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That mission is written on the bottom of the menu. That mission is to “apply our passions toward the connections, laughter, and delight kindled when joining family and friends at the table.” The aforementioned menu is seasonal, comprised of local ingredients, the purveyors of which are mentioned by name. Range’s idea of a joke is the sign outside, which is made of Astroturf. It’s artificial, geddit, while everything inside is totally natural. Our server’s sweater had a bird on it. So did the painting hanging on the back wall, and not in a John James Audubon sort of way.
The nachos tasted fantastic. But the problem with the lovely, lovely presentation soon became apparent.
I guess it could be argued that condiments have long been underappreciated and should be be given the recognition that they deserve, particularly if they’re fancy condiments, like compound butter. Maybe Range is just ahead of its time. Someday, when compound butter and house-made ketchup and rare salts and imported pepper have been afforded the same status as steak and potatoes and are allowed on plates, too, instead of remaining confined to the place-setting ghetto of ramekins and shakers, people will look back on these early days of innovation and laugh. (Or maybe it’s already underway and I just don’t get out enough?)
