Fat Cats

2061 W. 10th St
Cleveland (Tremont)
216-579-0200

Type: American Eclectic
Atmosphere: Funky Collision of Thrift Store Chic meets Your Art School Friend
Occasion: Any!!!
Gotta Try: Sweetbreads, I typically steal the plate so I can smell it on the way home.
Take or Leave: Pizza
Booze: Vast and abundant, decent wine list without huge ass mark-ups
Prices: Very reasonable, most expensive entree hits $21
Hours: Lunch Mon-Fri 11-3, Dinner Mon-Thurs 4-10 & Fri/Sat 4-Midnight
Reservations: Accepted
Snarky Says: A on food, A on booze, B+ on atmosphere

Although his sensual state couldn’t extend any further than his own dick and his topic of conversation was limited to only to him, I had a friend who years ago would speak about the emerging dining scene in Tremont and whisper strange new syllables to me like Looooooola, Fat Cats, Lava Lounge and Michael Symon. As a provincial Columbusite attending OSU and running tables at a chi-chi restaurant, I hardly thought it was possible that bombed-out Cleveland (Columbusites thinks Cleveland is on par to Sarajevo) could hardly compete with the cultural Mecca, tier two city that is the seat of our state government. My skepticism hardly registered as he droned on and on about his excellent pedigree, sophisticated palette, sexual prowess, irresistible personality, discriminating preferences, staggering accomplishments and so on.

The egoist came and went but my affair with food and the restaurant industry continued. I’ve been very lucky and don’t take it for granted for a single second that I’ve had the opportunity to dine in some of the best restaurants in the country and some of the great places of Europe too. And oddly whether I was living in San Francisco reading a restaurant rag or flying to Paris or sharing a chairlift with a Clevelander at Deer Valley, the same funny incantations kept coming up. Lola whispered in reverent terms, “Fat Cats” exclaimed as though it were Happy Birthday and Michael Symon’s name dropped as though he were the godfather of half the Cleveland population.

And Columbus? Not so much…

Well, the bubble burst, a Nazi hijacked the White House, buildings fell, thousands of Americans did the Cantor Fitzgerald Shuffle from 120 stories up and off to war we went! Then I drew the Cleveland card. To Ohio I returned.

After the moving truck slowed down to 30 miles per hour and dumped all $25 of my worldly possessions on the front lawn, I immediately got in my car, dodged the potholes and made my way to Tremont.

Fat Cats has been a perennial favorite. I sometimes try to hide it from myself as though it were a box of Thin Mints stashed out of eyesight. Service as smooth a swimmer’s ass and chow that makes your head wobble to see what is coming out of the kitchen next, I always scoot my chair up to the table with glee.

Recently, one of my favorite dining companions, Lady Velveeta–who is creamy and thick and melts in my mouth–and I went to Fat Cats after hearing rumors of change in the proprietor’s line-up. Fortunately for us and for those who are interested, Fat Cats didn’t disappoint.

Lady Velveeta wasted no time in sending the server after a bottle of California Zinfandel that was chewy and inky and immediately warded of the chill of February. If I wasn’t a douche bag, I’d be able to recall the name of it but I was relying on the website which no longer shows the wine list.

Server Thousand-Watt-Smile, brought us appetizers of crispy sweetbreads and calamari. Although organ meat tests the weary, I love sweetbreads and are one of my favorite things to order in the cold months. The calamari could hardly fend off our incoming forks as we scooped the lightly glistening rings into ginger mignonette and ponzu sauce. Velveeta was partial to the ponzu; I liked the mignonette. I could see all sorts of other applications for it. Sadly, we chased the last bites of calamari around the plate when we decided it was definitely in our best interests to go big or go home. We went BIG!

Again, we ordered another bottle of my picking, this time French (can’t remember name as I am a douche bag) and ordered the duck pizza with Gorgonzola, grape jam, spiced pecans and pears. Also, a cheese plate. Primed and ready to go, the cheese plate was perfect to nibble on, swirl wine and contemplate the meaning of life. We took our time, conversed and looked forward to the upcoming spring. The pizza fell a little flat. Although the combination was certainly interesting and I’m a big fan of all the ingredients, the crust/tomato sauce combination didn’t do it for me. *shrug* Who knows? I’m not bitching and would certainly give it another order in the name of research, but it really didn’t crank my tractor.

Proprietor Jack Anfang has a good think going. I’ve heard and read nothing bad about Fat Cats for years now, long before doing the 71 slalom and landing in this fair city. In the time that I’ve plunking down my well worn Visa card, it would seem it has settled into a warm, welcome state where expectations are always met if not exceeded. Understated and inviting, Fat Cats is a great place to take a date, go with a group of friends, go for lunch, go for cocktails but be prepared to spend more than you planned not because the prices are high (they’re not) but because you won’t want to leave.

Peas out!
Snarky

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 14th, 2007 at 1:30 pm and is filed under Restaurant Reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.