An evening at Boot Hill Saloon and Grill

The exterior of the Boot Hill Saloon & Grill, at the intersection of U.S. 385 and old Route 66 in Vega, Texas, looks like something from the 1880s Old West.

But don’t expect it to be a rough-and-tumble joint where fistfights between cowboys outnumber the bottles of red-eye whiskey.

Sure, Boot Hill contains a lounge where local cowboys can toss back a shot or two. And sure, owner Rory Schepisi (of “Popularity Contest” and “The Next Food Network Star” reality TV fame) has been known to ride horses and help sort cattle at her boyfriend’s ranch.

But one should remember that Schepisi was a successful restaurateur and chef before she moved to the Texas Panhandle. That background becomes apparent through our eyes — and our taste buds — at the upscale casual restaurant that is Boot Hill.

Emily and I arrived on a Saturday night and were seated at a table in less than five minutes. We were fortunate; waits for a table had been up to two hours in recent weekends.

Gas-flamed lights on the walls and small chandeliers bathed the room with a soft glow. An ornate tin ceiling had been installed, and deep purple curtains framed the windows. The female waitstaff were dressed in Old West saloon-girl outfits. Classic country music from the 1940s and ’50s played softly on the sound system. Much of the decor was inspired by the nearby Wild West ghost town of Tascosa, which is about where Boys Ranch is located now.

Boot Hill’s menu was on three sheets of white paper stapled together; we were told that the food offerings were still being tinkered with and wasn’t yet final. Beverages were served in Mason jars.

The menu essentially had four parts — appetizers, salads, sandwiches and entrees. I’m not a wine drinker, but I did see a list of about two dozen vintages, ranging from $6 to $8 a glass. The most expensive was a champagne at $80 a bottle.

Appetizers included bruschetta, chicken-and-green chile wontons, spinach dip, nachos, French onion soup, bacon-wrapped shrimp, five-bean filet mignon chili, Panhandle Dirt Burgers (more on those later), and a Yankee Platter of potato skins, mozzarella sticks and fried mushrooms. Appetizers ranged from $5 to $14.

The sandwiches included barbecued pulled pork, blackened chicken breast, shaved beef, and Black Angus burgers with an assortment of toppings. Prices range from $9 to $11. Also offered is an Equity Burger Bar that consists of a half-pound Angus burger that starts at $7, with a choice of toppings that cost $1 each — jalapenos, sauteed mushrooms, sauteed onions, guacamole, grilled pineapple, salsa, barbecue sauce, bacon, and American, smoked Gouda, pepperjack, provolone or mozzarella cheese. All sandwiches come with lettuce, tomato, onion and fries.

The entrees included a 12-ounce ribeye, 12-ounce New York strip, blackened catfish, baby back ribs and an eight-ounce filet mignon that includes a $5 fine “for killing this cut of meat” if it’s grilled more than medium doneness. Entrees include a vegetable and choice of potato. Prices range from $16 to $24.

The menu noted that fish and pasta dishes were coming “in the near future.” Also, there is a “Mexican Mondays,” in which enchiladas, chalazas and shrimp and ribeye fajitas are the offerings. A Halloween costume contest with cash prizes is scheduled for later this month.

We decided to make three appetizers our meal because we’d heard good things about the spinach dip. We also were intrigued by the bacon-wrapped shrimp and the Panhandle Dirt Burgers, which our server said were a lot like “slideburgers” you get at White Castle. So we ordered all three.

Here’s a photo of a bit of the appetizers on my plate, shortly after we dug in. The spinach dip came with thin, fresh chips that were likely made on the premises. The Dirt Burgers, five to an order, were considerably bigger than White Castles, with a freshly made roll, cheese, sauteed onions, pickle, and meat that was nicely crispy on the edges.

But the big winner in our appetizer feast was the bacon-wrapped shrimp. They were wrapped with a slice of jalapeno and crisp bacon, skewered and served on a soy-honey glaze. Each bite of the shrimp was loaded with flavor, with the heat of the jalapeno mixing nicely with the salt-and-sugar of the glaze and bacon. My companion also detected a hint of perhaps plum and vinegar in the sauce. Whatever it was, it was delightful.

Our waitress tempted us with an unlisted three-layer cake for dessert — a Chocolate Explosion, if memory serves. But we decided we were too full and asked for the check. The check came in a small, wooden trinket box — an unusual touch that we found charming.

After paying, we decided to mosey into the lounge on the other side of the building. While I was admiring the custom-built wooden bar, the rustic stuffed furniture and glancing at college football scores on three big television sets, Emily saw Schepisi’s boyfriend, Klay Waters. A split-second later, she saw Rory.

After exchanging pleasantries and raves about the shrimp, Schepisi told us that Boot Hill had served up to 200 people a night (hence the recent two-hour wait for tables). But she seemed a tad disappointed the restaurant hadn’t yet received more support from Vega residents (more on that later).

The lounge, by the way, has a small menu of appetizers ranging up to $10, including the Tascosa Bucket O’ Crap. This, Schepisi said, is a chef’s choice. She said quite a few of those have been sold.

Schepisi also told us Boot Hill soon would display a treasure trove of Tascosa photographs from 1880 to 1907. She also said she had a nibble from another cable television show. I’m not giving details, as the production could fall through. But if it happens, it could be another exciting opportunity for her and her restaurant.

Postscript: Two days later, we dined at a restaurant near Vega and overheard women in a quilting circle complain about Boot Hill. They complained about the prices. They complained about the $5 fine for grilling a filet mignon well-done.

There were other gripes, but I deemed them so silly that I regarded the group as professional complainers. I’ve heard the same sort growing up in the rural Midwest; that seems to be their main hobby in life.

Yet a couple complaints may have merit. I agree with Schepisi that it’s insane to cook a filet mignon to the consistency of saddle leather. But the best way to handle this may not be a fine, but to simply refuse to cook it that way. I know of one prominent restaurant in Tulsa that does this. There, if you want a filet cooked well-done, you’re out of luck.

I found it ironic that the price complaints came at a restaurant that serves sandwiches not much cheaper than Boot Hill’s. I live on a modest income in a metropolitan area, and I hardly found Boot Hill’s prices to be out of line — especially with food made with so much flair. I suppose in a town like Vega (population: 906) that doesn’t often attract skilled chefs, such prices might be a shock.

Vega does have a median income that’s 27 percent lower than the median average of Texas. So I’m sure Boot Hill is beyond the means of some residents, and that a few lower-priced items may be needed. That may be one of the reasons for Schepisi’s perceived lack of local support.

Or it may be that Vegans simply are waiting until those two-hour waits for tables become less frequent. I’ve done the same with new restaurants (“Let’s wait a week or two for the crowds to die down”).

Schepisi also knows that Vega’s population base isn’t nearly big enough to keep the restaurant going. She’ll have to draw from nearby Amarillo, and she wisely advertised in Route 66 Pulse to get tourists’ attention.

Bottom line, Boot Hill is an ideal place for a special occasion or a romantic evening — the sort of restaurant that Vega residents have been wanting for years.

And the food is creative enough that this out-of-towner will return.

(Boot Hill Saloon and Grill can be reached at 806-267-2904. It is open after 2 p.m. on weekdays and for lunch on weekends. Reservations are recommended on weekends. It has a Web site, boothillvega.com, but it is not live at this time.)