By Heather Hoch
By Lauren Saria
By JK Grence
By Eric Schaefer
By Robrt L. Pela
By Eric Schaefer
By Laura Hahnefeld
By Laura Hahnefeld
Sebastian's, 1926 West Deer Valley Road, Phoenix, 516-0718. Hours: Lunch, Monday through Friday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; Dinner, Tuesday through Saturday, 5 to 10 p.m.
Savvy entrepreneurs don't need a restaurant consultant to tell them that a barbecued-pork-ribs operation probably won't flourish in Jerusalem.
And despite their international success, you can pretty well bet that the owners of Planet Hollywood and the Hard Rock Cafe won't be planning new movie or rock-'n'-roll-themed branches in Burundi or Bangladesh anytime soon.
Keying menu to location is critical in the restaurant business. That's why I'm still scratching my head over the long-term prospects of a couple of new Valley restaurants I recently checked out. Both Sebastian's and the Charcoal House seem to be serving the right food, but in the wrong place.
Talk about odd couplings. I can imagine many types of restaurants moving into a distant, unpretentious, sparsely settled north Valley neighborhood, just off the I-17 freeway on Deer Valley Road: mom-and-pop diners, pizza parlors, burger chains. But even after two visits, I still have a hard time imagining a fine-dining establishment, complete with linen tablecloths, $18 entrees and deferential servers who refold napkins, replace cutlery and call diners "sir" and "madam."
Apparently, I'm not the only one who has had a hard time conceptualizing Sebastian's. On my first visit, in the middle of the week, we were the only customers there. A couple of weeks later, on a Friday night, the place was maybe a third full. And several of my fellow diners apparently had no idea that Sebastian's was anything more than a joint--they were decked out in shorts and tee shirts. I hope the proprietors are armed with lots of capital--it's going to take some time to educate the neighborhood.
The nondescript exterior gives no hint as to what lies inside the front door. The room is surprisingly plush, embellished by a burgundy color scheme, dim lighting from a crystal chandelier, a brick fireplace and a wallful of paintings in gilt frames that look like they once hung in milord's manor. At the back of the dining area, a player piano that never asks for wages, a break or a free dinner pounds out nonstop computer-programmed sounds, from Clair de Lune to the score of The Phantom of the Opera.
Operated by a Guatemalan chef, Sebastian's offers what it calls "continental" fare. Basically, that means beef, veal, chicken, pasta and seafood dishes, delivered with flair. I found just about everything interesting and tasty enough to erase my skepticism and make me forget I was dining on the edge of nowhere.
Take the appetizers, which would feel at home on even a ritzy Scottsdale menu. The pistachio chicken pt meets every pt standard, slathered with whole-grain mustard and properly adorned with Cornichons (tiny French pickles). Lobster ravioli are also compelling, two big, doughy pouches thickly stuffed with minced lobster and moistened with a sorrel-tinged beurre blanc.
Soups are also well-crafted. The crock of French onion soup is first-rate, not too salty and heaped with what tasted like real Gruyre cheese. Even better is the luscious yellow tomato crayfish bisque, a sublimely flavored creamy pure. Unfortunately, I neglected to hide its charms from my companions, who, after a spoonful, felt it was their duty to help me polish it off.
The kitchen also pays attention to the pre-dinner greenery. There's radicchio, not iceberg lettuce, in the salad, which is dressed with a worthy house-made creamy vinaigrette. A basket of fresh, hot, chewy dinner rolls sustains the pleasure.
The main dishes suggest that the chef has a real future in front of him. He's particularly adept with seafood.
One evening's special, for example, featured an enormously pleasing mixed grill of halibut, salmon and big, juicy sea scallops, all glazed with a snappy ginger-and-prickly-pear sauce, accented with a hint of guava. What a beguiling set of flavors! A mound of cheese-spiked rice rounded off the platter, furnishing tasty diversion.Another aquatic treat, listed under the "Chef's Specialties" section of the menu, brings together shrimp and scallops. Three hefty shrimp are wrapped in kataifi--crisp, shredded dough often used in Greek and Middle Eastern desserts. Two scallops, meanwhile, come entombed inside a wonderful potato crust. Everything's set on a heap of fettuccine gilded with a creamy roasted-pepper sauce, garnished by fresh sprigs of dill. If you wish, the server will also bring over a hunk of Parmesan cheese and grate it over the plate. I certainly didn't stop him.
The deceptively named seafood cioppino--it's not a broth--has its moments, too. Mussels, clams, shrimp and scallops embellish fettuccine perked up by an exceptionally fragrant seafood sauce, the kind of sauce I could eat with a tablespoon.
Carnivores aren't neglected, either. Veal roulade brings tender veal rolled up with prosciutto and spinach, accompanied by rice and julienned vegetables. A sliced New York steak is also deftly prepared, aided by a somewhat miserly drizzle of mascarpone cheese.
By this point, I figured the desserts would make me happy. They did. The rich chocolate mousse cake is a good effort, sending chocolate rather than sugar signals to the brain. The cheesecake, set on a graham-cracker crust, is superb, moist, creamy, cheesy.