Numbers speak volumes. What do 1,800 apple barrel cocktails tell us? What is revealed by 3,000 orders of mac ‘n' cheese with bacon and peas? What sweet nothings do 1,100 brown sugar beignets whisper? Those figures reflect some of the early returns at The Bayou Southern Kitchen & Bar, a cozy spot in a residential neighborhood in Bethlehem. When you consider the fact that the restaurant only opened about 11 weeks ago at this writing, those numbers are just plain off the hook. We're talking about 163 apple barrels, 272 orders of mac and cheese and 100 orders of beignets per week—and those are just the best sellers.
During this same time frame, The Bayou has worked through two to three cases of Jim Beam bourbon per week, earning the restaurant an honorary brick on Bourbon Road, which the company is building to honor businesses that are “strong advocates for the brand,” according to representative Amanda Shaker.
Owners Mo Taylor, Cristian Duarte and executive chef Tyler Baxter are all blown away by their success thus far, which has come mostly through word of mouth and a few media blips, including Baxter's appearance on WFMZ Channel 69's Sunrise program. “Without getting too corny, this feels like a dream come true,” says Duarte.
Perhaps it's as simple as that. You know when something's just meant to be, when the powers that be align so that everything unfolds in a nearly effortless way? That's The Bayou. Duarte, 31, and Taylor, 34, know each other well. They spent a decade at the now-closed Starters Riverport in Bethlehem, where Taylor was the general manager and Duarte in charge of the bar.
We're talking about 163 apple barrels, 272 orders of mac and cheese and 100 orders of beignets per week—and those are just the best sellers.
They've brought along their favorite bar man, Jerry Straub, 35, to manage the spirits. Duarte has long been good friends with Ian Baxter—who just happens to be the older brother of executive chef Tyler. Duarte and Taylor had periodically discussed opening a restaurant together. Independent of and unbeknownst to each other, they both investigated their current space, the former Hawthorne House, which was shuttered by arson in 2009. Conversations ensued, a plan was made. They wanted something casual, homey. But what kind of food?
Enter Baxter, 28, and his affection for Southern cooking, especially that of New Orleans. Around here, no restaurant identifies itself strictly as a Southern kitchen (Two Rivers Brewing is French-influenced with a strong New Orleans bent; collards and hush puppies do make appearances.) And Southern food is having a bit of a renaissance at the moment. You see where this is going, right? Duarte says they were impressed with his food and his knowledge of the region from his work at Cosmopolitan Restaurant and Gio Italian Grill. What you now have is a rustic, Southern-inspired spot with exposed brick, a horseshoe-shaped bar surrounded by a few high-top tables, and a main dining space accommodating 50. When the weather's balmy, diners can select a table on their private courtyard-like patio.
The Bayou sharply contrasts their previous experiences. Just imagine providing food and drinks in a 500-plus-seat sports bar with numerous televisions versus a menu of shareable dishes plus craft beers and cocktails in a space seating 102, including the patio. At The Bayou, there's a kitchen staff of just six. There's also the significant matter of the stakes—and joys—of ownership. For Baxter, it's the first time he's been given complete reign of the kitchen, from concept to execution. (He was co-executive chef at Cosmopolitan.) “We need to set the boundaries—we now all have the ability to make the rules,” Baxter says.
Having an established rapport with your employees paves the road for a smoother, easier ride, but there are definitely potholes. Curiously, when The Bayou opened, it didn't accept reservations. “I didn't even think about it, really. I don't want to say I didn't expect the success, but I left it in the hands of Mo. We never needed reservations at Starters; we always had room,” says Duarte. The problem became quickly and uncomfortably apparent because there's nowhere to stand if you're waiting. (The bar and outside tables mitigate that somewhat; you can sip a cocktail while you wait.) Within the first couple weeks of opening in early March, 100-plus hungry people showed up at their door on the weekends at 6 p.m., looking to be seated. “We thought we'd do okay, but we kind of shot ourselves in the foot a little bit. We'd have 40 people on an automatic two-hour waiting list,” reports Duarte. He shakes his head at the thought. These days, you can call for a reservation or find them via OpenTable.com.
They adapted and adjusted; it was not the kind of encounter they wanted for diners. “What we want to do here is perfect the experience for the customer,” says Duarte.
