I’ll admit … I’m a bit of a foodie. And I enjoy dining out more than even the most astute restaurant critic. After 15+ years of working as a server, it’s nice to be waited on hand and foot. And one of my favorite places to go is Café Trio, a bistro which overlooks Kansas City’s famed Country Club Plaza.
I started going to Café Trio years ago because of several strong recommendations. “You must try this place … and not just for the drinks, either,” said one of my alcoholic friends. “They have a phenomenal menu, which I never partake of because I’m too busy drinking.”
Their original place used to be nestled in a little nook in Midtown. It was cozy, but that just added to the ambiance of the place. (I eavesdropped on more juicy conversations smushed up against other diners than I care to admit.) It had a mixed bag of décor … with mirrors, velvet and deep burgundy tones. I always felt like I was dining in the parlor of a whorehouse. Yet, it still worked.
When Café Trio moved into their new space, regulars were a little skittish about Trio losing its intimate setting. That quickly subsided when we all got a chance to see the gorgeous new digs, the updated, inspired menu and killer martinis. Trio recently celebrated another anniversary, the 2nd at its spacious new location.
The wait staff has been working there for years, always a good sign in an industry where high turnover is the norm. And like any restaurant, there’s always a cast of characters to take your order. There’s the overly-affectionate, huggy-kissy-gropey server that I avoid making eye contact with. There’s the perfectly-coifed, devastatingly handsome server who flirts with men, women, small children and dogs in order to increase his tips. There’s a litany of female servers who have dealt with bitchy gay male customers for so long they can diffuse any situation with a “Hey, gurrrrl” or “The guy at table four thinks you’re cute and he bought you this drink so you’d shut the hell up.” (Keep in mind, there IS no table four. Or cute guy for that matter.)
The food ranges from flesh of a dead cow to flesh of a dead pig, chicken or fish. It’s a carnivore’s paradise. (Or there’s a gourmet version of Mac & Cheese, the lethal Mac Daddy — if you’re craving vegetarian.) I always, and I mean, always, get the same dish. In four years, I haven’t deviated from the pistachio-encrusted tilapia. Yes, it’s that good. And, yes, I think everything in life should be rolled in nuts before being served.
But the reason why I try to eat at Trio at least once a week is the ambiance. It’s always buzzing. The patio is a veritable who’s-who of social butterflies. There’s good juju throughout the building. A lounge singer plunks away on the piano while belting out anything from jazz to show tunes. The bartenders, without a doubt the best in the city, are always whipping up new adult libations for an unpretentiously pretentious crowd. And the owners cater to the crowd and are heavily involved in GLBT philanthropic organizations.
I take everyone there … friends, Romans, countrymen. And they are always dazzled and/or impressed with the entire experience. And you will be too. Three words: Pistachio-encrusted tilapia.