Certain things are simply “iconic.” They define a cultural moment. They epitomize a person, place, thing. Nothing is born iconic, but everything is born with iconic potential. If the stars align and the zeitgeist is right, anything can become “iconic.” But, ultimately, to be considered an icon, something must be celebrated, revered, or idolized in some way by somebody. The Eiffel Tower is iconic of Paris. Zelda Fitzgerald is iconic of the flapper era. Hell, maybe If I keep hustling and using all the best words to describe all the yummiest things, someday I’ll become an icon of the food scene–known for my writing, but perhaps better known for my black beret, little black dresses, and stomping around Fort Wayne in my black combat boots like I own the damn place. I’m a menace. Who even invited me to the Midwest? (Let the record show that, depending on who you ask, I’m already an icon. So, la-di-da.) It should come as no surprise that food can be iconic. Disney World has Mickey Mouse waffles. Hawaii has malasada and Spam. Chicago has the deep dish pizza and veggie-loaded hotdog with neon green relish. When it comes to Fort Wayne iconic food, I’m sure the long term locals have lots of opinions. But, I’m not asking for opinions–I have something to tell you.
Steak frites is a classic dish. Right now, it seems like every restaurant (and their mother) has a version of it on their menu–and I don’t just mean in Fort Wayne. It’s globally revered. You’d think that any plate of steak and fries is likely to look like the next. You are welcome to think that. You’re also welcome to be wrong. I posted a photo online of the Steak Frites from Tolon with no context and no indication of where the dish was from. Would you believe that multiple people were able to identify the photo as being the Steak Frites specifically from Tolon? I mean, talk about an iconic food. We were beyond blessed to have the Steak Frites from Tolon featured as an option on their Savor Fort Wayne menu this year. Spoiler alert: I ate it.
My dining companion and I arrived at Tolon late on Saturday evening; they were packed. We had a reservation because we’re smart. She ordered a glass of Moscato. I opted for a glass of Mollydooker “The Boxer” Shiraz–I already knew there was a rare ribeye in my future when I ordered this. Fun fact: there’s something called the Mollydooker Shake. So, for Mollydooker red wines, you’re actually supposed to pour a tiny bit out after opening the bottle, then recap it. Invert the bottle. Give it a little shake. They treat their wines with nitrogen, so this is important to ensure a full-flavored experience. You don’t need to know about any of that to order a glass of Mollydooker at a restaurant. But hey, now you do know it–so, you’re welcome.
The Tolon Savor deal was $49 per person: plus beverage, tax, and gratuity. This cost included an appetizer, entree, and dessert. (The steak frites had an upcharge of $20, but nobody is complaining about that because it was still a great deal.) To start, diners could choose between the Kale and Apple Salad or the Indiana Cheese Fondue. The nice thing about having dinner with one of the sweetest human beings on the planet is that they’ll always share their food with you–no questions asked. I ordered the salad. She ordered the fondue. We got to enjoy both. The fondue is a mix of brie, aged goat cheese, and white cheddar. This melts down into one of the most creamy fondues I’ve ever had the pleasure of sampling. Topped with pretty red pickled Fresno chiles and served with warm artisanal focaccia, this is definitely a must try. As for the salad: it had me swooning. The Kale and Apple Salad at Tolon is absolutely one of those situations where I’ll eat my veggies and like it. Shredded kale, chunks of Honeycrisp apple, pickled raisins, dry aged drunken goat cheese, and pumpkin seeds are all married together by an apple and maple vinaigrette. This salad is a perfect balance of creamy and crisp textures. It offers just enough sweetness to beautifully contrast the natural bitterness of kale. It’s an exercise in culinary symmetry and it rises to the occasion deliciously.
For the main event, my dining companion opted for the Garlic Shrimp Scampi. Of course, I was afforded a hefty bite. My dudes, the shrimp were behemoth–like, Indiana has never seen shrimp this size before. These not-so-little darlings were reaching the point that “shrimp” was no longer an appropriate name for them. These colossal sea critters were beyond delicious. The portion was more than generous, the texture firm yet tender. Served in a sea of spicy Calabrian chile butter; an island of velvety mascarpone polenta nested in the center of the plate. A pine nut and parsley gremolata served both as a welcome pop of green against the orange hued sauce and as a compelling textural element. If I lived in a world where steak frites didn’t exist, I would order this Garlic Shrimp Scampi. But, in my little world, steak frites reign supreme.
