On my second-to-last weekday of summer, I couldn't resist treating myself to lunch at one of Perrysburg's fantastic local restaurants. I got into my car, headed in the direction of
Northwest Ohio's best destination for craft brew and eats, and pondered what I'd have. Over the past three weeks, I've enjoyed a Hanalei salad, hot barbecue and nuclear chunks, lots of fries (sweet potato and regular, the latter swimming in malt vinegar), a butter burger, a half-pound BLT, a smokey Italian beef sammich, and an array of beer. Waiting at an intersection, I began sweating in my attempt to decide what it was on which I'd gorge today.
Then, it hit me.
"Social. a gastropub," a few minutes in the other direction, opened a few days ago. I was
curious, not anxious, in a way that I thought, "How cute. Another attempt at mimicking
Swig." Last year Barr's Public House opened in Maumee, which I like just fine, but it turned me off when a cocky bartender inaccurately declared that "[They] are what Swig is trying to be." I have never left Swig not feeling fatter and happier than I was when I arrived, so I take any jab as if it is one unto me. Also making me not entirely enthused about "Social. a gastropub" was the name; I don't like
misused punctuation and capitalization and "gastropub" is becoming a buzzword, its meaning being stretched and watered down. What really
is a gastropub, anyway?
"Gastropub or gastrolounge refers to a bar and restaurant that serves high-end beer and food." Thanks, Wikipedia.
Furthermore, from my experience a gastropub serves those things in unconventional combinations, e.g. replacing the corned beef in a reuben with tenderloin of duck and the sauerkraut with a citrusy-soy slaw. With respect to beer, Great Lakes and Goose Island are too cool to be truly cool in the realest of real gastropubs. Basically, it's the 90s alternative rock of restaurant genres.
I got over my own nay-saying and made my way to Social. The interior has undergone updating from Arnie's; instead of dark, brown, and brassy, Social is dark, blue, and silvery. Tables are arranged long-ways, either to accommodate large parties or to encourage strangers to sit together a la German beer gardens. On this beautiful, wannabe-fall-summer-day I opted to sit outside at the bar. The wicker stools at the bar suck, or maybe the bar is too tall. Whatever the case, my butt sunk into the bowl-like chair and I felt like I needed a booster seat. This eventually made eating physically and mentally awkward.
Also awkward was the bartender who demonstrated a few times that she, probably like the rest of the wait staff, is still figuring out the menu in the
restaurant's gastropub's first three days. It was apparent that she either had memorized the menu OR was skilled at reading upside-down. Her descriptions lacked details about the actual food and were mostly unconvincing opinions. "The corn bread with jasmine butter is really good! The pork belly, which is like bacon before it's bacon, is also really good! Our mac and cheese is really good and different!" I'm sure it's all really good.
I was alone and had nowhere to be so I made a tasting out of the afternoon. I ordered a Founders All Day IPA, which came in a hipster mason jar, and ordered the fried green tomatoes. They came out of the kitchen after just the right amount of time--not too long that I was sitting by myself unoccupied and avoiding conversation with the meatheads across the bar, and not too quickly, which suggested to me that they were making them fresh to order. I was surprised to see that they had been battered and deep-fried because my only prior experiences with fried green tomatoes were in Greenville, SC, and Atlanta, GA, where I got the impression that fried green tomatoes are lightly dredged in flour and herbs then pan-fried. I'm not going to pretend that really matters to me, though.
Hey, I like Olive Garden and I don't care that it isn't "real Italian food." The tomatoes, served with a side and drizzle of ranch (possibly housemade, but I'm no ranch coinnoisseur) were definitely good, albeit very heavy. I packed up the leftovers, so let's hope that I'm wearing my sharing pants later when Joe is home.
It was tough to pick my entree. The fish tacos, which I think my bartender said are filled with rare ahi tuna, were calling my name, but I wanted to save those for a dinner visit. I'm a sucker for pulled pork, so I leaned toward that sandwich, but then felt guilty eating fries (their fries sounded amazing and I can't remember details other than garlic and parsley). I went with a bowl of cream of golden beet soup, which was the soup of the day that actually changes daily and is made from scratch, and the half-sized warm spinach salad. Again, the kitchen and wait staff did a good job of getting my food out to me. The soup was bomb. I dig
beats beets, but had never eaten, nor heard of, golden beets. They absolutely have a different flavor from red beets, but they're also absolutely beet-y. It was a rich soup, though appropriate for a mild late summer day, topped with what appeared to be olive oil and flat leaf parsley. I scraped my bowl dry.
The warm spinach salad was not as happy. I ordered it without egg, but I can't imagine that's why it didn't hit the spot. Rather large for being a half, it was a pile of baby spinach topped with crumbled bacon and honey mustard dressing, surrounded by small roasted potato quarters. I didn't notice which part of the salad was warm, other than the potatoes. Potatoes are my friends, but these potatoes left a lot to be desired; a bit dry and simply salted and peppered. How about some butter and garlic? The honey mustard dressing looked right, but tasted like all mustard and no honey. With each bite, I hoped that the bacon would overpower the flavor of French's, but with each bite, I was disappointed. In full disclosure, I
did pretty much lick that plate clean, but that was just because I was trying to eat everything there to rub the mustard aftertaste out of my mouth.
Feeling completely like a fat kid, I asked about dessert. The bartender knew that there was some kind of cobbler, but she didn't know what fruit was in it, and she mentioned strawberry shortcake. She scurried inside to inquire about the cobbler then returned after a few minutes to report that it had lots of berries, which she did rattle off. Although she didn't know if the strawberry shortcake was on actual shortcake or plain biscuits, I wanted it because strawberry shortcake is a dessert that can never be not delicious. After a few minutes, I had a stack of three shortcakes, easily six inches high, with some kind of cream and strawberry slices in their own juices sandwiched between. The entire bar oohed and ahhed and I made a valiant attempt at putting a dent into it. As good as it was, my stomach obliged, "No more, Krista! No more!"
An appetizer, soup, salad, dessert, and a beer came in at just over $30. I don't recommend going to Social and ordering that much food without some assistance, but I'm not at all disappointed in my overall experience. When Joe gets home today I'm going to work on convincing him that we need to hit up Social for lunch this weekend. Also, we're going to be fighting over those fried green tomatoes.
Back to the above "gastropub" rant:
Is Social. a gastropub really a gastropub? Most of the beer was on point and the chef is attempting funky things with standard (pulled pork), hokey (I didn't mention the fried bologna), and "high-end" (lobster mac and cheese) ingredients. I approve of your name, Social. a gastropub (excluding the punctuation and grammar flubs).
How does it stack up to Swig and Barr's Public House? Although they are all in some way "gastropubs," the menu here is completely different from that at Swig. I think with some time for the wait staff and experimentation with the menu, Social will find their wheel house just like Swig has and they will tweak it to perfection. The menu is significantly larger than Barr's, but it isn't
too long with overwhelming options, and the atmosphere is a lot less pretentious.
Unfortunately, Social. a gastropub doesn't seem to have a website. Find them on Facebook, or just drive over to the former location of Arnie's on 25 in Perrysburg, and tell them that someone is blogging about them!
