If interesting architecture floats your boat, then the look alone of Dragonfly will grab your attention from the moment you walk in, and keep you wide-eyed with fascination for the duration of your meal. The gothic-inspired surroundings were ornate, breathtaking and grand. From columns to flying buttresses to stained glass windows to pointed arches and circular motifs. Even the tiny cushioned red chairs with pointy tops fashioned in-house made one think gothic revival, although I don't know how many pointy-toped red cushioned chairs were milling around during the 12th to 16th centuries.
There were a couple of embellishments, however, that conflicted with the Gothic motif, namely the multi-color track lighting and the pop music floating from the speakers. A laughable stage production of "Medieval American Idol" immediately comes to mind.
The service at Dragonfly wasn't the snappiest in town. Despite only a handful of people in the restaurant, I had to practically accost a bus boy and demand that he find a waiter or waitress to acknowledge me and take my order. Perhaps she was in the back being tormented on an ancient torture device. However, the waitress appeared at my table about one minute later, looking slightly lethargic and timid. I wasted no time ordering a large glass of Stella Artois (an ode to my husband and his new employer) and a bowl of Dungeness Crab Bisque.
While I waited for my bisque to arrive, I looked over the menu. Dragonfly boasts an impressive Contemporary American menu (which, by the by, seems oddly out of place considering the whole gothic theme). The menu was big. I'm not referring to the selection but rather the physical menu itself. So big, in fact, that it made it difficult to place everything on the tiny table—silverware, salt and pepper shaker, plates, not one but two different drink menus, and The Book, more commonly referred to as the menu.
So many of the menu items sounded appetizing—the specialty cheeses, salads, small plates, entrées and sides, and especially the desserts—that it was difficult to make a choice. To get a better feel for the style of cooking and infusions of flavor, I made several selections of small plates.
Being a creature of habit, I ordered the Southern Chicken Satay first, even though the description really was rather dissimilar to Thai satay. Rounding out the menu for me were the Lobster Nachos and Smoked Gouda Ravioli. All three items came out fairly quickly after the empty bisque bowl was spirited away from the table, and it was a challenge to make everything fit on the table without knocking something to the floor.
The satay looked, uh, interesting. The four skewers each contained a tiny medallion of dry spice rubbed chicken that had been grilled to within an inch of its life, along with a nickel- or quarter-sized dollop of chimichurri sauce which they could have just left in the jar and kept hidden in the kitchen because it didn't offer a single taste profile to the already bland and dry dish. I suspect it may have been too easy to overcook the chicken due to its diminutive size. For possibly the first time in my life, I failed to finish a plate of chicken satay.
I was going for strike two with the ravioli stuffed with smoked Holland Gouda cheese and topped in a creamy roasted garlic sauce. Despite my trepidations, I took a bite of one of the three pieces of ravioli and held my breath. When I'm sure I started to turn blue in the face, I let out a whoosh of air and finally tasted what was in my mouth. Surprisingly, it was very good. They went a little heavy on the sauce (and I can't believe I'm complaining about that because I'm the queen of sauce), but it was a very nice accent to the smoky flavor of the cheese. I would recommend this dish for any cheese lover to experience the wonderful mix of flavors.
Next on the plate was the lobster nachos. It was nothing if not a vibrant display of food, and it was rather artfully yet predictably arranged. Hand-picked lobster meat was mixed with sweet and crunchy corn, chipotle, poblano peppers and cream, then the colorful fusion was spooned on top of crispy won ton triangles (not your run-of-the-mill tortilla chips). The delicate, almost non-existent flavor of the won tons did not in any way compete with the rich taste of the lobster mixture, but added another element of texture and provided a satisfying crunch to the dish. This was a dish that I did finish and by the time it was all said and done, there were perhaps two, maybe three kernels of corn rolling around on the plate.
I was about to give up for the evening, but there was something in the waitress's eyes that implored me to eat more that coaxed me into ordering the General Tso's Calamari. After all, I wasn't exactly full after finishing only two of the three small plates, so a fourth small plate seemed to be the logical next step. As I waited for the calamari, the bus boy asked me if I were finished, to which I replied "Yes, but I'm waiting for another plate." Not understanding a single word I said except "yes," he scooped my plate and silverware up in his arms with the nimble dexterity of a magician before I could even protest. Needless to say, I wasn't finished and, after apologizing profusely, he returned to the table with another plate and more silverware.
I'm not sure if they kept the calamari sitting around just waiting for someone to order, but the dish came out too soon for cooked-to-order comfort. And as if that weren't enough, there were those creepy little fried baby squid bodies sitting on top of the pile. I really do hate that. Picking around the tiny carcasses, I stabbed a tiny ring of calamari with my fork and shoved it into my mouth before I lost all nerve—after all, it had been touching the baby squid. It almost seemed to be a natural pairing—ringlets of fried calamari tossed in General Tso’s signature sweet and spicy sauce—and it was actually better than I expected.
Overall, the meal was good with only one real failure. One word of caution: be sure to peruse your bill carefully. I was fortunate enough to have a coupon which provided for a fair amount of money off of the entire bill, but I was overcharged by roughly $20 on the first go-round. After speaking with the manager, this issue was rectified and all was right with the world.
Would I recommend Dragonfly? With minimal hesitation, Dragonfly is a restaurant that I would recommend. Without sounding too disparaging, the food was not the absolute best in the world, but it was nowhere near the worst, and it provided for a palatable meal.
Is Dragonfly a good value or do you need to take out a loan to eat here? It’s probably not a place for the true budget-minded to frequent, but once or twice a month won’t bankrupt you. The entrée prices are a little steep and that doesn’t include the side items, which are a separate price, but the desserts range from $7 for two scoops of sorbet or gelato, to $8 for treats such as Roasted Almond Cake or Tahitian Vanilla Polenta Pudding (none of which I partook in).
What about atmosphere and ambience? Dragonfly is a feast for the architectural eyes, marred only by the piped in music and tacky multi-colored track lighting. For a change of pace, though, they do have live jazz on Friday and Saturday nights, and that should make up for what spills out of the speakers any other day of the week.
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