The first time I ever went to Roy Pope Grocery (2300 Merrick St, 817-732-2863) was in 1990-something. I was a senior in high school, and my steady and I decided to make a fancy dinner for our parents as a way to thank them for enduring our constant, irritating flirting. I don’t remember what the dish was, but I do recall that the list of ingredients seemed so exotic to me: something called prosciutto, a mustard that French’s didn’t make, a kind of cheese that didn’t come pre-sliced or in tube form. It struck me as the sort of place where old rich men in Rolls Royces gathered to ask one another for Grey Poupon.
Now pretty much every major chain grocer stocks those things, but Roy Pope is still the place to go for hard-to-find gourmet treats. And, as I found out recently, there’s a right-good lunch menu, too.
The 70 year-old Westside grocer is within stray tennis ball distance of Westover Hills, the most exclusive/expensive little tax haven in the area, and it’s priced accordingly. I’d hesitate to call the Pope just a specialty foods market, because there is plenty of normal grocery store stuff in the aisles. But it’s not the sort of shop where the average person would go for Fruity Pebbles and garbage bags, although you could.
I was pleased to find that the afternoon weekday lunch crowd was mostly blue-collar types. It wouldn’t surprise me to find some captain of industry standing in line with his 14,000 gardeners for the kitchen’s reasonably priced burger ($5.99). There’s a deli counter stocked with cafeteria-style meals, a cooler lined with pre-packaged sandwiches, entrées, and pies, and a flattop grill is stationed against the wall for burgering. The whole setup was a kind of throwback to an era when Kincaid’s Hamburgers and Roy Pope reigned supreme on the Westside burgers and groceries scene.
I of course opted for the priciest thing on the menu, mostly because I have an expense account I haven’t been able to abuse in my three-week absence, but I also really appreciate the fact that there’s a Kobe beef burger ($12.99) on offer. The meat, culled from a special strain of Japanese cattle that are fed only caviar and wheat grass (probably), is a rare find outside of upscale steakhouses.
The Pope’s version of the sandwich was average burger size and stuffed with delicious house-butchered bacon, fresh high-quality tomatoes, lettuce, mushrooms, and caramelized onions, with cheddar cheese and a superfluous chipotle barbecue sauce that I ordered on the side. The meat was well seasoned with salt and pepper, and it was juicy and rich-tasting, despite being slightly overcooked.
My guest’s giant everything-on-it sandwich ($5.99), a huge buttered and toasted bun crammed with bricks of ham, turkey, and cheddar cheese, with lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, was big enough for two. It desperately needed the accompanying Italian dressing for some added seasoning.
The tricky part about dining in at the family-owned shop was resisting the constant temptation to buy some specialty food morsel as I waited for my burger to finish cooking. I was proud of my restraint –– I walked away with only a can of anchovy-stuffed olives and a few Parker County peaches.
We ate in the store’s tiny five-table dining room, facing an impressive selection of vino. It’s not exactly the Anatole Hotel’s vibe, but the little break room-sized area was comfortable enough.
I’ll bet my teenage self would be jealous of my trip to Roy Pope –– and probably a little miffed that no one in the parking lot asked me for spare Dijon mustard.
Contact Chow, Baby at chowbaby@fwweely.com.
