Perkins began as a single humble Ohio pancake house in 1958. More than 50 years––and 440 national locations––later, each Perkins restaurant stays true to its roots by keeping those signature buttermilk pancakes the focal point of a 90-plus-item menu. Cooks layer the popular flapjacks in stacks of two, three, or even five and make the fluffy towers all the more tempting with toppings such as glazed strawberries, whipped cream, or flavored syrups. Breakfast favorites—including hearty omelets and country benedicts—are served all day, meaning kids and adults can order short stacks to accompany their jumbo-shrimp or steak dinner, instead of smuggling them in under a stovepipe hat. Unlike most other chain restaurants, Perkins also features in-store bakeries that churn out the shop's real fruit and cream pies, muffins, and chocolate-chip cookies.
The Hearth Restaurant's rustic, rough-hewn confines swell with warmth and friendly chatter as cooks grill, roast, and simmer dinner entrees ranging from steak to lobster. Forks dive into slow-roasted, hand-carved prime rib of beef ($15.50+), and cold-water lobster tails ($20.99 for one tail; $37.50 for two tails) allow diners to enjoy gifts from the sea far superior to the soggy holiday sweaters sent by Poseidon. Char-grilled sesame-pork chops ($14.50) travel beneath a mantle of The Hearth’s Hawaiian sesame barbecue sauce. Epicurean alchemists forge homemade soups and stews each day ($2.99–7.25) and send the steaming bowls to guests dining on the restaurant’s outdoor deck seating. Rotating features such as a Western New York fish fry ($9.75) save taste buds from the boredom brought on by gnawing on the reels of foreign films.
Buffalo Street Grill's gastronomic gurus assemble a menu of sandwiches and classic steak-house dishes. Conjure absent appetites with starters such as shrimp and crab dip ($8.50), whose namesake duo unites with a light dijon cheese sauce and slices of baguette. Stacks of Boar's Head turkey, provolone cheese, and banana peppers adorn the turkey ciabatta's ($7.50) roll, and The Roseann ($6) turns the homey ideals of a classic BLT on its head with basil aioli. Instead of brandishing a large and cumbersome spear, twirl the angel-hair pasta from shrimp with lobster sauce ($14) around conveniently provided fork tines. Table denizens can also sharpen teeth on a 10-ounce Black Angus steak as it muscles its way past pesky hunger pangs to silence noisy stomachs.
The Buffalo News raves equally over this unique restaurant's fresh cuisine and its dual dining rooms: a hibachi room, whose tables each center on a grill where chefs’ deft knife work synchronizes with dancing flames, and a room of traditional seating. USDA choice steaks and South African lobsters, hibachi-grilled to perfection, sate hunger in both rooms. Expertly crafted custom sushi rolls are stuffed with ingredients sourced from across the globe, uniting international flavors as effectively as the food-only Olympic Games. Steaming bowls of udon noodles, fragrant teriyaki, and other Japanese fare diversifies the menu, and cocktails such as the popular Asian pear martini—as well as vintages from full bar’s eclectic wine menu—delight the palate.
Back in the 1830s, the building that now houses Colden Mill functioned as a grain mill. These days, the scent of grain no longer wafts over the facility?s hardwood floors and original solid-beam construction. Instead, one finds the alluring aromas of executive chef Matthew Webb?s upscale take on American food.
Drawing on the experience he gained while working past gigs everywhere from Chicago to the British Virgin Islands, Matthew woos vegetarians with mains such as gnocchi with roasted wild mushrooms, so named for the crazy pranks they?ve pulled on unsuspecting portobellos. At its core, however, Colden Mill is a shrine to carnivores. Lobster meat and lobster gravy join the cheddar curds of poutine, buttermilk enriches free-range chicken, and a blue-cheese crust and port-wine demi-glace lend extra flavors to succulent filet mignons.
Since 1928, four generations of the Romanello family have been tweaking and swapping recipes at a trio of restaurants in Western New York. In the 1980s, Romanello's South took its place among the family's eateries. Reporters from AM Buffalo have visited to heap praise on the ballroom, whose honey-hued expanses of hardwood can accommodate parties of up to 300 people or 150 adolescent rhinoceroses. Chatter from groups drifts into smaller dining rooms, where fireplaces cast their liquid light across white tablecloths laden with calamari, pasta, and eggplant parmigiana. Some evenings, the restaurant resounds with the harmonies of local artists, which swell beneath the clink of toasting glasses and help clear minds of shrill toothpaste jingles.