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Once upon a time, Houlihan's Old Place was the hippest scene on the Plaza, serving escargot and burgers, crepes and hot dogs, Crab Newberg and chocolate milkshakes. It was the first restaurant concept that jumbled up continental cuisine with diner fare, but with a sense of fun and style. Three decades later, Houlihan's has suffered so many corporate tinkerings that it's become dowdy and lowbrow. Meanwhile, two independently owned restaurant-and-bar concepts -- re:Verse and Tomfooleries -- have become wildly successful by doing just what Houlihan's used to do: offering seductive food and cocktails in a dimly lit, intimate environment.
If middle-aged Houlihan's lacks sex appeal, the young and vibrant Tomfooleries (which celebrates its tenth anniversary in April) has plenty. It's a singles magnet after 9 p.m., when the bar area and the booths in the smoking section get crowded and raucous. The place draws a more diverse crowd in the early evenings and on weekend days, particularly during its lavish Sunday brunch.
If Tomfooleries seems to have taken a few cues from the old Houlihan's, there's good reason: Owners Barton and Shelly Bloom were both working for the G-R chain when they met. He was a manager; she was a waitress. Only 28 years old when they decided to open their own place, the Blooms got plenty of dire warnings when they chose a spot on Plaza's west side rather than locating east of Main, near Winstead's.
"It turned out to be a very good idea," says Bloom. "Our customers found us first, and now the Plaza is moving in this direction."
The office building that houses Tomfooleries was once just a satellite of the Plaza retail stretch, but since the opening of the Valencia Place development (where McCormick & Schmick's reigns) just east across Pennsylvania street, the Blooms' restaurant seems to have been annexed by the Plaza.
That's the good news. The bad is that many diners (and I was among them) perceive Tomfooleries as a rowdy, loud and hormonally charged scene.
"Isn't it kind of a frat-boy hangout?" asked my friend Beth, a willowy beauty who likes any kind of loud, rowdy scene except that one. Beth, who makes her living scouting bars and nightclubs for new musical groups, was back in Kansas City on a visit and scowled when I suggested dinner at Tomfooleries. "Is the food good?" she asked.
I was ashamed to admit that I didn't know. I hadn't set foot in the place in ten years, and the only lucid memory I had of the meal was eating a dessert served in a plastic dump truck.
"That's not a good omen," Beth said, laughing as our little group (including actor David Reed and my friend Bob) was being seated in a dark booth adjacent to the bar.
It was a Sunday, about 8 p.m., and the joint wasn't very busy. An hour later, though, every table was full. And not a frat boy in sight, but plenty of attractive twentysomethings, swigging beer and martinis and polishing off chicken quesadillas.
"This is a late-night place," explained our server, who was delivering big plates of Southwestern egg rolls and buttermilk-dipped chicken tenders. "We serve food until 1 a.m."
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