Home on the Range

The Web site of Maverick, a year-and-a-half-old restaurant in the Mission, identifies the source of its name and inspiration as Samuel Maverick, "a 1800's Texas cattle rancher who refused to brand his herd — forever imortalizing himself as a radical and independent thinker."

Sitting in Maverick's tiny two-room quarters, painted in chic, deep tones of orange and a purplish brown, I wonder what old Samuel would make of the place if he miraculously materialized in it. He wouldn't even recognize the relief map of America gleaming on the wall, the United States being something less than half its size back then. Maverick calls itself an "American eatery and wine bar," but it's the kind of American known as New. Between Southern fried chicken and grilled rib-eye steak, you'll find pappardelle and rapini, house-made pasta dressed with bitter greens, Meyer lemon confit, chili flakes, and Grana Padano cheese. Radical indeed.

But if Samuel relaxed and sat down, I bet he'd be happy. Jonathan, Hiya, and I certainly were, on our first visit. We'd accidentally stumbled upon Wine Mondays, when almost the entire list — and it's an impressive, thoughtful one, including interesting bottles from all over America and Europe — is available at 40 percent off. It allowed us to choose a more lofty bottle than we might otherwise have done, a $51 Lolonis Redwood Valley Petite Syrah. It was identified for us when Hiya asked which wines on the list were biodynamic, an agricultural practice that goes beyond organic toward the spiritual. For those without a calculator, on Wine Monday, the bottle set us back $30.60, a transmogrification that felt pretty spiritual to me.

The one-page menu is divided into eight First Plates, six Second Plates, and four vegetable Side Plates (if mac 'n' cheese were a vegetable). Several of the starters contain the state or city of their inspiration in their names — Iowa salad, Cincy barbecue ribs — though it might surprise an Iowan to discover sliced d'Anjou pears and candied walnuts along with the Maytag bleu cheese dressing on hearts of romaine. Two of us chose salads: the Maverick salad, a big, bright plate of mixed baby lettuces sparked with the sharp tang of ruby red grapefruit, shaved fennel, capers, and a champagne vinaigrette; and a second, even more delicious salad of ginger-marinated organic beets with sliced avocado, mache, and dried beet chips for witty textural contrast in a blood orange vinaigrette. I tried the Baltimore crab fluffs, a nice change from crab cakes, three evanescent fritters containing lump blue crab meat, again a nice change from the usual Dungeness, served with a thin dilled tartar sauce.

The cunningly conceived appetizers served their purpose. Our appetites were primed for the brimming main courses that followed. Jonathan's impressive chunk of slow-roasted pork shoulder, a little firmer than I would have liked, came in a deep bowl on a bed of corona beans (very large white beans), slightly sweetened in an allusion to traditional baked beans, with some crunchy, bright-green sugar snap peas and a few even more crunchy deep-fried Texas onion rings. I enjoyed watching delicate Hiya going after her massive Creekstone Farms grilled rib-eye steak, under a limpid black peppercorn sauce, served with Yukon gold potato wedges sprinkled with a scallion malt vinaigrette and grilled asparagus. Even after letting us sample it, she took a good chunk of it home. As I did part of my Alaskan black cod, cooked so carefully that it seemed barely gelled into a succulent fish pudding, under a savory roasted garlic sauce, upon a bed of highly colored and flavored saffron basmati rice pilaf with diced Portuguese sausage, and sided with sweet Chantenay carrots and baby fennel. This was thoughtful cooking of a very high order that frequently reminded me just what delicious was.

We shared two contrasting desserts: a warm chocolate bread pudding with caramel sauce and a scoop of excellent vanilla bean ice cream, rich and soothing, and a sharper, refreshing key lime pie with whipped cream and a sprinkling of key lime zest.

When I returned with Peter and Anita three weeks later, I was pleased to see that the menu had evolved in response to the season, seeming even more springlike than before. English pea and potato chowder instead of Madeira mushroom soup, for instance, and the pork shoulder, now bourbon-braised, came with butter beans, erbette chard, and spring red onions. I spied the pork dish on a table across the way, and this time the meat fell apart almost at the approach of a fork.