Fort Pop-Up

Chef Jen Williams’ “Meat Stick” menu from her pop-up at Locust Cider featured a Chix Stix, with mojito-cider-marinated chicken, Romesco sauce, and mint; and a Veggie Veggie Bang Bang, with charred oyster mushrooms, butternut squash, red grapes, smoked eggplant dip, and pomegranate.

Photo by Brian Hutson

Fort Pop-Up

These short-lived eateries are appearing all over town, but why?

BY ERIC GRIFFEY

You couldn’t order any of the sweet confections that lined the pastry cases at Stir Crazy Baked Goods on West Magnolia Avenue. The near-full-capacity crowd on hand that rainy Friday evening didn’t fill the garage salechic dining room for the outstanding organic bakery’s delicious-looking cupcakes, cookies, and macaroons –– though everyone was eating a slice of pie.

Black Cat Pizza owner and pop-up impresario Jaime Fernandez, who recently helmed the kitchen at the scandalously underrated, sorely missed wine bar 44 Bootlegger, was slinging bubbly, crackly-crusted pizza out of Stir Crazy’s kitchen. Atop his intriguingly experimental pizzas, Fernandez tends to use ingredients you’re more likely to see on the menu of a French bistro. On the evening I dropped by, he was serving pies topped with roasted carrot, wine-braised leeks, creamy béchamel sauce, and roasted duck. His years of experimentation have rendered a wild range of results, including some that are definitely pizza and others that are rather out-there interpretations.

Chef Jaime Fernandez hosts biweekly pop-ups at Stir Crazy bakery, where he experiments with pizza toppings ranging from gourmet to exotic.

Photo by Crystal Wise

Black Cat’s twice-a-week residency at Stir Crazy isn’t some slapdash, improvised operation, though it is impermanent and sort of secret. Fernandez is one of dozens of well-known, talented chefs who set up and break down service in one night, vanishing like a carnival that moves on to next warehouse, art gallery, retail store, or wherever the epicurious masses crave something new and exciting.

Over the last several years, popup restaurants have become common around town, placing transient chefs in makeshift kitchens everywhere. Some pop-ups are sneak previews, market tests of restaurants to come, or offerings from chefs whose only gigs are the temporary eateries. The triumph of pop-ups, which cropped up around the country post-recession, is that they are just as much focused on the experience as the food –– how we eat matters, in some cases, more than what.

For chefs, a pop-up presents an opportunity for them to reinvent themselves with every new menu. Chef Jen Williams, who regularly hosts pop-up brunches at The Collective Brewing Project, Acre Distilling, and other venues, said she feels pop-ups fill a void in our local culinary community.

Hao & Dixya’s ginger, apple, pork and beef soup dumplings were a hit at their Arts Goggle 2018 pop-up at The Collective Brewing Project.

Photo by Brian Hutson

“I look at [area] menus, and feel like I never have an option,” she said. “Sure, we’ve got pizza, burgers, pub fare, and tacos, but cooking outside of North Texas as a young cook gave me a different perspective. I believe it’s a chef’s job to create and introduce new ingredients and innovation in our craft. If we don’t, who will? And how would anyone else ever know?” Some chefs, like Fernandez and Victor Villarreal, owner of the recently opened Abe Froman of Fort Worth gourmet pizza, have used their pop-ups as springboards to brick-and-mortar restaurants. Others, such as Hao Tran, who, along with her partner, Dixya Bhattarai, make up the culinary duo Hao and Dixya, have eschewed the idea of making cooking their main gig.

Opening a new restaurant is astronomically expensive and equally risky. Hundreds of restaurants compete for a limited pool of customers. Her popups, Tran said, act as a hedge against the vast and relentless waves of uncertainty.

On Williams’ “Brunch Board,” all of the produce is locally sourced. The rest of the smorgasbord includes housemade ricotta cheese, capocollo from New York, triplecreme brie, tomato jam, Burleson Cheese Gruyere Popovers, and seasonal fruit.

Photo by Brian Hutson.

“Dixya and I thought that pop-ups were the easiest way to get ourselves out there, but they’re still manageable for us with regards to cost and time,” said Hao, who teaches high school science as her main job. “We also choose when or where to have them, which is another advantage.”

For diners, pop-ups make them feel like they’re in on some great secret only a few in-the-know people can access –– something akin to following a band before it blew up. Follow a few hot young chefs on Instagram, and you’re in the club –– if you can get a seat. Trendy pop-ups like the Hot Box Biscuit Club sell out faster than a Beyoncé concert, minutes after the chefs announce the events through their email list.

Zest followed five pop-ups to try and understand what drives these chefs to undertake the massive effort required to create a one-shot eatery for an exclusive crowd. For Williams, the answer is simple: Pop-ups, more than restaurants, allow patrons and chefs a new line of communication –– a shared experience that’s as elemental as your grandmother’s table

The Hot Box Biscuits Club’s pop-ups sell out in a matter of minutes, thanks in part to the club’s enormous brunch sandwiches like The Dolly Parton, a sugar-cane-brined fried chicken breast sprinkled with #tastydust and slathered in breakfast sausage red-eye gravy.

Photo by Twig Capra

“Food should be fun and experienced comfortably,” she said. “It’s not about a stuffy experience or what you wear. It’s about the food.”

Zest 817 magazine