Metro Pulse/Restaruant Rover/The Kingston Alley

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The Kingston Alley
7355 Kingston Pike Knoxville, TN 37919
766-0464
Every day, 11 a.m.—3 a.m.

by Connie Seuer

I'm not really a gambling woman, but I'm betting that The Kingston Alley, a new West Knox sports bar, will quickly ascend in popularity—peaking with the approaching game days of fall—and will, thereafter, maintain a steady clientele. I'll give you three reasons why.

One: Beer. The Alley is tapping good, cold suds from a respectable line-up and offers all your basic bottled brews. The swift presence of tall, frosty pitchers can carry an establishment a long, long time. It's a fact.

Two: Fried. World-over, it's well known that an ice-cold brewski goes best with anything hot and fried. And after covering the more rudimentary fodder—french fries (smothered in jack and cheddar, $5.95) and fried mozzarella sticks (with requisite marinara, $4.95), the Alley ups the ante by siding other deep fried creations with refreshingly non-sports bar vim. Fried chicken tenders receive cucumber wasabi dip ($6.95), and fried calamari comes with a rosemary-mint aoili ($6.95). The only other time I've heard the word "aoili" in a sports bar was when some poor jock took a kick in the basket. Aoili! An inverted wave ripples through the bar.

Three: Although clearly a sports bar (all lines of sight do end with a television), the Alley is making a strategic play for the broader surf and turf. Parents visiting collegiate progeny will be comfortable going to the Alley for dinner, as will 9-to-5ers on a business lunch, or young singles wanting a sports bar atmosphere with a fern bar menu. Case in point: As 9 p.m. rolled around, and the dining room began to turn over (filling with tank-clad coeds and visor-topped frat boys) Heinrich and I spied a couple of Knoxville politicos (members of the 50-plus set), walking across the Alley's parking lagoon with the unmistakable slow gait of contented diners. That's broad audience appeal.

With its brown-on-brown color scheme, woody interior, and roadhouse-style, drop metal lamps the Alley could be mistaken for a chain, were it not for the creativity shown in the menu and the fact that the staff is not a flair-wearing team of couldn't-care-lesses. Each Alley-staffer was polite without being stiff, clever without being obnoxious, quick with everything we ordered, and appeared to be having a good time on shift but not at the expense of their tables. And what a relief—no one called us "guys."

From the extensive appetizer list, we opted for items that went afield of sports bar standards. The Tortizza ($6.95), a tortilla take on pizza, was a baked flour tortilla packing the crunch I'd been craving, topped by truly fresh spinach, red onions, roasted tomatoes, red and green peppers. The Tortizza also featured crab, topped off by a layer of melted jack and cheddar cheese. But the crab wasn't just crab. It appeared to be crab dip, spread across the entire tortilla, which made the starter heavier than I'd imagined. It was still delish, but when I order it again, I'll request that the "crab" hit the bench.

The Baked Oysters ($8.95), with Parmesan bread crumbs and slivered scallions, were also "topped with crab." Heinrich and I agreed—oysters already have enough public relations issues in the mouth-feel department. Sans oozy dip, the Alley's baked oysters would have been fine and quite tasty.

As for entrees, Heinrich took the turf route, ordering the 8-ounce Filet Mignon ($13.95). When it arrived on its stainless platter we both chuckled—it was literally meat (the filet) and potatoes (mashed). With nary a fan of kale or sprig of parsley to dress the meal, this plate held no punches. Meat. Potatoes. Eat. Mmm. Good. Indeed, the Alley can do beef.

Comparatively, the surf experience was an also-ran. Although the breading on the Cornbread & Pecan Crusted Trout ($9.95) was quite good—crunchy, subtle flavor, without too much salt—and the fish itself was cooked to a perfect flake, trouble arose in the form of a browned butter sauce. It's quantity and quality stole the gentle flavor from the dish. I sought respite in the plate's starch, buttermilk-chive mashed potatoes, but these were at once too buttermilk-y, too chive-y, and noticeably absent of potato taste. But the same potatoes, when paired with the charmingly plain filet, were delightful.

As a kindness to my colon, I ordered an Alley Salad following my entrée ($2.25). This healthy bounce of cool romaine, mesculine greens, carrots, grape tomatoes, sprouts, was big enough to be a small meal, yet small enough to be complementary roughage. Score.

We came to a stalemate when considering dessert and asked our A-1 waitress to break the tie. From the four, equally delicious sounding desserts: a warm chocolate bread pudding ($4.95), a blackberry or apple calzone ($4.95) or a mandarin-ginger creme brulee ($3.95), she voted for the Blackberry Calzone. Oh beauteous wonder—three, large scoops of vanilla bean ice cream slowly melting aside a deep-fried, fruit-filled calzone. Its chewy dough was barely sugared, a perfect contrast to the sweet-tart, blackberry filling. Easily large enough for four people to share, we couldn't even put a dent in the thing.

And even though I'm not a gambling woman, I'll make one more bet. Next visit, I bet Heinrich and I will order up a pitcher, some burgers and fries, kick back and watch whatever sporting event happens to be in season. Because that play, my friends, is a guaranteed home run.