Todd English can’t escape the limelight, for better or worse. How fitting that his latest is CrossBar, at The Limelight, a boutique which emerged from the pokey Limelight Marketplace, a shopping mall stuffed inside what had been an infamous 1980’s nightclub set in a Episcopal church with a 19th Century rural English ecclesiastical design by architect Richard Upjohn. Are you with me in thinking that calling it Cross and featuring a chunky luminous cross in the center of the room is sort of challenging in a town that skews somewhat Jewish? Or can we agree it’s obviously not all that risky if pork is the focus.

Gazing down to the cross in the bar from a window in the loft above. Photo: Steen Richter

       I danced here in Limelight’s notorious drug-and-disco days so I am eager to see if this latest from English’s fertile Cary Grant-esque brow has legs. He’s up to 23 restaurants on land plus two afloat and still counting. I had found The Libertine by Todd English on Gold Street at the tip of the island amusing. He’s no longer involved. The Ember Room on Ninth struck me as half-ashed.  Ça Va, a recent credit in the new Intercontinental Hotel, had a forlorn air, as if English had emailed the menu and left town. The Plaza Food Hall was a triumph in my book but I hadn’t been for a while. My guy and I dashed in after a movie a few weeks ago, ordered three of our favorite dishes and found only the tuna duo roll still lived up to memory. I wondered if perhaps the Olives veteran he’d borrowed to run the Food Hall had moved on to other adventures.

Eat in the bar or wait for a table in the patio on a warm summer night. Photo: Steven Richter

       It is a sweltering night when I first dash through The Limelight boutique in search of dinner and find the Gothic dim, discouraged by the heat of the city from the door open to the street and a suckling pig turning on a spit in the fireplace.  Our foursome flees to the slightly cooler dining room upstairs, settling into the empty loft.

The fattiest ribs are right next to the tail. These come with hominy. Photo: Steven Richter

       Tonight’s menu is possibly the porkiest I’ve ever seen and so is our dinner: Puffed pig’s ears (a crunch of salt and fat), a full size pork sausage (not pigs) in a blanket, sweet and fatty barbecue rib tails from a part of the critter that usually gets tossed, and shockingly delicious bacon jam to spread on slices of custom-baked English muffin, a gift from the kitchen. Buffalo sweetbreads arrive too, not the pancreas of a buffalo, as you might imagine if you were on your second single malt Scotch, but Buffalo-style chicken wings, not bad at all, with hot sauce and celery slaw.

A few pilgrims climb to our attractive aerie as the evening goes on. Photo: Steven Richter

       Resisting the Satyricon of excess, our friend Susan has held out for arugula salad – a splendid though not-exactly-abstemious toss of bitter greens with asparagus, Manchego and almonds. Her fish n’ chips served in thick logs remind us of Mrs. Paul’s, but ready for prime time. She eyes the lobster guacamole, an odd couple match-up that is like love at first sight. She tries a tiny bite on her fork and then another on a house-fried tortilla chip while the rest of us devour it.

Tuna tartare tacos, burrata, pulled pork bites, duck bacon sliders. Photo: Steven Richter

       Executive chef Robert Rubba comes out to introduce himself.  I wouldn’t be surprised to know we’ve had his total attention in the near-empty spot. He shares authorship with English, he says. He executes his boss’s ideas and they taste together.  Almost everything I’ve tasted is good or very good tonight and prudently priced, with entrees starting at $16, up to $26, but mostly $20 or less. I can’t wait to come back for the lamb belly pastrami and, I hope, better air conditioning.

Tented tables and draped beds in the patio, an instant draw for the locals. Photo: Steven Richter

       CrossBar has been discovered. Opening the patio has drawn neighborhood passersby. We are back on one of those rare perfect spring nights. The majordomo at the door, Tyler Pittman, who remembers me from Mesa Grill, honors our reservation and I only learn later that people standing at the bar have been waiting an hour. We settle outdoors with a view of landmark turrets and stone filigree and a couple lounging and sipping on a tented bed.

Crisp and delicious tuna tartare tacos with aioli on black bean. Photo: Steven Richter

       A few of our favorites have vanished from the new menu where snacks range from $8 to $18, and entrees now peak at $39.  Not even Marvin Gaye on the house’s eclectic reel is enough to distract us from how long it takes to put in our order, how the kitchen creeps when confronted with 52 patio seats turning all evening, plus a full house in the bar.
 
       It’s not that the Li’l Tacos are not smartly made. Tonight’s tuna tartare and black bean starters are as good as last week’s hamachi tacos. Burrata with heirloom tomatoes is lush as it should be. Spit-roasted chicken is remarkably moist, though a few soggy shallots are a pathetic add-on. The huge burger royale, layered with head cheese, ham, fried egg, aged cheddar and bacon, could seem a travesty to a purist, but it’s enough for all six of us to taste – that fried egg works - though the fries could be darker. 

       Even if the pork schnitzel were pounded thinner, it would not be as appealing as the fabulous parsley-lemon-mustard slaw. Duck bacon sliders with “foie sauce” are curiously dry. And the calamari suggests an excess of brainstorming between English and Rubba. “It has to be something no one has ever done before,” one of them says. “How about naked rings, flash-fried with Korean chili, peanuts and chunks of new potato?  We can charge $18.” Oh, how brilliant.  I haven’t hinted at my disappointment but Chef Rubba knows.  “We’re already working on a new menu,” he tells me.

Riches upon riches in a handsome cheesecake strip with poached fruit. Photo: Steven Richter

       If you get a night as magical as ours, you’ll linger for dessert. And if you feel brave, you might be tempted to try pecan bacon pie. I’m not against bacon in sweets. A scattering of crisp meat morsels might have been provocation enough. Too bad the overwhelming flavor is fat. A peanut butter ice cream sandwich frosted with roasted marshmallow fluff is much better, even with its thickish crumb crust.  Better yet, try the cheesecake with Maine blueberry caramel, vanilla braised apricots and pink peppercorn sable.

        While the kitchen is finding its mojo, you could just get drunk. If not on $13 cocktails, you might explore Delirium Tremens from Belgium or the many other beers in barrel, one of 24 bourbons in Sips or Slams, or Single Malt Scotches.  Savor the paradox of sipping Sinful Whiskey Flights: a selection of three ¾ ounce tastes in a churchyard. Ask for Greed, Envy, Gluttony or Lust.