JP: Even Better Than You Remember

For a long time, whenever people asked me to recommend a restaurant — not by food critic standards, but a personal favorite — I immediately told them to go to jP American Bistro.

Why? It was everything: the simple, clean decor; the mid-priced menu with absolutely drop-dead beautiful, satisfying perfectly-proportioned dishes; the crack staff that provided a level of service you typically cannot find without dropping $500 on a meal. For a year and a half, this was my favorite special occasion place. It’s where my husband and I ate in September 2006, the night before leaving on our honeymoon.

Then, I quit going.

There were three reasons. First, life got very complicated for a while and I simply didn’t have as much time for dining out. Second, I found a couple other restaurants that I loved (even on my off-time) nearly as much. But third — and this is important — I simply hated fighting the construction traffic at Lyndale and Lake.

It’s hard to admit this. I was part of the problem, a little bit of the reason that JP Samuelson and his staff suffered a scare in 2007. The street outside was torn up. The intersection often had a ten-minute wait for a left turn. Business slowed. It was still busy on nights when the Jungle Theater was running a popular show, Samuelson told me. But weekday nights, this once-red-hot eatery ran 1/3 full.

I’m ashamed, and after visiting again over the weekend, downright grateful to all the people who did keep going and sustaining this jewel. Because JP is better than ever.

One thing you should know, if you’re not already familiar with this restaurant, is that JP is one classically-trained chef who doesn’t do guest appearances, radio shows, newspaper columns, or photo sessions. He doesn’t leave the line to schmooze with the restaurant guests. What he does is cook, with singular focus and consistency. (The shot of him, above, with his wife and pastry chef, Cheryl, came from his website and is one of the only such photos I could find.) He’s also a very smart businessman who hires great people and empowers them to run the front of the house.

It works. With one notable exception — which I’ll get to in a minute — JP’s had the same people working for him for years. Andrew Pickar, the dining room and bar manager, and Mark Mckenzie, his head waiter, both take a proprietary interest in the business, caring for the people who walk through the door the way you imagine they might guests in their own homes.

I will cop to the fact that after a year’s absence, both men greeted me by name and stopped by my table. I will also attest that I saw them do the same with any number of other patrons. Once you’ve been to jP two or three times, you’re part of the in-crowd.

There were four of us on Friday, and we sat in the bar, which is a lovely candlelit alcove looking out on Lyndale Avenue. We started with the calamari, a lightly-breaded version spicy Thai dipping sauce and a spun nest of carrot and cabbage strips on top.. . .plus an order of pommes frites with a very garlicky aioli (hands down, my husband’s favorite bar food in the world). Then I had a duck confit salad so savory it had elements of bitter earth, with crunchy thick bacon, radicchio, and a nearly sweet ginger-pear vinaigrette. We also tried the fettucini with braised pork shoulder, onion, charred tomato and parmesan — a warm, smoky winter dish — and the fish special, a trout served with garlic mashed potatoes and a mango salad.

But the best by far was JP’s handmade butternut squash agnolotti in a lemon beurre, tossed with toasted walnuts and pecorino. I love squash and pumpkin pasta, but indulge infrequently because too often its more bread than root, an imbalance that ruins the dish. This was perfect: plump cushions of pasta with a hefty little serving of pureed squash inside — enough so you got the smooth mouthfeel and Thanksgiving flavor. Then a rush of toasty, salty, lemony cream.

I have only one complaint about jP American Bistro, and that has to do with the only original fixture who’s left. Used to be Karl Rigelman, sommelier extraordinaire, saw to the wines there. Now that Rigelman has moved on to the Minikahda Country Club, the wine list at jP has become disappointingly pedestrian.

On the white side, they offer a La Poule Blanche Languedoc and a Saint M Riesling each for $7.50 a glass — mediocre wines at best, which retail for $8 and $10 a bottle respectively, making the markup around 300 percent. As for reds, they have a passable Parker Station Pinot Noir ($8), a Hahn Cabernet ($8.50), and a Milton Park Shiraz ($7).

They also, supposedly, have a Cabardes Pennautier Languedoc, a blend of cab, merlot, malbec, syrah, and grenache, which was the wine I was interested in drinking. After I ordered, however, I was told they’d run out. I asked the waiter for something comparable; he suggested the shiraz. (This would by like my ordering a spinach omelet and his suggesting I have a Caesar salad and T-bone instead.) I declined, and they accommodatingly opened a bottle of Le Jaja de Jau, a French blend — yes — but one that is entirely syrah and grenache, fruity and sweet, sweet, sweet. Imagine you’re craving a square of dark Belgian chocolate and someone hands you a Three Musketeers Bar. . . .

I yearn for the days of Rigelman, when wines at jP tended to be unique, well-chosen, and dry. But still, I will return — soon and often. Samuelson is ignoring the wines just as he ignores the press, the hype, and the trends, in favor of producing some of the best food in town. He’s a balls-to-the-walls kind of chef who keeps his head down and cooks, the ultra-chic, leek-and-goose-foam culinary world be damned, getting better (and better) with each passing year.

So the next time someone asks me for my favorite place, it’s an even bet I’ll say it’s jP.


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