The Bayou sharply contrasts their previous experiences. Just imagine providing food and drinks in a 500-plus-seat sports bar with numerous televisions versus a menu of shareable dishes plus craft beers and cocktails in a space seating 102...
There have been other, more manageable surprises. Chef Baxter reports that during the dinner hours tons of sandwiches fly out of the kitchen, including pulled pork, a burger and four different po'boys. They're served on the “long, soft blond rolls that you get in New Orleans,” except he makes them in house. The price point is right, especially for younger people on a tighter budget.
The fried chicken's runaway success was a little startling. “There's no restaurant around here really that's doing it,” he says. Served with bread and butter pickles and mashed sweet potatoes, it's not a meal. It's a feast.
The staff has also witnessed another phenomenon: people coming in large groups and ordering seemingly every item on the menu—choose among snacks, sandwiches, small plates, soups, salads and entrees—and staying for several hours at a clip.
“It's crazy, the amount of food people eat when they come here,” he says. You can start off with the scallion hush puppies or the crispy, slightly salty flash-fried black-eyed peas. Or that standout favorite, Ty's mac ‘n' cheese, with house maple bacon, Di Bruno Brothers aged cheddar and sweet peas. Any way you go, there are plenty of opportunities to sample the essential ingredients: collards, grits, shrimp, fried green tomatoes, oxtail. Making a decision is tricky; having friends with you ensures sharing. “You'd be surprised by the number of people who say to us, ‘I gotta come back. I gotta work my way through your menu,'” says Duarte. It's a laid-back spot, but dining here is serious business.
Food's a funny, tricky thing—so personal, so loaded with memory. That's why The Bayou isn't so strict about its roots. Is flash-frying traditional prep for black-eyed peas? Probably not. How about a barbecue sauce with root beer? What about Southern-Asian fusion of pork belly with cucumber kimchi? Someone's likely doing it, somewhere. Baxter's always loved the fare, and in 2012 he and two other Northampton Community College culinary students won a Chopped-style contest and were awarded a week-long, all-expenses paid trip to New Orleans to intern at Emeril Lagasse's three restaurants. And Baxter went back for more inspiration, right before The Bayou opened, affirming that it's part of a continuum. “There are all these young chefs down there, reinventing the classics from places like Commander's Palace,” he says.
“It's Southern inspired. Everyone in the South is so proud of their food—everyone learns how to cook—so we're tapping into a rich tradition,” Baxter says. Naturally, opinions are aired and questions of authenticity come up, whether it's about the provenance of the oysters (Maryland, not the Gulf), or where the owners and cooks are from. (Taylor is from New Jersey but says, “This is the food I grew up eating.”) Does it matter? Should geography dictate culinary exclusivity? Think about who's tossing pizza anywhere in New York City—chances are, it's not Italian-Americans. People are transient; New Orleans in particular is one big ole melting pot. (See: gumbo, which Baxter plans to make with alligator sausage soon.) Taste is so subjective, so dependent upon one's experiences, both for the cook and the consumer. “How can I possibly cook the way you had it? I'm not your mom,” Baxter says. That's what makes food so enthralling but also a bit of an exercise in blind faith for those who prepare it for a living. “We want everyone to have his or her own opinion. We're the dumb ones back here who think we can make everyone happy all the time,” he says, laughing.
For a small, new restaurant, The Bayou has big dreams. Baxter says they're talking about purchasing a food truck, launching a scaled-back, different menu and regularly hitting industrial parks in the Valley. They've already planted a rooftop garden, with peppers, tomatoes, herbs and so forth. They're making everything they possibly can from scratch: endless pickling to baking the bread and desserts along with all the sauces. The spirits, such as cucumber gin and jalapeño vodka, and the blueberry and mandarin bitters, are all infused in house, too. The only food item The Bayou outsources is the brioche bun for the burger.
Duarte comments more than once that he feels so lucky, when you consider the way the place has been received. It's impossible without the ingenuity of the kitchen staff, and the interactions between the front and back of the house.
“Tyler's proven himself a million times more than I expected. I've got no reason to get involved in what happens in the kitchen; you do what you're good at, and I'll do what I'm good at,” he says. He pauses for a minute and looks around. “I'm so lucky. I literally hug him every freaking morning,” says Duarte.
