FEATURES

We raised our glasses to Iago—and then we ate him. Like hurricanes, the Bootsy’s house specialty—Cochinillo a la “Caja China,” a.k.a. suckling pig roasted in a Chinese box—is named alphabetically. If the kitchen’s system is on track, our 18-pound piglet was the restaurant’s ninth since opening in December 2008.

It should be a requirement, upon occasion, to look your dinner in the eye. Iago was presented to our table on a platter, whole, dressed in bunches of cilantro. The seven of us saluted and thanked him before he was whisked away by the chef to carve. Suckling pigs are month-old piglets that have fed solely on their mother’s milk (though Iago was a little older and had some feed before he got roasted). If eating a young animal offends you, you may want to jump ahead.

If not, allow me to speak Iago’s praise: dark and shiny as polished mahogany, the parchment-crisp skin gives way to irresistibly tender meat, a salty-sweet, slightly smoky flavor that elevates pork to a world of its own. Brined for a day then hung to air dry in the cooler (resulting in a crisper skin), Chef Pedro Rangel seasons the young suckling with sazon, a mixture of achiote (annatto, a slightly bitter, earthy spice) and garlic and onion powders, before placing it in the Caja China, a wooden roasting box resembling a small coffin. Lined with marine-grade aluminum, the box recreates the ancient method of cooking the meat underneath coals by strapping the pig between two racks and covering it with a tray of burning charcoal. The dry, even heat allows the pig to baste in its own fat and remain moist within its layer of caramelized skin. Holy Mother of Goodness, it’s porkgasmic.

Accompanying this pigpalooza were generous portions of fabulous side dishes served family style: broccoli rabe with sausage and fennel; grilled asparagus and spring onions; chickpeas and tomatoes flavored with ham hocks; aioli blended with preserved lemons and honey for dipping chunks of fried plantains; flatbread topped with caramelized onions; and pots of salsas—chimichurri, harissa, and tomatilla. Though the $285 price tag at first seems daunting, it’s a bargain of a feast, even leaving us several chubby boxes packed with the rest of Iago.

THAT JEFF RUBY saw an opportunity to introduce a traditional Cuban pig roast and Spanish-style dishes to Cincinnati should be no surprise. As restaurateurs go, he has always been ahead of the curve. That he combined this cuisine with paraphernalia from legendary funkmaster Bootsy Collins in a quasi-Hard-Funk-Café-meets-Scheherazade-meets-Alice-in-Wonderland setting is pure Ruby. Should we have expected any less? After all, this is the man who, in 1986, built a beach on the Kentucky riverfront complete with a man-made waterfall, live palm trees, a hot springs lagoon, and a swimming pool with a swim-up bar.

With its prime location across from the Aronoff Center for the Arts, two blocks from Fountain Square, and within walking distance of hotels and the convention center, Bootsy’s has all the elements of a restaurant that should have long-term appeal to the tourist industry. A glass elevator rises from street level to the restaurant’s second floor, where one of the two small outdoor patios commands a view of Walnut Street in both directions. There’s also the essential Celebrity Wall, and fat cocktails delivered by slight women clad in black micro-minis and eyeliner.

If you bypass the elevator (a bit theatrical as an entrance, but a solid exit strategy when you’re teetering on heels and alcohol), the first level features a small, eclectic collection of King Records memorabilia and the trademark costumes that identify Bootsy Collins as a rhinestone rock star. Considering the impact King Records had on rock and roll (and on Bootsy), this mini-museum deserves some redesign and effectual lighting to energize it.

The staircase, lined with old Rolling Stone covers, deposits you in the lounge, which like the rest of the restaurant is a confluence of highly stylized expressions. With the dining rooms not immediately visible—and not visible at all if the bar area is crowded—the exposed brick room frames the ’60s candy colored lighting, Mad Hatter suede stools, and faces of rock and entertainment icons in a way that suggests a franchised, upscale club.

On my first visit, a Saturday night with a full house, eight of us grabbed cocktails at the circular bar. “Is this it? Where do you eat?” we shouted loudly to each other over the chatter and the DJ’s club mix. It wasn’t until we snagged the power couch and an actual server that we got the full picture. The main dining room is a different world. A sushi bar underlit with vivid reds and greens fronts an exposed kitchen tiled in cherry red glass. High booths, interspersed with Victorian framed mirrors and silk drapes, line the opposite wall. An extensive, double-sided banquette sits center, plumped with Moroccan textiles and tables for two or 10. Images as forcible as Madonna’s cone bra and as innocent as cartoon fish mingle to create a flashing, dancing atmosphere just this side of a civilized hallucination. But I suppose that’s the point. It’s Bootsy, baby.

Unlike the interior design, Rangel keeps the menu grounded in solid Latin fare, allowing quality ingredients to shine without a lot of culinary acrobatics. Though he was raised in an Irish neighborhood in Chicago, he is the son of a Puerto Rican mother and Mexican father, which meant many traditional Hispanic meals graced the family table. (Seriously: When talking about the pig’s sazon seasoning, Rangel credited his mother as the source of inspiration.) Still, it wasn’t until he started his culinary career that he began to fully appreciate his rich heritage. Rangel worked his way through several well-regarded kitchens, and was at Chicago’s DeLaCosta, under Nuevo Latino chef Douglas Rodriguez, when Jeff Ruby and his then–Corporate Executive Chef Jimmy Gibson lured him to town.

In addition to roast suckling pig, Rangel’s tapas are front and center: deeply spiced pulled Cuban short ribs; divine duck tacos with an apricot mango salsa; whole blue prawns with grilled lemon, parsley, and garlic are some of the many plates of honest village food, dazzling in their simplicity. Arepa, a Venezuelan sandwich consisting of a slightly oily, thin cornmeal biscuit split and filled with chorizo and a fried egg or pork belly, is the best sandwich to hit downtown lunch since Bootsy was a little funkateer. The only disappointment to the menu was the sushi rolls, which were over-sauced and underwhelming. Why not truly be a first with an all ceviche bar, complementing the rest of the menu?

I RARELY DEVOTE more than a mention to soundtracks, but in four visits, I never once heard a note of funk. Sure, “Atomic Dog” or “P-Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)” may not be ideal club music for most ears, but certainly the DJ spins some James Brown, a little “Sex Machine,” right?

“Will you play some funk?” I asked. “Sure, no problem. Next song,” he replied. He pumped up the volume on “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang. “Brick House” by The Commodores immediately followed.

I asked him again, “Will you play some funk?” “I just did,” he answered. “No, that’s wedding music,” I yelled over “Girls Just Want To Have Fun.” He ignored me and increased the volume.

Bootsy, Mr. Ruby, you’ve got one kitchen under a groove, but we want the funk. Gotta have that funk.

Bootsy’s Produced by Jeff Ruby, 631 Walnut St., downtown, (513) 241-0707

Hours
Lunch Mon–Fri 11 am–2 pm, dinner Mon–Thurs 5–10 Fri & Sat 5–11

Atmosphere
Flamboyant funkmaster meets flamboyant dinemaster in a splashy museum-cum-restaurant featuring good-to-great Latin cuisine.

Prices
Tapas $5–$13, large plates $18–$26, roast suckling pig $285 (72 hours advance notice required). Expensive cocktails.

Originally published in the June 2009 issue.