There's a payoff, however, for making the long drive (I clocked it at an hour) to the far west side of Lawrence for a meal at the Westside Deli & Bistro.
"How in the hell do you even know about this place?" asked my friend Ned on the afternoon that he joined me for a planned day trip. I told him that a couple of friends had raved about the place but I left out another, more interesting detail. A year ago, the restaurant's chef-owner, Michael Levy, sent me an e-mail that was both self-serving ("The food here is delicious, well-presented and unpretentious") and accusatory ("We've worked too hard for too long to be ignored by editors who think Ponderosa, Chili's and Denny's are more worthy of comment").
I don't know what editors he's talking about who think those three restaurants are "worthy of comment," but I have written short pieces about them in a distinctly negative tone, particularly the appalling Ponderosa ("Steak and Wail," January 13, 2005). It took more than 12 months of procrastination on my part and at least one more e-mail from Levy until I was finally goaded into investigating his joint. The Westside Deli & Bistro, which opened five years ago as a combination gourmet market and delicatessen, has slowly evolved into a full-service restaurant with less emphasis on retail products and more attention to the breakfasts, lunches and dinners served seven days a week.
Meanwhile, the decade-long building boom on Lawrence's west side has continued, with new shopping centers including "Wakarusa Crossing," where Levy's place occupies a storefront popping up in what once were farm fields. The Westside Deli & Bistro is just far enough from the University of Kansas campus to make it less attractive to the undergraduate set and more of a neighborhood hangout. On both of my visits, the diners were primarily middle-class suburbanites. The menu's selection of multinational dishes, created by Levy and executive chef Francis Sheil, was a lot more diverse than the restaurant's patrons.
Who cares if his tiny boîte is on the less hip side of town? The good news is that Levy's customers like him and his silken soups, hefty sandwiches and surprisingly sophisticated dinner dishes.
Never having seen the operation in its previous incarnation, I can't imagine how much has changed in the dining room, with its concrete floors and toffee-colored walls. But it's a nice-looking space; even hypercritical Ned admired the stark, uncloaked tables and the comfortable, Eames-style wooden chairs with red leatherette seats. "They're from the 1940s or early 1950s," Ned said. "I wouldn't mind owning a couple of them."
The quality of the food persuaded me to overlook most of the irritating glitches at that first lunch: The soup arrived at the table after the lunch plates, and the dizzy waitress (who turned refilling a water glass into a performance) dropped the check before we had finished eating, never asking if we wanted dessert.
My soup du jour was a robustly flavored cream of asparagus, but Ned's French onion was disappointingly pallid. Still, he loved his big, fat double-decker club sandwich. We agreed, though, that I got the bargain du jour with Levy's inexpensive yet excellent veal au poivre luncheon plate. The tender slices of veal were artfully arranged on a moist potato cake, splashed with a superb green-peppercorn-and-cognac sauce and sided by a heap of freshly cooked haricot verts.