Agnes and Sherman: is it really a diner?

My sole complaint about my first taste of Agnes and Sherman, chef Nick Wong's self-styled diner, is that it's not more of a diner.

I found the cheerful new Heights venue so invigorating that I immediately started fantasizing about eating Wong's deep-pocketed scallion waffle with gently sweet, can't-get-enough-of-it sambal butter for a late breakfast, parked at the little front counter reserved for walk-ins.

I dreamed about lunching solo on the fabulous tomato sandwich that Wong had devised as a special the night I was there: Texas toast slathered with jumpy fermented-tomato mayonnaise, packed with juicy slices of super-ripe tomato, and lined with flash-fried perilla leaves for a dark herbal twinge that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Maybe I'd drop in at midafternoon solely to demolish the towering pandan sundae—rendered mysterious with a sticky, honey-and-loquat herbal remedy that makes it taste like dessert from an Arkady Martine science fiction novel. (She's one of the few who write scenes set in interplanetary restaurants and kitchens, and she's good at it.)

These were pipe dreams, because at the moment, Agnes and Sherman is a dinner-only proposition rather than a diner. They are open on the Thursday-through-Monday schedule fashionable among industry hotshots. Wong and his business partner, the glamorous Lisa Lee, plan to do lunch service once they've found their rhythm; and a special-occasion brunch or three. The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. I could see myself eating that waffle at a civilized 11 a.m.

For now, though, you'd better book if you're not willing to take a chance on one of those upfront counter seats. At seven weeks old, Agnes & Sherman is already a hit. On weekends it's a scene, the high-ceilinged, lemon yellow room thronged with all manner of Houston foodies—from a cool young Asian crowd to a prosperous Heights contingent.

It's more citywide destination than diner-style neighborhood hangout. (For the latter, try Moon Rabbit, the eclectic Vietnamese spot four blocks west on W. 19th Street.)

The Agnes and Sherman staff practically fizzes with enthusiasm, and I don't blame them. I loved Nick Wong's work at the late UB Preserv, to which he was recruited by Chris Shepherd in 2018 after stints at NYC's Momofuku Ssam Bar, Gramercy Tavern and Incanto in his native San Francisco. I marveled that Wong could reconfigure an oft-abused dish like honey-walnut shrimp and make it into something I cared about. He's doing the same thing at Agnes & Sherman, where egg foo young emerges as a sultry, savory rice-and-egg heap, lavished with crawfish in a dark-roux gumbo "gravy" that turns the Chinese-American comfort classic into a Bayou City proposition.

It's a massive, $30 dish meant to be shared by several diners, which kinda boots it out of diner mode in quantity, if not in spirit.

With such shareable platters, Agnes and Sherman is geared more toward tables of three or four or more, rather than solo diners or even couples. (That's reflected in the seating, which is mostly four-tops or larger booths.)

Consider the epic plateful of gratifyingly chewy, elastic Korean rice cakes doused in a mysteriously smoky beef Bolognese sauce . It's so rich and eventful that two people really can't do it justice. What's with the smoky element? Surprise: Wong uses smoked udu peppers he found at an African grocery out in West Houston, dark, leathery chile curls that smell like a campfire. The dish zeroes right in on our city's eclectic palate.

And don't get me started on that wild pandan sundae showered with peanuts and Pei Pa Koa herbal syrup (see bottle below). It's such a surprise that it reminded me why I still, after all these years, love going out to eat.

Mr. Wong's efforts tend to have that effect on me—even the amusing chicken-fried kimchi strips that eat awkwardly enough to need tweaking. I'm so glad this chef stayed on here after the pandemic and the implosion of the Chris Shepherd restaurant empire. He's ours now. I'm calling it.