" Welcome Home "
When I decided to do restaurant reviews for this blog, I knew immediately which restaurant should be my first: Jack's Oyster House. Jack's is unquestionably an Albany landmark, perennially featured in local papers; a place where judges and politicians and the occasional celebrity dine alongside people who like to dine alongside judges and politicians and the occasional celebrity; where smiling suits say "welcome home" and tuxedo-clad waiters reassure you that "the answer is always yes." It was a place where I had worked five double shifts a week for almost five years, and I had heard of an expansion, so I was curious to see how much it had changed since I left fifteen years ago.
Well, for starters, the main entrance that I had walked through more often than most local judges and politicians was gone, replaced by a third large window to match the original two. The main entrance is now located further down, where the door to the TV studio used to be, where Alan Chartok might have emerged to vomit before his segment aired. Now, instead of walking into the impressive main hall, guests enter a comparatively small space. Our smiling hostess (who never said "welcome home") gave us a perfectly comfortable booth in the new dining room (where the bar used to be) but I told her I would prefer the main hall and she obliged my whim sweetly.
In spite of renovations, the main hall has maintained its charm. Huge reproductions of old black and white photos cover wood-paneled walls, documenting Albany's most memorable snowstorms and old trolleys; I always liked those. The booths are still black, the linens are still white, and the floor is still a black and white checkerboard. And they still have scrod on the menu, although now it's billed as "Massachusetts Cod". Oh, and Mayor Jennings was there in his power suit and red tie, talking up these people and then those people before finally settling down to his meal. ("Is it an election year?" "Yep.") Politician? Check.
The biggest change was the staff. When I worked there, there were no waitresses (never had been) only waiters, and mostly old ... I mean, "seasoned" waiters that seemed to have been there since the Shucking of the First Oyster . And while the bow ties and the short black jackets with the yellow "Jack's" logo looked the same, the waitstaff now are mostly young men and women.
Our busboy (a young man) gave us tinny ice water and warm rolls (no salt rolls?) with soft butter, and then apologized that our waiter was very busy. I glanced around the room; the dozen or so customers seemed lost in the grand space. I was ready for a cosmopolitan and Himself wanted His usual bourbon manhattan straight up. We barely had a chance to look over the menu (the first half is all blue ribbons and back-story) when our busboy returned with drinks in hand (no tray?) My cosmo arrived safely (phew!) but when the first sip of His manhattan dribbled over the edge of the glass, our busboy apologized for the clumsiness, and once again for the very busy waiter.
I wondered if ours might be that seasoned waiter who was very busy schmoozing that family over there. I hoped so. He reminded me of some of the characters that I used to work with: chatty, animated and personable. As it turns out, our waiter was one of the young ones, nice enough, just not very chatty; and although he did tell us that he had been working there for several years, he never once reassured us that "the answer is always yes".
I loved my piping hot corn chowder (served in a white china cup instead of a shallow pewter bowl); the corn was al dente and the potatoes few. The salad with funny dressing (Italian with gorgonzola ... the waiter cracked a smile when I asked for it) was just right; grape tomatoes are somehow classier than cherry tomatoes, don't you think? And I like it when the cucumber is peeled and seeded because I hate to repeat myself. I splurged and tore into a two and a half pound lobster, broiled. Himself raved about the Oyster Rockerfeller ("not too much Pernod") and for old time sake, I suppose, ordered the scrod ... er, I mean the Massachusetts cod (served on a white china plate instead of a piping hot skillet); He described it as "very good". Although we skipped dessert, I did notice that the Mississippi mud pie was glaringly absent from the menu; relative newcomer certified Master Chef Luc Pasquier must not have approved of the recipe. Or maybe he just renamed it.
Well, for starters, the main entrance that I had walked through more often than most local judges and politicians was gone, replaced by a third large window to match the original two. The main entrance is now located further down, where the door to the TV studio used to be, where Alan Chartok might have emerged to vomit before his segment aired. Now, instead of walking into the impressive main hall, guests enter a comparatively small space. Our smiling hostess (who never said "welcome home") gave us a perfectly comfortable booth in the new dining room (where the bar used to be) but I told her I would prefer the main hall and she obliged my whim sweetly.
In spite of renovations, the main hall has maintained its charm. Huge reproductions of old black and white photos cover wood-paneled walls, documenting Albany's most memorable snowstorms and old trolleys; I always liked those. The booths are still black, the linens are still white, and the floor is still a black and white checkerboard. And they still have scrod on the menu, although now it's billed as "Massachusetts Cod". Oh, and Mayor Jennings was there in his power suit and red tie, talking up these people and then those people before finally settling down to his meal. ("Is it an election year?" "Yep.") Politician? Check.
The biggest change was the staff. When I worked there, there were no waitresses (never had been) only waiters, and mostly old ... I mean, "seasoned" waiters that seemed to have been there since the Shucking of the First Oyster . And while the bow ties and the short black jackets with the yellow "Jack's" logo looked the same, the waitstaff now are mostly young men and women.
Our busboy (a young man) gave us tinny ice water and warm rolls (no salt rolls?) with soft butter, and then apologized that our waiter was very busy. I glanced around the room; the dozen or so customers seemed lost in the grand space. I was ready for a cosmopolitan and Himself wanted His usual bourbon manhattan straight up. We barely had a chance to look over the menu (the first half is all blue ribbons and back-story) when our busboy returned with drinks in hand (no tray?) My cosmo arrived safely (phew!) but when the first sip of His manhattan dribbled over the edge of the glass, our busboy apologized for the clumsiness, and once again for the very busy waiter.
I wondered if ours might be that seasoned waiter who was very busy schmoozing that family over there. I hoped so. He reminded me of some of the characters that I used to work with: chatty, animated and personable. As it turns out, our waiter was one of the young ones, nice enough, just not very chatty; and although he did tell us that he had been working there for several years, he never once reassured us that "the answer is always yes".
I loved my piping hot corn chowder (served in a white china cup instead of a shallow pewter bowl); the corn was al dente and the potatoes few. The salad with funny dressing (Italian with gorgonzola ... the waiter cracked a smile when I asked for it) was just right; grape tomatoes are somehow classier than cherry tomatoes, don't you think? And I like it when the cucumber is peeled and seeded because I hate to repeat myself. I splurged and tore into a two and a half pound lobster, broiled. Himself raved about the Oyster Rockerfeller ("not too much Pernod") and for old time sake, I suppose, ordered the scrod ... er, I mean the Massachusetts cod (served on a white china plate instead of a piping hot skillet); He described it as "very good". Although we skipped dessert, I did notice that the Mississippi mud pie was glaringly absent from the menu; relative newcomer certified Master Chef Luc Pasquier must not have approved of the recipe. Or maybe he just renamed it.
And those jelly-filled individually-wrapped after-dinner mints were divine!
ReplyDeleteI can already tell where this is going with the waiter.....you're missing the old days, old school, that amazing feeling of knowing you've been wined and dine with style, grace, and cause.
ReplyDelete