtly edged to the margins by the fantastic creative range of specials (road beef panuazzo, hamachi collar - whaaaat?) that grace the menu daily. Tune in sharply enough and you'll catch on to the secret that Lampo has quietly become the best steakhouse in Cville. Once you've experienced the dry aged, wood oven-fired steaks, you may never want to order anything else. In the case of this braseola pie - a perfect Lampo hybrid of aged beef & stellar pizza—we are happily back to dancing with the one that brought us.

[Note: Last week Chef Allie Redshaw, Ian's wife, suffered a terrible kitchen accident. After two surgeries she is said to be in high spirits as she begins the long road to recovery. It has been so inspiring to see the Charlottesville community and beyond rally around her and the Redshaw family. An unfortunate truth in life is that you don't often figure out what you're made of until pianos fall from the sky on you or the good people around you. It turns out this community is made of love, kindness, empathy and compassion. We invite you, however you can, to be part of that movement here.]