'Kinkead Lite' Is Lacking
Restaurateur's Annapolis venture may be a little less costly, but it's also less satisfying

By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, August 23, 2009

Bob Kinkead is one of Washington's best-known chefs, responsible for one of the city's longest-running restaurant shows, the seafood-themed Kinkead's, which he opened in 1993. Annapolis is a market with an abundance of places to eat, few of them "worth the detour," as they say in Michelinese. You'd think the veteran chef's recent multimillion-dollar purchase of part of Phillips Seafood on prime City Dock property and his subsequent opening of a replacement in June -- "Kinkead Lite," as he puts it -- would quicken the pulse of food lovers.

It doesn't. But it could; time will tell. Kinkead, 57, lacks the Midas touch of a Jos Andrs or a Cathal Armstrong, but there's no doubt about his vision or his drive. After all these years, he still works as hard as guys half his age. So here he is at Hell Point Seafood, strolling from table to table in a crisp white chef's jacket to chat up his new clientele, find out where they're from and ask how they like his menu. In the kitchen: James Huff, 33, a former sous-chef at Kinkead's and at the late Colvin Run Tavern in Tysons Corner.

If you've been to Kinkead's in Washington, the selection of dishes in Annapolis will look familiar. Both restaurants feature fried clams, lobster rolls, soft-shell crabs in season, strapping seafood stews and, in the bread basket, Irish soda bread. But part of what makes Hell Point "lite" is its lower prices, and to charge less, the restaurant must offer streamlined versions of some of Kinkead's staples. If the swordfish entree at Hell Point looks smaller than in the big city, it's because this kitchen serves about two ounces less of the catch and withholds one of the accompaniments. Bob Kinkead's signature wood-grilled squid on polenta is absent from the menu because the dish requires more finesse from the cook and the right heat, says the discerning chef. Hell Point, which takes its name from a long-ago reference to the neighborhood, doesn't have a wood-stoked oven.

Salads are big and beautiful. In one arrangement, slices of yellow and red beets alternate with coins of potato on a plate whose center contains crisp green beans, arugula and bits of snowy goat cheese. Another salad, romaine spears served with creamy avocado, lime-kissed buttermilk dressing and zesty shredded cabbage, takes the edge off a hot summer day.

The simpler a dish is, the more classic it sounds, the better your chance of reeling in a winner. That's your cue to start a meal with a Kinkead's signature, fried clams tucked into the folds of a thick napkin along with a pot of rousing tartar sauce and tangy circles of fried lemon. Or launch with a creamy crab cake teamed with a fresh corn salad. In yet another fine beginning, ginger and yellow curry lend their charms to a bowl of tender, tiny mussels. Hell Point's lobster roll is pretty good, creamy but not overly so, the cool chunks of lobster cradled on their toasted bun by a crisp piece of lettuce. As with a number of details at this young operation, Kinkead has upgraded the dish since I tried it; the sandwich now comes with house-cut fries rather than packaged ones.

Not all the successes involve seafood. Tender, lightly seared potato gnocchi stoked with sun-dried tomato, fresh basil and a delicate butter sauce is the kind of satisfying vegetarian dish even a carnivore could fall for.

The smooth sailing stops about there, at the point where appetizers segue into main courses.

An order of deep red tuna carpaccio framed in bright green arugula is as pretty as a Christmas package. The mere sight of a sprinkling of capers and currants and shavings of Parmesan and fennel on the plate puts the taste buds on high alert. But two bites in, and I'm bored. The thin slices of fish don't have any flavor, the greens are undressed, and all those supposed accents fail to pull their weight. "Kinkead Lite" indeed.

A jazzy ragout of crab, shrimp, tasso ham and potatoes is wasted on a slab of fried flounder that is all crunch and zero savor, right down to a "lemon herb butter" that doesn't do anything for the dish but add calories. Similarly, a tumbleweed of lacy, Parmesan-enhanced zucchini "fries" and pared, basil-laced tomatoes upstages a mute slab of swordfish. Rockfish suffers from an unflattering crust of bread and a porcini broth that tastes as exciting as it looks: beige.

Ordering meat here is asking for punishment, which comes in the form of a dull beef filet with salty mushrooms. Pork loin arrives with sweet potatoes, spinach and fruit chutney, a heavy combination that ignores the calendar and suggests Thanksgiving.

Finally, the desserts at Hell Point remind me of too many banquet endings. Fruit crisps and creme brulee aim for mass appeal and turn in poor performances. The worst offender is a lemon-almond layer cake that smacks of Pledge.

The ground-floor bar is sterile, its "special" cocktails underwhelming. At Hell Point, the higher, the better. A winding staircase leads to a tiered dining room with a bank of windows that capture more cars than boats. (The restaurant overlooks a parking lot.) Even so, the interior is spare but soothing, with a warm palette of creams, greens, browns and taupes, plus a few nautical photographs to underscore the restaurant's theme. On a pleasant day, I like to eat on the second-floor terrace, where breezes, boat horns and shell-shaped chairs put you closer to the water than you really are. The patio won't be part of Hell Point forever; Kinkead's purchase of Phillips includes the neighboring Italian restaurant, Aromi d'Italia, but not the 130-seat deck, which eventually is expected to be razed and reincarnated as the National Sailing Hall of Fame.

Annapolis doesn't have as deep a talent pool as Washington does, and it shows in the service at Hell Point. On one visit, bread trailed the appetizers, and entrees came out of the kitchen as if they were tapas: one at a time, as they were ready. At least the cast is enthusiastic and getting more confident with each passing week.

I'm waiting for the kitchen to catch up. In the meantime, feast on appetizers.

The Food section rated this restaurant's crab cake for a July 2009 story about the area's best.

Bob Kinkead knows how to make a crab cake: Never deep-fried, the meat is mixed with mayonnaise and seasoned with celery, tarragon, lemon and just a pinch of bread crumbs to hold it together. Both the formal Washington restaurant and the dockside Annapolis space -- ask for a seat on the patio -- follow the blue crab season from the Gulf up the East Coast for the sweetest meat, shown off by a rich mustard creme fraiche sauce and fresh corn relish.

One 4-ounce jumbo-lump crab cake, $16, appetizer; two for $32