My late husband used to say, “It’s never as good as it was the first time.” He meant it kindly—a little warning not to chase nostalgia too hard. And he was often right. But Madison’s Restaurant complicates that theory. Though I’ve eaten there many times over more than a decade, it had been a couple of years since my last visit. When I returned in late June, I wondered if time had softened the memory. It hadn’t.
Chris Huerta
From the moment I walked into the dining room, I was reminded: Madison’s doesn’t rely on first impressions. It has the rare appeal of a restaurant that’s both quietly elegant and comfortably broken in. It wears its years well—seasoned by time, not dulled by it—and remains one of the most self-assured dining rooms in Highlands. Though the space is undergoing a subtle refresh—new chairs now, a fresh coat of paint, curtains soon—the essential character holds: calm, polished, and unmistakably sure of itself.
Executive Chef Chris Huerta, who’s shaped the kitchen since 2006, cooks like someone who understands what’s delicious and doesn’t feel the need to over-explain it. His food leans Southern but never leans hard. There’s technique, but it’s not fussy. What lands on the plate feels thoughtful, lived-in, and—above all—good.
Before ordering, we consulted with Executive Sous and Pastry Chef Lauren G. Bland and Head Sommelier Ana-Paula Arean—both polished, smart and clearly passionate about their jobs. Arean, who oversees one of the region’s most impressive wine programs with 1,300 selections (Wine Spectator has recognized Madison’s excellence since 2005), asked a few questions about our preferences and steered us toward a bottle of St. Innocent Pinot Noir from Oregon—which turned out to be exactly right.
A small plate of house-made pimento cheese arrived as a gift from the kitchen. The cheese was creamy, sharp, and deeply savory, and the spicy crackers had enough kick to awaken the palate. It’s this attention to detail—from the house-made crackers to the vegetables grown in Madison’s own organic garden at The Farm at Old Edwards—that signals you’re in the hands of people who care about every component.
Every dish was a bite of lusciousness. An appetizer of oysters in a delicate cornbread crust arrived hot from the fryer, their briny centers tucked into golden crunch. They disappeared quickly. A hot blue crab dip followed, bubbling in a cast-iron skillet and freckled with fresh corn—lush, creamy, and just indulgent enough to make you abandon all pretense of restraint. We wiped the dish clean.
Lauren G. Bland
The venison dazzled—a succulent indulgence wrapped in bacon, cooked until it practically sighed apart, and served with BBQ-glazed gnocchi, charred spring onions, and a snowfall of Mahón cheese. It was smoky, rich, and deeply satisfying. Every bite felt like something you’d want again. The Sunburst trout, by contrast, played it light and sharp—crisp skin, tender flakes, toasted orzo, caper cream. Earth and salt and fat in all the right proportions.
Even the bread mattered: a biscuit you could build a meal around, bacon-cheddar cornbread that veered thrillingly close to cake, and an onion roll too good to leave behind.
Ana-Paula Arean
Dessert was a Pavlova with lemon curd and berries—clean, bright, and light enough to make you think, just for a second, that you hadn’t overdone it.
Madison’s doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to. It’s a restaurant with nothing to prove, and that may be the most luxurious thing of all.
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Dining and Cooking