dining

Newly appointed as the head chef of Meridian Restaurant & Bar (5694 N. Meridian St., 317-466-1111) Layton Roberts brings some lusty, low-country cooking to Meridian-Kessler. (SPOILER ALERT: That means the return of the fried chicken dinner.) The 30-year-old toque, who started his career in Louisville before arriving in Indianapolis five years ago, headed up the kitchen at 14 West and most recently served as chef de cuisine at Mesh on Mass—an impressive resume in its own right. Using a dog-eared Meridian menu heavily annotated with handwritten notes as his show-and-tell, Roberts gives us a preview of what he has planned for one of Indy’s longest-standing eateries.  

The egg came first. And, oh mon dieu, what an egg this was.

Tini’s Raintini is made of Absolut acai berry vodka, violet liqueur, limoncello, lime juice, and muddled blueberries, paired with head-bopping Beyonce vids.

For three nights, their every public move lit up the Twittersphere, with sightings at all of the well-trodden downtown haunts and as far north as Geist, where Madonna was spotted jogging.

Looks like he ate Recess out of seared Spanish sardines.

When it comes to making cash during the biggest event this city’s seen, Sensu is stocked and ready to serve loaded East Coast visitors. The deliveries have been rolling in, including cases of Grey Goose in an array of flavors, Patron, and Jack Daniel’s. You know, the usual. 

The first thing you notice at Divvy, after you have strolled by packed communal tables in the bar and passed under raw-wood lampshades curved like Mobius strips, are the menus. Long, horizontal, and leather-bound like an old-timey razor strop, they contain sections upon subsections with suggestive monikers such as “Motion in the Ocean” and “Grazers Galore,” spanning more than 20 pages. You could dine here five nights a week, as some have, and never conquer the dozens of “Tidbits,” “Liquid Goods,” and “Mini Morsels” offered by this new foodie oasis in the shadow of Carmel’s Palladium. “The fun part was coming up with the names of the dishes,” says owner Kevin “Woody” Rider, the restaurateur who also brought Woody’s Library Restaurant to northside diners and helped open Bonge’s Tavern in Perkinsville.

Rare birds among Super Bowl volunteers, those called “quarterbacks” will be in full flight on downtown streets sporting giant orange tail feathers with question marks on them. Think of these vols as roaming concierges. Each will carry a tablet, which they’ll use to answer visitors’ questions. They’ll communicate with teammates, unseen, at a downtown command center, who will be looking up answers as questions come in. “Play-calling,” as the process is known around the office of the Super Bowl Host Committee.

Everyone has a favorite sandwich, and coming up with a list that visitors must try means wandering into dangerous territory. But a mob of hungry football fans is heading our way, so it had to be done. With Hoosier hospitality in mind, Indianapolis Monthly and the Indiana Office of Tourism Development chose 46 of the state’s standouts in time for the Super Bowl. The final list is now available in the Indiana 2012 Travel Guide, online.

New to the Mass Ave corridor is a vodka-meets-video concept that fills a gap in the city’s bar scene. Tini (717 N. Massachusetts Ave., 317-384-1313) opened on Dec. 13 to much buzz from those who can’t get over the idea that “Video Killed the Radio Star,” which is, not coincidentally, the first music video that owner Brad Kime played. The visuals are colorful and lively, of course, and the rest of the room complements those video clips, which skew evenly across classic and current. You’ll get both your Bruce Springsteen and your Beyonce here.

A tiny blonde who looks nowhere near her years—she is sometimes mistaken for one of the hip, youthful servers—Hoover has achieved success through a variety of means. The type of restaurant she introduced to the city came at the right time. She ignored the cautions of industry veterans who told her that she could not prepare foods the way she wanted to. And, above all, she focused on details to an extraordinary extent.

Click on the Facebook and Twitter logos to start talking to and following the whereabouts of these trucks.

“I really feel like my personal mission in life is directly tied to the work that I do,” Henderson says. “My job is to empower individuals and communities to grow well, eat well, live well, and be well.”

Of all the experiments chef Neal Brown has conducted, whether in his kitchen laboratoire or the culinary free market, none has come as close to successful alchemy as The Libertine Liquor Bar, his shrine to the cocktail in a Washington Street storefront downtown. A shot of Scandinavian austerity, a jigger of pre-Prohibition American frontier swagger, and a dash of orange bitters dosed from eyedroppers by Brown’s exacting barkeeps, The Libertine is a study in contrasts—some logical, some forced—that all mingle, dazzlingly. Take “The Last Word,” one of several clever coinages on Brown’s drink menu. It mixes Bluecoat gin, lending its distinctly piney profile, with Luxardo maraschino and green chartreuse, haute liqueurs as opposite as stop and go. A bracing hit of lime merges these improbable comrades into a restrained elixir that cleanses the palate at the same time it sweetens it, a beguiling medicine you’re all too glad to take.

The homemade pickles on the plate in front of us weren’t exactly the ones our grandmothers made us as kids. There were cucumbers, yes, though mostly to support the lightly brined stars: hunks of crunchy daikon radish with a subtle bite of kimchi; a beet-pickled egg blushing pink. A single slender ramp—a wild leek foraged in spring—snaked around to a glistening dollop of peanut spread. Was this the new wave of pub grub, or just some quirky concoction dreamed up by a pregnant chef? And just how did the folks at Black Market, the much–buzzed-about, long-awaited nouvelle comfort-food spot tucked at the end of the Mass Ave restaurant district, expect us to approach it? “People eat it all kinds of ways,” said co-owner Ed Rudisell, smiling from behind the bar where we sat sipping glasses of wine. “We don’t tell customers how to do it.”