When "Hyper-Local" Comes with a Hyper-Premium Price Tag

🥩💸🤔If you're the kind of foodie who gets hyped about eating wild boar within 50 miles of where it was foraging, Dai Due has probably been on your radar. This east Austin institution has earned its stripes (and a Michelin Bib Gourmand nod) by taking the "locavore" ethos to extremes—almost every ingredient, from the pecans to the pecorino, is sourced from Texas soil. That includes some pretty wild game: think nilgai antelope, wild boar, and feral hog. The concept is undeniably cool, the mission is noble, but after dropping serious cash on a recent meal there, I'm left with one thought: great for a one-time bucket-list check, but my debit card is staying home next time. Located at 2406 Manor Rd in a renovated space that feels half-rustic, half-hipster mess hall, Dai Due exudes serious "we're doing important culinary work here" energy. The open kitchen shows chefs butchering whole animals, the chalkboard menu changes based on what the hunters brought in, and the crowd is a mix of curious tourists and Austin food diehards. But that Michelin stamp and exotic protein promise come at a premium, and not every dish justifies the sticker shock. 🍄 Lion's Mane, Oyster & Black Pearl Mushrooms - $26 Our meal kicked off with sautéed mushrooms (lion's mane, oyster, and a rare black pearl variety) served over a slab of grilled sourdough. The bread itself was technically well-executed—crackling crust, chewy crumb, those Instagram-worthy air pockets—but here's the thing: if you don't already love sourdough's tangy funk, this won't convert you. I found the fermented flavor overwhelming, muting the delicate earthiness of the mushrooms. A simple butter-grilled country loaf would've let the fungi shine. Speaking of those mushrooms, they were... fine. Sautéed with garlic and black vinegar, they arrived fragrant but rapidly cooled into a one-note salty dish. The lion's mane, usually a textural star with its lobster-like bite, tasted muddy. The oyster mushrooms lacked that sweet nuttiness they get when properly caramelized. At $26, I expected umami fireworks; I got a solid B-minus mushroom toast. The portion was generous, but generosity doesn't excuse blandness. 🫑 Shishito Peppers a la Plancha - $13 Blistered shishitos are menu heroin—addictively simple, usually flawless. Here, they were perfectly charred, their skins wrinkled and lightly salted. Pop one in your mouth, hope it's not the spicy one, enjoy the grassy sweetness. Standard stuff. But then there's the paste underneath. The menu didn't elaborate, and neither did our server beyond "it's spicy." That's because it's bizarre. Fermented, aggressively pungent, and tasting vaguely of fish sauce gone rogue, it clashed violently with the peppers' mild character. It's like pairing a whisper with a scream. The heat wasn't the issue; the incomprehensible flavor profile was. Save your $13 and hit up Donkey Mo for their yuzu-dusted version instead. 🐷 Pork Chop (Medium) - $45 A $45 pork chop better change my life. This one... didn't. Let's give credit where it's due: zero gaminess, a testament to quality sourcing and careful handling. The exterior had a gorgeous sear, crisp and golden with rendered fat that crackled like pork candy. The ends stayed juicy with beautiful marbling. But the center? A dry, desolate wasteland. Despite being cooked to a perfect medium (pink in the middle), the interior was Sahara-level arid. This is the risk with lean heritage pork—no amount of fat cap can save a chop from itself. No sauce accompanied it. Zero. Zilch. No pan jus, no chimichurri, no apple compote. Just a lonely chop on a plate, begging for moisture. For $45, I want a sauce fountain. This felt like paying premium for a protein that was simply... adequate. 🦌 Nilgai Antelope Leg Filet - $66 Deep breath everyone: NILGAI ANTILOPE. NILGAI ANTILOPE. NILGAI ANTILOPE. (Had to practice pronouncing it for our server.) This was the "wait, we're eating WHAT?" moment. The antelope arrived sliced like a steak, cooked medium-rare with a subtle cheese crust that added savory depth. The first few bites were revelatory—butter-tender, no gamey funk, surprisingly lean but not tough. It tasted like beef's sophisticated cousin who studied abroad. But here's the fatal flaw: the meat cooled at warp speed. Served on a freezing-cold plate with no warming element, each slice turned from luscious to chewy and flavorless within minutes. At $66, this is unforgivable. By bite three, I was eating a $66 antelope-flavored ham sandwich. The hash brown that came with it, however, was phenomenal—crispy lace edges, creamy center, perfectly seasoned. I wanted to ask for a hash brown main course and skip the fancy deer. Moral of the story: just order the steak. The novelty wears off fast when you're chewing cold exotic game. 🐗 Wild Boar Confit - $35 SAVED. THE. MEAL. This was the runaway champion. Wild boar confit shaped into a precise cube, all six side #US #Austin #Texas