What was the siren song of Clark’s in Austin? The place is tiny, a little out of the way and its reason for existence (oysters) never really gets me out of bed.
Still. It beckoned.
It greets you with butter-striped awnings promising beachy fare and sunny dispositions just beyond the doors. Inside, every detail’s been designed to please from menus to uniforms. It’s the New England summer camp you never attended but always want to remember.
Sorbet walls collide with splashes of stark white. You can belly up to Clark’s bar with rich wood grain swirls and drinks strong enough to stave off the Texas summer.
Even the wine list, with its gold foil channel markers, navigates you to a contented stillness. Sit. Stay a while.
I believe I will.