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FeedFluke Wine, Bar & Kitchen
Newport’s new ‘in’ spot, Fluke, may have just what it takes—trendy small plates and lots of wine—to stand out in the city’s crowded casual dining scene.
Photography by Angel Tucker
Fluke Wine, Bar & Kitchen 
41 Bowen’s Wharf, Newport, 849-7778, flukewinebar.com. Open for dinner Mon.–Sat. starting at 4 p.m. and Sun. noon–8 p.m. Reservations accepted. The restaurant occupies the second and third floor of its building and is not wheelchair accessible. Street parking. Cuisine New England classics with a tapas twist. There are plenty of cocktails and the wine list is more impressive by the bottle than glass. Capacity Seventy-plus with the ten-seat bar. Vibe Beach house meets local bar. Downstairs is more for diners; upstairs for drinkers. Prices Appetizers $4–$12, entrees $14–$36, desserts $6. Karen’s picks Small plates: lobster bisque, chicken chimichurri, spicy shrimp, crabcakes. Oh, and a glass of grenache.
Key Fair Good Very Good Excellent Half-star
Saturday night on Thames Street, and I’m in college again. Doors of the neighborhood pubs are thrown open, the late-day sun reflects off the harbor, and the salt-strewn breeze smells like, uh, stale beer. Really stale. Shoes-stuck-to-the-floor stale. Guess what? Newport celebrates warm weather in two very disparate ways: sipping tea and strolling manicured lawns on the east side, toasting St. Paddy, and, heck, any given weekend on the west. And though I spent the cold months ensconced in the glamour of the Spiced Pear, come May, the four-inch heels are starting to wear on me and some casual New England fare is beginning to sound good.
That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m willing to entrust my digestive health to an open tap and a skinned-over bowl of chowder. I may be weary, but I’m not a masochist. And so I ascend the moderate staircase to Fluke Wine, Bar & Kitchen, an unobtrusive restaurant wedged between a myriad of requisite bars and T-shirt shops. Given that Fluke’s owned by husband and wife team Jeff and Geremie Callaghan, one might expect a mom and pop shop. Uh-uh. Someone made some very wise real estate decisions to acquire a location that boasts nearly—depending on your seat—waterfront views and
an almost unheard of serenity on Bowen’s Wharf. (Parades?
Cook-offs? General misconduct? Can’t say; didn’t hear it.) True, the upstairs seating, in close proximity to the bar and washrooms, has a more distinct air of revelry. But the main floor, with room for fifty, is settled in beige, white and Windsor chairs and, here, four-inch heels are just overkill.
Fluke places a heavy emphasis on wine, though the proof lies more in practice than inventory. There are just shy of eighty varieties by the bottle and about twenty by the glass, and while European options make up the bulk of the list, American wines have a strong presence as well, particularly in the heavier reds. The options can be difficult to decipher (they don’t seem to be listed by variety, vintage, price or region) which did, for a moment, give me doubts that the meal would be thematically cohesive. But Fluke is persistently amiable and servers are more than willing to let diners sample several open bottles if they’re on the fence or don’t know what they like until they taste it. Such a method—touted by many, used by few—compliments the menu, which favors small plates and so-called “snacks” (perhaps a misnomer for those with modest appetites).
Chef Martin Butler’s strength lies in these diminutive dishes. Ubiquitous New England chowder shows up in traditional form, but the lobster bisque is more contemporary with earthy, duxelles-scented undertones ($9). There are brighter flavors as well for those who need more than air conditioning to escape the heat of imminent summer. Chimichurri-marinated chicken skewers ($8) are so piquant that the accompanying yogurt sauce became unnecessary. The familiar flavors and straight-forward textures embody Newport in the warm weather: simple and comfortable but with just enough panache to elevate it from the ordinary. 
The lackluster title assigned to a small plate of shrimp (simply “spicy”) downplays both the nuance and broad appeal in this bold shellfish ($10). Tomato, citrus and garlic-heavy sauce demands a basketful of bread unless your social graces allow you to fall head first, tongue out onto the plate. Deviled eggs with Serrano ($5) were unremarkable if only because the flavors were masked by the marked, fresh-from-the-fridge chill. Round out the sampling plates with tempura-battered green beans ($7), which have a coating so airy they’re able to overcome their deep-fried moniker and stand tall as a legitimate vegetable, paired with a sharp soy-mustard.
There’s a danger, as one moves to the entree portion of the menu, that diners will lose site of Fluke’s identity or, perhaps, that it simply becomes more diffuse. And here, the wine list comes to mind: Is it European? Domestic? A tapas bar? A family restaurant? Perhaps a bit of everything, though, ironically, minimalism seems to be the restaurant’s strongest suit.
Entrees, too, have an uncomplicated aesthetic, pleasant but not overwrought. Seafood paella ($19) is Americanized; that is, far milder than the saffron-scented Spanish version and, although I prefer the latter, this is a safe form of comfort food given that the surroundings dictate a sea-based diet.
Other white wine pairings include an Asian-glazed swordfish ($30), coupled with a refined sweet-potato puree and beautifully seasoned, barely cooked spin-ach. (It seems unnecessary to mention an average green, but vegetables are so mistreated these days that a properly cooked one has become almost novel.) One of the best options—in sandwich or entree form—are Butler’s crabcakes. True, they’re pricey, but I’ve had enough sub-standard crabcakes to find comfort in a $32 pair of them. Versions half the price always imply (and invariably deliver) a pile of egg-laden breadcrumbs or something evil out of a California roll. Fluke’s are fist-sized, nearly bread-free and, thankfully, just plain good. Sides are updated; gone are the french fries and in their place, heavily roasted potatoes and homemade slaw. All the benefits of a favorite crab-shack without the bugs, sweat and sand.
I was torn on the roasted duck ($27), which came highly recommended. A sage marinade did wonders, producing a richly infused meat that even game-wary diners would love. The only issue? A very heavy char that made crackle out of the exterior skin but failed to render any of the underlying fat. Unless you’re a true adipose enthusiast, you’ll probably end up stripping it off.
But good things remain. Butler, who built an impressive career as a jazz musician before entering the restaurant world, pays homage to his culinary Americana with simple, sweet, almost Southern des-serts. Crescent City (that’s New O’leans) bread pudding ($6) is substantial and crisped with just enough of a rum-soaked drizzle to soften the edges. Apple tarte tatin ($6) is clean in flavor, but without the traditional saute sear. Even the simple, state-fair chocolate roll (a deep sponge cake rolled around vats of whipped cream) is light enough for you to keep your beach plans the next day.
Fluke offers this waterfront city more than a good menu, an able chef and two enthusiastic owners. It brings serenity to an area that makes a lot of money off barely legal drinkers and souvenir-hungry tourists. One of the former hobbled upstairs to the restaurant bar on a night I was eating, unable to up his blood alcohol content (past its already hazardous levels) before locking himself in the bathroom. I wouldn’t have noticed were it not for the concerned staff who offered privacy to the sufferer and a sympathetic smile to everyone else. “Just want to make sure he’s okay,” said one server. “It is, after all, Saturday night in Newport.” Oh, I had almost forgotten.
