By Heather Hoch
By Eric Schaefer
By New Times
By Rachel Miller
By Eric Schaefer
By Heather Hoch and Lauren Saria
By Robrt L. Pela
By Heather Hoch
Build them, and I will come.
That's what I've been telling disgruntled west-siders, who continually urge me to unearth fine-dining restaurants in their corner of town. The problem? Until recently, it would have made as much sense scouring the avenues looking for the Lost Dutchman mine.
When I arrived in the Valley six years ago, the west side was where you headed for affordable housing, stress-free driving and a low-cost ethnic meal. You had plenty of dining options: Vietnamese, Thai, Italian, Chinese, Mexican, Korean and Greek fare. Happily, those options (and more) are still available today.
During the '90s, though, explosive growth has dramatically altered west-side demographics. Many northwest Valley newcomers fit a restaurant owner's dream-customer profile--sophisticated, affluent and hungry. And these folks would prefer not to drive to Scottsdale to find a make-an-evening-of-it, Saturday-night spot.
But are there enough of them yet to fill up a restaurant like the ambitious Jacka's in Glendale, with its $15 pasta platters, $23 rack of lamb and $30 cioppino? Meanwhile, across the street, the budget-priced Mexican/Italian/American fare at Bitz-ee Mama's continues to be a neighborhood draw. Changing demographics don't concern this restaurant's proprietors. Their biggest worry is finding room for all the regulars who want to sit in the smoking section.
There's nothing cutting-edge about Jacka's, except the daring concept of housing it on the west side. The Victorian look is designed to put you immediately at ease. Gewgaws are everywhere: kachinas, ceramic figures, ornamental platters. A lighted breakfront houses chinaware. Flowered wallpaper borders the dark green walls, while the tables are double-clothed with pink and burgundy linen. Lights are dimmed. A guitarist or pianist plays tunes that won't upset anyone's appetite, and the melodies occasionally inspire couples to twirl around the small dance floor.
The menu is no more adventurous than the decor or the music. Jacka's success isn't going to depend on trendiness or culinary novelty. It's going to depend on quality. And judging from my visits, the signs are propitious.
Most of the appetizers are strictly dullsville--fried calamari, shrimp cocktail, chicken strips, potato skins. But that's no calamity, because they're also entirely unnecessary. The generously portioned dinners, which come with both soup and salad, should satisfy a lumberjack. Whatever adjective you use to describe your state at the conclusion of the meal, it won't be "hungry."
However, if you insist on a starter, splurge on the well-fashioned oysters Rockefeller. You get seven tasty bivalve mollusks, flavored with a drop of Sambuca and cooked with a small mountain of spinach, bacon and cheese.
Then, loosen your belt for the waves of food to come. Soups go down easy. One evening it was a pleasant vegetable cheese with dill-flavored croutons; another evening brought a hearty tomato-vegetable broth. A big plate of fresh greens also works to fill in the appetite cracks. So will the focaccia, topped with cheese and olives. It's not homemade, but who cares, as long as it's warm and fresh?
The main dishes confirmed my premonition. You can count on the fingers of one hand the number of places serving rack of lamb west of I-17. Jacka's version possesses a gnaw-to-the-bone quality. You get eight small chops, juicy and tender, that are lightly seasoned, but not overpowered, with a bit of garlic, pepper and thyme.
Even better, I thought, was roast duck, an exceptionally moist, meaty bird glazed with a just-right orange sauce that had an appealing citrusy tang. Someone here knows how to cook duck.
One evening's chicken special showed the cook's talent extended to other forms of poultry. We got a whole chicken breast, zestily lined with capacolla, smoked cheese and sausage. In a town full of snoozy chicken dishes, it's always nice to find one that can keep me from nodding off. Sides of pasta (choose the robust marinara sauce over the watery Alfredo) and mixed vegetables completed these entree platters.
My enthusiasm for ordering the trout dimmed considerably when the waiter told me it was frozen. There's too much good fresh fish in the Valley for me to spend 15 bucks on a thawed-out slab.
But I shelled out twice that sum for what the menu calls "The Feast." It's an enormous bowl of first-rate cioppino, stocked with a variety of aquatic life--oysters, clams, cockles, mussels, scallops, shrimp, calamari and hunks of snapper. It's served over pasta, in a winy tomato broth, and you get enough seafood to fill up Shamu.
In fact, the cioppino is really enough for two. But if you share it, management will tack on a five-dollar charge. Why not serve less, charge less, and bring the price into line with the rest of the menu?
Like the appetizers, desserts are superfluous. You're unlikely to be famished enough to be tempted by them. And if you are, these unexceptional, supplier-provided sweets will probably make you wish you showed a little more restraint.
Along with most of the fare, I also salute Jacka's dining philosophy: The table is yours for the evening. That means you can enjoy a leisurely paced meal, with plenty of time for conversation and digestion. I had to smile, though, at the sweetly officious service. "And how are we enjoying our dinner?" asked the eager-to-please waiter at every opportunity. For a few anxious seconds, I feared he was going to pull up a chair and join us.