I paid the extra $20 for my Wood Farms ribeye. Rubbed with Tolon’s Umami Rub, my beautiful ultra-pink steak rested upon a bed of Bone Marrow Bordelaise. This classic, red wine based French sauce is a luxurious accompaniment to any steak dinner, but here it really serves as a supporting character to the star of the show. Atop the steak, a sizeable knob of slowly melting Foie Gras Butter. It oozes across the surface of the steak. It’s reminiscent of that moment from The Lion King where Mufasa tells Simba that everything the light touches is his kingdom. I watch the butter flow and glide across the surface of my steak–everything it touches is perfection. Everything it touches is infinitely better for its presence. Everything it touches is pure liquid gold–and I intend to savor every last morsel. A hefty pile of duck fat and garlic herb frites sits next to the ribeye; the fries atop the pile remain the crispest, the ones at the bottom soak up more and more flavorful Bordelaise with each passing moment. I alternate bites of ribeye with sips of Shiraz, occasionally breaking the routine to enjoy a fry or five. At this point in the meal, I have become very bad at holding conversation. My dining companion is hilarious, engaging, and such fantastic company–but the Steak Frites is iconic. I’m devouring the stuff of legends. I have no time–nor ability–to engage with humans. My meal is divine in every sense of the word and each bite has me bordering on a religious experience. This is my desert island meal. This is my last supper. This is what I want to taste when I’m celebrating or mourning. This is iconic for a reason. This is, dare I say, the best Steak Frites in town. Ope! There I’ve gone and said it and now I’ll be swarmed with dissenting opinions. I’ll save you the trouble–I’m not interested in your personal hot take. I said what I said and I meant it. No well meaning suggestion to try some other offering will make me change my mind. Baby, I’ve probably already tried it–I’ve tried most of them. This isn’t a swing in the dark. This is an educated deduction. The Steak Frites from Tolon is a Fort Wayne icon. I propose a statue be erected in its honor. Someone else can figure out the logistics—I’m more of an ‘ideas’ kind of gal. Something marble? Maybe gold? I assure you, this Steak Frites is worth it. Spare no cost in immortalizing it, Fort Wayne.
As for dessert, I got to try a bite of my friend’s Brown Butter Blondie. They’d run out of the Bourbon and Brown Sugar ice cream. Je déprime! My peach of a dining companion is unflappable–she just opted for a different ice cream flavor. She went for the Burnt Marshmallow ice cream that is typically part of the S’mores Sundae served at Tolon. As a fan of the S’mores Sundae, I wasn’t sad to see this marshmallow ice cream unexpectedly make an appearance at our table. It’s special. The Brown Butter Blondie was, again, substantial. We can talk all day long about the price tag that comes with dining at Tolon. (Well, I mean, you can if you want. I won’t, because I think it’s tacky.) But, the quality and quantity of food is bonkers–more than worth what you pay. To top it all off, the blondie got a sexy little drizzle of butterscotch caramel sauce. I hope I get the opportunity to try this sweet little treat again someday. My dessert was a little more sinful–a “Deviled” Affogato. Dark, dense, decadent devil’s food cake was served in a coffee mug with a scoop of espresso gelato. Tableside, they pour over coffee. I enjoy an affogato. You could even say that it’s one of my (many) weaknesses. Never before have I had one that included cake. From this experience, I’ve determined that we’ve all been eating affogatos wrong. Cake should always be invited to the party. You know me. I’m nothing if not a cake gremlin. Tonight proved no exception. Even after an insanely rich and heavy meal, I devoured my dessert shamelessly–and I’d do it again. No, really–it’s midnight as I’m writing this and if Tolon were still open I’d consider hauling my ass downtown to beg for one last serving of the “Deviled” Affogato. The combo of chocolate and coffee, the collision of consistencies, the coalescence of bitter and sweet–if loving this dessert is wrong, I don’t want to be right. If it’s devilish to indulge, save me a seat in hell and an extra serving of this affogato so that I have something nice to gobble down in the flames.
Welp…what more is there to say? Fort Wayne has had no shortage of icons over the years. I mean, come on, the city is named for a guy so crazy that that’s all most people even know about him–well, if by crazy you mean racist/genocidal. John Chapman looms large in the iconography of this town–also historically an asshole. It may come as no surprise that I prefer Fort Wayne’s favorite daughter, Shelley Long–historically, not an asshole. And, I know; Fort Wayne’s food scene is not hurting for icons, either. But what would be more midwestern than making room for one more. So, who’s going to fund the Tolon Steak Frites statue?
Plonk & Pleasure 
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