Restaurants that only have one word in their title always seem to be making some kind of statement. Salt is no exception. It sits by itself in a residential downtown neighborhood, where parking is an endlessly frustrating hunt and nearby attractions are nonexistent. Still, Salt knows that it needs no tricks or gimmicks. It may be fairly upscale dining, but Salt still calls itself a tavern. It's a smart idea: non-pretentious coziness.
Space is a problem for Salt. Without a reservation system, people are practically spilling over onto the dining tables. Unless you get there early, expect to wait for a table. The bar and restaurant are not separated; our table was about two feet away from crowds of people sipping gimlets and waiting to be seated. There is simply no place to wait once the bar overflows. I ended up standing against a wall in a narrow entryway, avoiding water spraying from people depositing their umbrellas in buckets nearby.
The service attempted to make up for the tight quarters. The waiter knew the answer to any question we had and knew the right balance between attentiveness and leaving us to enjoy the meal.
After studying the awards displayed on the narrow entryway, we opted for the foie gras and Kobe beef slider, recent winner of City Paper's Best New Appetizer, as well as the duck fat french fries, because any restaurant that advertises something with "fat" in the title must be pretty confident in the taste. Typically, duck fat has less cholesterol and saturated fat than butter, but more than olive oil, which has no cholesterol. The slider was my first foie gras experience, and an enjoyable one at that. The rare beef was great as well, though I confess that I couldn't tell much difference between Kobe beef and non-Kobe beef. Alas, I suppose I will just have to eat it again.
I normally would not use the word "phenomenal" to describe french fries, but these were no ordinary fried potato sticks. They had an addictive quality, as if the duck fat was laced with nicotine. I kept going for more and ignoring the fact that I still had an entree ahead. More impressive than the fries themselves were the three different aioli (mayonnaise-based) dipping sauces. The choices, malt vinegar, honey chipotle and white truffle, made me never want to use ketchup again.
The entrees (around $20) are considerably less exotic than the appetizers, but are nevertheless very good. The oven roasted salmon filet sat perfectly atop potato gnocchi, lump crab and a fantastic yet not overpowering beurre blanc sauce. I must compliment the gnocchi; the outer texture was smooth and the potato insides had just the right amount of stickiness. The tomatoes accompanying the dish could have used a little seasoning.
The dish presentation epitomized Salt's goal; it was also clear that the chefs took time to not just create the food but also to perfect the look. All of the tableware was white, and everything was arranged simply yet elegantly.
Dessert was a simple circular molten and flourless chocolate cake with a slightly gooey inside and rich outside. After such satisfying appetizers and entrees, it is difficult to have room for more. Still, it's worth the push.
Though Salt should find a solution to parking and its cramped seating, one can only hope that other Baltimore restaurants will follow Salt's model: fine dining, sans ostentation.
