Down and Out in Denver

Last night Alastair and I headed to Japoix, the Japanese-themed new restaurant in the first floor of the Beauvallon, the hideous and half-empty apartment building on Lincoln between 9th and 10th Avenues.  Alastair had purchased himself a coupon on Living Social (25 bucks for a 50 dollar coupon) and we came prepared to eat and drink.

Japoix is large, very large.  It stretches back-to-front the entirety of one section of the Beauvallon.  In front is the dining room; the back is taken up by a bar and lounge, complete with multiple enormous televisions (it is Denver, of course).  Because of this the back does have a very large window overlooking Broadway, which is nice, though that section of Broadway is hardly beautiful.  I arrived early and sat myself down at the bar to wait for Alastair, who himself was a little early.  We checked in with the hostess and ordered two classes of wine: a viognier for A and a pinot blanc for me.  The selection of wines by the glass is good and there is a real range in prices, which is also nice.  The only problem was that the wine fridge wasn’t properly cooling so we had to wait while the two bottles chilled on ice. After about half an hour the friendly barkeep asked when our reservation was.  We informed him that we had been told there was a 15-minute wait but that we had no reservation.  He very kindly went to check on our table.  Turns out there was some sort of buzzer malfunction. Japoix employs those blinking vibrating alerts to let you know your table is ready, the kind you tend to associate with a TGIFridays (not that I’ve ever been). Well, it didn’t work when the hostess tried to summon us.  She did not, as one might expect a hostess to do on a not-so-busy night, come and get us after we didn’t show up for 15 minutes.  If nothing else, we did have her buzzer!

With that, we were seated by the mini-skirted hostess.  Japoix is a little strange, it must be said.  It claims to be a Japanese fusion restaurant with French influences.  The French influences (aside from the name and the fact that it is in the absurd and ridiculously named faux European Bauvallon) are apparent in certain dishes.  For instance, they offer a “Mr. Croque.”  Get it?  ”Poisson (aka Fish)” is also one of the menu items.  Others have various French flourishes: “le” and “petit” get thrown around a bit too much.  I would say it’s more pan-Asian than anything else.  The décor is also a little weird.  There is a lot of bamboo everywhere (some of it covered in white lights and emerging out of Asian planters) and it’s very dark. It feels a little bit like a generic restaurant that was fitted after the fact to be Japanese themed, like it could be converted at a moment’s notice (and with not too much work) to a nightclub emphasizing another national origin. Oh, and all the women wear extremely short and tight skirts.  This was not so appealing to your DOD boys but might be a selling point with readers.  We leave it up to you.

Ahi Poke and Its Accompaniments

We began with two appetizers (and more wine, of course, though Alastair promptly spilled his on the table): the Ahi Poke (pictured above) and the Tempura Rock Shrimp.  The Poke was a generous portion and the tuna was good.  It was also rather busy, coming with rice, avocado, seaweed salad, greens, various sauces drizzled on the plate, and crispy carbohydrates on top.  It could be edited a little.  The rock shrimp was accompanied by an aioli and a tangy citrusy dip.  It was all good enough but it sort of seemed like the kind of thing that might be on offer at Long John Silver’s (again, not that I’ve ever been).  So, all in all, tasty, but not mind-blowing.

My entrée, however, was really quite good: spicy and tangy and plentiful.  I had the Duck Ramen: duck, egg noodles, crispy pork belly, snap peas, and duck broth.  Using my chop sticks and spoon I cleaned my bowl. Alastair had the Chicken Yakisoba: egg noodles, spicy garlic black bean sauce, and vegetables. It was marked by a little chili pepper, indicating its purported spiciness.  Not so much, really.  It was more sweet than spicy. Alastair didn’t love it, and because I really did love mine, I finished my meal before he did his. (Confession: I always finish my meal before Alastair does.  Like walking, I eat quickly.  Alastair once ordered a three-scallop appetizer for dinner and made it last as long as the entire tiny-boned quail I dissected.)  The consequence of all this was that my empty bowl was sitting in front of me while Alastair continued to eat.  You know where this is going … the waiter came along and broke the cardinal rule of service: he took my bowl, leaving Alastair to eat self-consciously onwards.  The situation is pictured below.

Alastair's Meal (foreground); My Empty Place (background; that's me!)

Would we go back?  I would consider it.  I think the problem is that Japoix is not conveniently located for us, though I suppose one could duck in there for dinner before a night out on Lower Broadway (at Alastair’s fave, Boyztown, perhaps). The back lounge would also be a great place for a private party.  I will also say that there were lots of other things on the rather strangely organized menu that looked engageant (aka tempting).