The most difficult piece of KC Restaurant Week is deciding. First, from 160 participating restaurants, you decide where to go. Then, you decide on which menu you prefer — lunch or dinner. And then, you pick one or two items from a near laundry list of phenomenal foods on that menu. It’s more commitment that I give to most relationships at this point in my life. And it’s stressful.
Luckily, I’m a stress eater. So it all works out.
When my friend Chelsea picked Cafe Trio for yet another weekday work lunch, I was honestly relieved to just not have to make a decision. I admittedly hadn’t been before and only knew vaguely where it was located. Before we’d even arrived, I’d set my sights on the charred brussels sprouts appetizer, burger entree and apple clafouttis dessert.
I know, you’re thinking, “but Laura, your clean eating diet thing” — believe me, I know. Imagine my disappointment when I was forced back aboard the semi-healthy bus by the realization that the menu only allowed the choice of two courses instead one from each of the three available. It wasn’t noted on the main site for KC Restaurant Week and I was notably bummed to be sure, but also a little thankful for yet more help in my decision making. No dessert, then. Fine. Whatever.
Those brussels sprouts were quite possibly the things dreams are made of. Tossed with thick munch-perfect bacon, chopped apple, toasted farro, roasted garlic and garnished with winter squash puree and lemon — they were delicious. The char on each add a perfect crunch with a smokey rich flavor. While the winter squash puree didn’t add much for flavor, it’s worth noting that these little guys didn’t need it anyway. The bright yellow schmear across the plate was a beautiful balance in color next to my rustic green brussels — that was plenty for me.
The burger left a lot to be loved. Still on my try-to-be-healthy-ish-if-you-can kick had me ditching what looked to be a beautiful buttery bun. Maybe that would have helped. Maybe it wouldn’t have. In the situation that you think the bun makes all the difference — consider that you’re relying on bread to sell your meal. Then, try again. My burger was a bit dry. Definitely done. I kept all the toppings except the cheese — which again is the easy way out flavor-wise. Where it did sing was in the caramelized onions. I was the only one at my table that kept them and couldn’t have been happier for it. Those things were a beautifully sweet little addition to my deconstructed classic.
At this time, let’s also note that I forgot to take photos before eating the food. Oops.
The fries on the side were enough to tempt me into trying another handful after having sworn off fries when I didn’t enjoy them earlier in the week. I was a bit tickled to see that these were baked and served next to a pot of rich red bourbon ketchup. Ketchup is my weakness, and this stuff, while not overwhelmingly unique, was still very tasty.
As I’d opted for the appetizer as part of my two-course selection — what followed the entrees was a parade of desserts for the rest of the table. Jealous? Oh yes. While the chocolate hazelnut mousse cake looked exactly as amazing as it sounds — 2 out of 2 at our table said it didn’t live up to the name. That apple clafouttis I had been eyeing, though, was everything imaginable.
The smell of it, alone, was enough to make me want to down an apple pie, immediately. Chelsea, rocking like she does, offered up a taste…so I took two. It was a delicate melt-in-your mouth warm apple dessert that somehow harnessed the flavor of a thousand apple crumbles. Sweet and doughy with the perfect silky texture you crave from such a treat. With dollops of applesauce, it stole the show in the dessert round.
Given another go at Cafe Trio — I would definitely change things up a bit. Even though the signature Mac Daddy my friend Laura had ordered looked absolutely delicious with its tiny tomatoes and strings of gooey cheese — my revised order would be simple: charred brussels sprouts and apple clafouttis. No questions asked.
This post originally appeared on Prettyography.
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