Sean L.
Yelp
Where Bond cocktails, British charm, and Beef Wellington meet in holy matrimony.
Let me set the stage: dim lighting, wood so polished you could shave in the reflection, and a logo so regal it belongs on a wax seal. The Chumley House isn't just dinner--it's a passport to a better version of yourself, somewhere between Savile Row and a cigar lounge in Mayfair.
We were greeted like minor royalty and handed--wait for it--complimentary scones and a cup of tea. Yes, tea. In Fort Worth. And not just any tea. This was a delicate infusion that whispered, "Welcome, lad. Let's pretend we're in London and the dollar still means something." The scone? Buttery, warm, and so tender it made me briefly regret all the years I wrote off British baking as bland.
Then came cocktails. My wife, who looked devastatingly elegant as always, sipped on a Bond Vesper so sleek and dangerous I half-expected it to explode. Roku Gin, Ketel Vodka, Cocchi Americano--this wasn't a drink; it was a MI6 dossier in a glass. Meanwhile, I nursed an Old Fashioned made with Heaven's Door and Cynar over a single, confident rock. It tasted like Sinatra's handshake--bold, bitter, and unforgettable.
Starter: The Artichoke & Caramelized Onion Dip with Malt Vinegar Chips arrived looking humble--but Lord, it had range. Hot, creamy, and tangy with a side of golden chips that had the crunch of a fresh banknote. I could've bathed in that dip. I nearly did.
Then came the crown jewel. The Beef Wellington wasn't just served--it was presented. Tableside, no less. A polished server brought out the golden-crusted masterpiece like it was about to be knighted. He sliced it with precision, plating each portion with reverence while narrating the details: tenderloin, duxelle, tasso ham, pastry layers engineered by angels. It was culinary theater, and I ate it with the attention of a man who'd waited his whole life for this moment. We paired it with a glass of bold red--because a dish like this demands an equally confident partner--and shared The Regal Potato on the side. Layers of crisped perfection, topped with crispy pork belly and red onion marmalade, it was rich enough to make me question why I ever bothered with mashed.
The whole evening felt like slipping into another life. A better one. The kind where you say things like "bring the car around" and mean it.
Would I return? I'd show up in a three-piece suit next time, just out of respect. Would I recommend it? Yes. To anyone with taste buds, a heartbeat, and at least one decent jacket.
10/10. Would fake a British accent just to get seated faster. Long live The Chumley House.