Everyday Food

[MarketStEl]

(Author's note: If some of the comments on the design make their way into the CityPaper at some future date, remember, you read them here first.)

So, last night, courtesy of a friend whom we entertained on the day after Christmas (pictured in the "Dinner!" thread) and again on New Year's, Mr. Smith had dinner at Jones along with his partner Mr. Mullin.

I must say that I have yet to have a bad overall experience eating at a Stephen Starr restaurant, and last night's meal was no exception. It helped that the company was entertaining: our host--who is a big fan of Starr's Mom-food establishment--is a delightful conversationalist and movie maven, and we spent much of the evening discussing TV shows and movies old and new, especially this year's Golden Globe winner for best dramatic film, "Brokeback Mountain." Our waiter broke the plane of professionalism to kibitz on our conversation about "Brokeback," offering his opinion of the film (like me, he found it touching; our host was a little less impressed), and thereafter showed us a good bit of attention. I guess we should have gotten his phone number!

But enough about dessert. We were there for dinner.

And as has been the case at every Stephen Starr restaurant I've eaten in so far, the food there was decent. Not fabulous, not great--decent.

We certainly got in the spirit of the place with our orders. For starters, our host ordered deviled eggs, which we all shared. The filling was like whipped cream, only denser, with a touch of mustard along with the egg yolk, mayonnaise and paprika.

This was followed by two bowls of chicken noodle soup--one for my host and one for my partner--and an order of chicken and rock shrimp dumplings with sweet soy and chili oil: something my Mom would have fixed if she had been Chinese, I guess.

Partner ordered meatloaf, as he is often wont to do whenever it is on the menu. Host had the pistachio-crusted tilapia, another of the handful of menu items that are cast against type here.

And as for me: I resisted the strong temptation to see whether Stephen Starr could emulate LA's legendary Roscoe's Chicken 'n' Waffles and ordered the beef brisket with vegetable medley instead.

The brisket had been braised perfectly--it flaked apart with a fork and was almost melt-in-your-mouth tender. The root vegetables that lay under the brisket, which was drenched in a tomatoey gravy, had obviously also shared space in the Dutch oven with the brisket. Piling things on, I ordered a side of boursin mashed potatoes as well; these were very creamy, and the cheese only barely announced its presence.

Our host had warned us that the meatloaf had an odd taste to it, something he described as tasting like liver, but I couldn't taste any liver flavor in the dish. The sauce covering the meatloaf, however, was closer to barbecue sauce in flavor than to tomato sauce or ketchup--a variation that met with my approval.

The tilapia was firm but flaky and the pistachio crust added a nice flavor and texture to the fish.

After all this, we ordered dessert (the edible kind). I burst out laughing when the waiter handed me the dessert menu.

The second item on the list was Duncan Hines chocolate layer cake with a cold glass of milk--only $5. I decided I would be a good little boy and order some.

The cake tasted just like I remember it, but the frosting was definitely not from a mix--it was dense and very chocolatey.

It was with dessert that the essence of Jones hit me. Like El Vez, and like the Continentals--both original and Mid-town--Jones is actually a camp restaurant.

The decor sealed it. Katie Loeb described it as "like the Bradys' rec room," and it is that. But it's also something else. The space is a higher-ceilinged version of a West Coast or Midwest "coffee shop" out of the 1950s or 1960s. The kitchen is visible through a slit-like window at the rear of the dining room, and about the only thing missing from this window to complete the illusion is the rotating clipboard on which waitresses placed order slips. That plus a counter in front of this window for seating--but then again, there's a bar along the west wall that replaces the counter. The modernist design, medium tan wood, square-cut sandstone and large wall clock with "Eat @ Jones" spelled out around its edge all took me back to spaces like Pustch's Coffee House, a low-slung, California-modern diner on Kansas City's Country Club Plaza that opened in 1963, or the restaurant in "Pulp Fiction" where Samuel L. Jackson's character tells John Travolta's that he's ready to quit this business before Travolta heads off to meet the fate we've already been shown.

But amidst all these displays of fidelity to an all-American archetype, Jones inserts a wink and a knowing smile. That Duncan Hines cake is on the menu mainly to elicit a laugh, just like the chicken and waffles and those little night-light pictures of American landmarks at the outer-wall booths. This sort of self-parody can be found in many of Starr's restaurants, and it may be one reason why he hasn't quite achieved the level of respect he deserves in some circles.

That, and the food, which, while good, is not up to the level of his design.

[KatieLoeb]

Sandy, it sounds like a pleasant evening. I like that Jones has the deviled eggs on the menu because I think they're a great bar snack with a cocktail, but that might just be me.

Duncan Hines chocolate cake and a glass of milk? Who could resist?

The decor is so 70's Brady Bunch house it's laughable. I'm looking for the trophies over the fireplace...

I'm not so sure that the self-parody is the reason Mr. Starr is lacking the respect he deserves in some circles.

[MarketStEl]

I'm not so sure that the self-parody is the reason Mr. Starr is lacking the respect he deserves in some circles.

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You mean to tell me it might have something to do with the food?

[KatieLoeb]

I'm not so sure that the self-parody is the reason Mr. Starr is lacking the respect he deserves in some circles.

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You mean to tell me it might have something to do with the food?

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Actually, I was thinking more about the penchant for hiring eye-candy-without-two-brain-cells-to-rub-together-and-make-a-spark dressed in vulgar "uniforms" as the servers. The uniforms at Jones don't fall into this category, but the servers at Continental midtown remind me of a field hockey team as envisioned by a porn producer.

The Starr establishments will always suffer from the innuendo of being more theme park than real substance. The uniforms and cute-but-clueless staffers at several of the establishments will keep that impression around until there's the same level of professionalism that is displayed at Striped Bass, for instance, across the corporation.

[glepore]

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The Starr establishments will always suffer from the innuendo of being more theme park than real substance. 

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Bravo. I enjoy theater, but the Starr experience isn't, really. And its a shame, because it often detracts from the food, which can be first rate. I expect to be able to have a conversation with my server, but the Starr folks are too often waitrons, and I get the impression they are discouraged from even normal casual conversation.

[MarketStEl]

Bravo. I enjoy theater, but the Starr experience isn't, really. And its a shame, because it often detracts from the food, which can be first rate. I expect to be able to have a conversation with my server, but the Starr folks are too often waitrons, and I get the impression they are discouraged from even normal casual conversation.

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I hope that didn't get our waiter in trouble at Jones that Tuesday night. I'd say he went just a bit beyond normal casual conversation.

We certainly didn't mind that at all. And I'd also have to classify him as eye candy, but with a brain and casually dressed--it appears that the uniform at Jones is no uniform.

[KatieLoeb]

casually dressed--it appears that the uniform at Jones is no uniform.

So they aren't wearing the very Seventies corduroy jeans and LaCoste alligator rugby shirts anymore?

When I saw the waitstaff I had a flashback to junior high school. This was practically my uniform for a chunk of my adolescence.

[MarketStEl]

casually dressed--it appears that the uniform at Jones is no uniform.

So they aren't wearing the very Seventies corduroy jeans and LaCoste alligator rugby shirts anymore?

When I saw the waitstaff I had a flashback to junior high school. This was practically my uniform for a chunk of my adolescence.

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Nope. The preppy-clone look is a thing of the past.

But our waiter probably would have looked great in it. That look was also the uniform of many guppy types in the 1980s.

[herbacidal]

[uniform of many guppy types in the 1980s.

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Other than a type of goldfish (I think), what's a guppy?

I've heard of yuppies and buppies.

Scratch that, I just answered my question.

Edited January 27, 2006 by herbacidal (log)