The Restaurantgoer's Guide

Tag: food

  • Artisan: Dining as it’s meant to be.

    Rating: 5 out of 5.

    Scot Harris

    Some evenings are planned. Others simply fall into place with such grace that you begin to suspect fate had a hand in it. A last-minute trip to Artisan with a dear old friend became one of those nights—a reminder that true hospitality doesn’t need to announce itself. It simply shows up in every smile, every plated detail, and every moment of care.

    The room is warm, modern, and confident: a palette of browns, whites, and copper softened by brick and the steady flicker of candles. Nothing shouts, nothing overwhelms. Instead, the dining room feels tuned—like a canvas set just right. From our booth, polished and perfectly kept, we had the ideal vantage point to watch the evening unfold around us, as if we belonged. The atmosphere was happy and calm, the sort of balance that makes conversation effortless and time unhurried.

    Our server, Isabella, was the brightest note in the harmony. Intelligent, poised, and polished without stiffness, she managed the dance between attention and distance with grace. From folding my napkin when I stepped away to ensuring our table was always cleanly crumbed, her care felt genuine, not rehearsed. She wasn’t just doing her job; she was embodying the craft.

    What impressed me most was the team’s cohesion. The bell. The soft chime from the kitchen didn’t summon chaos—it set the room in motion. Every server responded as though the guest at any table were their own. It wasn’t loud or jarring—it was beautiful. Plates left the pass not in haste, but in harmony. In that small detail, you understood the essence: every guest matters.

    The prix fixe menu was an easy decision. My arancini arrived golden and crisp, the center rich with molten cheese. Rested on a basil-pesto aioli so smooth and full of flavor that you imagine making at home, but know, deep down, you’ll never match. Beside me, my friend’s tuna was thick, rich, and unapologetic, earning its title as the “steak of the sea.”

    Our entrées brought a different mood: Pacifico Striped Bass, bright and fun, perched on Israeli couscous, with a whisper that wants to tell you what love is. The brown butter vinaigrette, earthy without heaviness, really does “make it sing.” It wasn’t just a dish—it was a conversation in flavor, cheerful and complete.

    Dessert offered two interpretations of joy. My friend’s trio of sorbets—coconut, blood orange, mango—was playful, vibrant, and refreshing, each scoop like a memory of summer. My crème brûlée was classic and restrained, its sugar crust torched to the perfect crack, the custard beneath impossibly smooth. No reinvention, no gimmick—just flawless execution of a dish that endures because it deserves to.

    Each plate felt deliberate, each flavor intentional, as though the team understood exactly what Artisan was meant to be. Under Chef Chris, the kitchen radiated confidence.

    And that’s the secret of Artisan: it doesn’t try to dazzle with noise or novelty. It wins you over with care, detail, and a commitment to doing things the right way. Warm light, flickering candles, clean tables, intelligent service—this is hospitality refined to its essence.

    We left full, but more than that, we left grateful. Grateful for a restaurant that takes its craft seriously, yet never forgets the joy behind it. Artisan doesn’t try to impress. It just welcomes you back, even if it’s your first time.

    • Monday- Thursday 4:30 pm – 10:00 pm
    • Friday – Saturday 4:30 pm – 11:00 pm
    • (574)-355-3355
    • 524 S Main Street, Elkhart IN, 46516

  • Cascade Prime Steak & Seafood: Where hospitality cascades into every bite.

    Rating: 5 out of 5.

    Scot Harris

    Every now and then, a restaurant doesn’t just serve dinner, it orchestrates an experience. Cascade Prime Steak & Seafood, a crown jewel of Navarre Hospitality Group owned by local legend Chef Kurt Janowsky, is one of those rare places where everything feels both deliberate and effortless. The welcome begins before you even open the door, an aroma of seared steak and gently charred elegance drifts into the night air, a prelude to the harmony waiting inside.

    The design strikes that elusive balance between modern confidence and airy light. Every line is clean, every surface gleams, but not one element feels overthought. The dining room opens like a theatrical stage, with booths and tables cascading down toward a shimmering waterfall. We were fortunate enough to sit perched just above it, tucked into a perfectly cushioned booth, with a panoramic view that gently insisted: stay awhile.

    Service, here, is an art form. Our server, Taylor, embodied a kind of polished intuition, present without pressing, formal without stiffness, and dressed with the same elegance that marked the space itself. From replacing our knives between courses to folding my napkin when I momentarily stepped away, his attention to detail was never performative. It was innate respect.

    The meal began with a Caesar salad and carried a standard setting poise. The romaine was chilled to that elusive sweet spot between crisp and tender, the dressing confidently briny, the pickled red onions were a clever high note, and the homemade sourdough croutons warm and golden. Alongside it, a plate of golden French fries with light parmesan cheese. A whisper of truffle cream paved the way towards my entrée.

    My mother’s salmon arrived swimming in a smoked tomato beurre blanc that lent both silk and structure. It flaked apart with a gentle tap of the fork but lingered on the palate like a well-chosen phrase. My own entrée, truffle tagliatelle paired with a medium-rare steak, was a duet of discipline and decadence. The pasta, slippery and supple, wrapped around a sauce of quiet depth. The steak, crimson-centered and crusted like an oath, reminded me that perfection, when pursued earnestly, still stuns.

    The hand behind it all, Executive Chef Matthew Jay, brings a confidence to the kitchen, a culinary voice that is almost breakthrough in his sauce making. His plates speak with precision, grace, and intent.

    Cascade’s quality standards are high, using only prime-graded beef, which makes up less than 2% of the beef produced in the United States, as well as Japanese A5 Wagyu. Along with fresh seafood shipped in 6 days a week.

    No errors, more like grace notes. A flickering light or two, nothing more than a blink. A faint beeping from a neighboring table, there, then gone. If anything, these details reminded me that even the best bands play with breath between the notes.

    And then came dessert. Lavender cheesecake, crafted by Pastry Chef Kelly Rybicki, arrived with the elegance of a last waltz. It was floral but grounded, ethereal without vanishing, and sat on a crust that gave just enough resistance. I didn’t just want the recipe (although I do hope Ms. Rybicki is taking apprentices)—I wanted to know what inspired it.

    Even the bread deserves applause: whole grain, served warm, with butter that spread like a dream. These aren’t afterthoughts here. They’re proof that Cascade knows the real secret: true luxury is found in what others overlook.

    The acoustics? Ideal. The lighting? Soft, inviting. The clientele? A mix of polished locals and knowing travelers. The view from the top of the room, as the lighting catches the water and glints off crystals, brought a beaming smile to my face.

    Cascade doesn’t chase trends. It sets standards. It doesn’t shout. It simply knows.

    We left full, not just of flavor, but of quiet reverence for a place that remembers hospitality is a way of life, not a performance. This is what it looks like when a restaurant stands on its own.

    And stands tall.