Audio By Carbonatix
Stop going to the Cheesecake Factory. I mean it. The food’s fine, but it’s not worth an hour-long wait at lunch. And if you keep going there, the few locally owned restaurants left in LoDo–the ones whose owners have been lamenting the long lines at the chain Cheesecake Factory when their own places go half-empty–won’t stick around. Then LoDo will look like Wadsworth Boulevard, and you’ll be sorry.
So do hurry over to Dixons Downtown Grill, which is almost everything you could want in a downtown restaurant. It offers good people-watching, a varied menu available from early in the morning to late at night, snappy service and a welcoming, open atmosphere in a renovated 1890s warehouse that accommodates everything from power breakfasts to post-theater desserts. (Don’t be confused by the word “Solitaire” chipping off several windows; it’s from the old Solitaire Coffee Company, and a historical review committee made Dixons leave the signs there.)
Yes, the three-month-old Dixons is almost, but not quite, everything you could want. The basics are there–the space is great and the Southwestern/ Tex-Mex menu appears solid, with plenty of variety and verve –but production problems keep cropping up like so much bruised cilantro. On each of my three visits, a dish was so screwed up that the restaurant wound up giving me a complimentary item as a consolation prize. To the restaurant’s credit, staffers recognized the flaws promptly and apologized prettily.
When I later gave co-owner Lee Goodfriend an earful, she said she was aware of the problems. “Up until about two weeks ago, I did have one cook who was overcooking everything,” she explained. “So we got rid of him. But we still have to get these people on the ball, get the kitchen to watch more closely and the waitstaff to check things out before the customers see it. We did get rid of a third of the kitchen staff, but that’s still no excuse. I can only say we’re working on it.”
And at least they try. Dixons is the third eatery in a homegrown series created by Goodfriend, Dixon Staples and David Racine. (It’s a good thing none of them has a name like “Woczyskowinski.”) Goodfriend and Racine met at the old Zach’s, where they were waitress and bartender, respectively, in the early Seventies; they hooked up with Staples to open Goodfriends in 1979 and then Racine’s, which remains wildly popular today, in 1983. So they have had years of practice making diners feel like they’ve gotten a good deal–or at least gotten a good hearing when something goes wrong.
Like the disappointing sirloin-and-black-bean chile ($3.95 for a bowl), for example. Three of us sharing the chile searched deep in the bowl and managed to fish out enough black beans that each of us could have exactly one. The meat was tender and flavorful, but the broth was so bland, it was like bean water. And while the mango chicken quesadilla ($7.95), an updated version of the grilled-and-stuffed tortilla standard, came close to being flawless, it ended up on the dry side. The combination of tender chicken, barbecued onions and mango was tasty and imaginative, but either the kitchen needs to find moister fruit or back off a bit on the grilling. Not even a liberal application of chipotle salsa could soften the tortilla, although the salsa did liven up the flavors. (The kitchen should have strained out the slips of tomato skin in the salsa; they were like eating little bits of paper.)
An even better salsa, a tomato-fennel-avocado mix, adorned our third starter. The shrimp and avocado cocktail ($8.95) brought five toothsome shrimp draped in a honey-chile-lime vinaigrette with a perfect balance of sweet and sour. But the best part was the salsa, sort of a chunky guacamole, with big, soft scraps of avocado gently tossed with a small amount of nearly minced fennel, some diced tomatoes and just enough cilantro to light up the flavors.
The soft-shell crab sandwich ($8.95) was another impressive preparation. The crab had been lightly camouflaged in cornmeal, then deep-fried and tucked into a crusty bun slathered with cayenne-spiked mayo. A crunchy, colorful slaw that featured red pepper, carrots and a spirited shower of black pepper was the ideal side: healthy and fresh, with a delicate vinegar bite that offset the crab’s richness.
There was nothing delicate about the chicken on the East-West chicken salad ($7.95), though. It had been cooked to the texture of a baseball mitt and was so dry that all conversation was put on hold while we chewed our way through a bite of bird. Finally, we ignored the chicken and concentrated on the salad’s good points: fresh field greens, slices of cucumber, slivers of carrots and roasted red peppers nicely set off by strips of fried wonton wrappers and toasted almonds. None of those ingredients, however, benefited from a dousing of “tango mango” dressing, which, according to Goodfriend, is made from mangoes, cantaloupe, corn and sesame oils and ancho chiles. Ours tasted like pureed mangoes mixed with Miracle Whip; its consistency–like over-emulsified mayonnaise–was disconcerting, and the chiles, which would have balanced the disturbing sweetness, seemed to be missing in action.
So were the corn tortilla chips promised with the “Bandito special” omelette. This was more of a scramble than an omelette, with too few jalapenos and tomatoes and too much white cheddar cheese. More cheese topped the side of black beans, which had been sitting around so long that the cheese had already hardened back into its pre-melted state. But Goodfriend was most concerned to learn of the missing chips. “They really make the dish,” she moaned. “Hearing this is my worst nightmare.”
At least the waitress recognized that missing chips and overdone chicken added up to a less-than-satisfying meal, and she offered us a free dessert (each normally $3.95). Made by pastry chef Curtis Nessler, who’s famous for the brownies and other goodies at Racine’s, the finales were stunning. We tried an exemplary bread pudding, based on a brioche that had been compacted and condensed into a silky smooth creation worthy of the “pudding” name, then bathed in a luscious caramel-mascarpone cream sauce that made for some eye-rolling eating. So did the lemon cake, a robust, tangy citrus sponge. Our third dessert, the Washington Park chocolate cake, was the densest chocolate concoction I’ve ever encountered (excluding flourless models). This near-death deal would be daunting to even the most devoted chocolate lover–but what a way to go.
On the second visit, we weren’t interested in desserts. So a free drink had to suffice as compensation for the major disaster–an oil slick of a dressing that came on the standard-issue dinner salad ($3.25). The waitress insisted she’d mixed up the vinaigrette before ladling it into my pitcher (all of the dressings except for the Caesar come on the side), but all I got was oil and oregano. The coating on the Caesar ($3.25 with dinner entree) was much better, with a very mild garlic punch in the dressing and on the crispy crouton that came with the salad.
Garlic provided the main flavor in the excellent lamb shank ($15.95), which boasted a light coating of pesto and flecks of herbs and carrot bits. The oven-baked front leg had been slow-cooked and broth-braised to a slippery, juicy doneness. Sides of red cabbage and creamed spinach were simple but well-executed; the blue-cheese potatoes, however, seemed to be nothing more than cheese crumbles and spud slices in water. More problematic was the poblano chile plate ($8.95): chiles prepared relleno-style, filled with goat cheese and white cheddar and covered with a tart tomatillo sauce. Although the dish usually draws raves, this time the “fire-charred” poblanos had actually been “fire-fried”–left on the flame so long that they tasted like the bottom of a dirty oven. I left the inedible chiles to smolder and instead focused on their plate-mates: a commendable polenta cake and prairie black beans.
The third time would have been a charm, except that I had to wait far too long for the pizza margherita ($6.95). When it came, though, it was a fine pie, sporting an easy-to-munch crust and more than enough roasted tomatoes, fresh basil, olive oil and cheese. And Dixons gave me another free drink to make up for the wait. (Hey, at the Cheesecake Factory, I would still have been standing in line.)
Dixons tries hard and promises to try harder. But I’m worried that, even with all their experience and so much on the ball, the owners will give everything away–perhaps literally–before the kitchen has a chance to get it together. There’s potential here; now they just need to live up to it. They need a staff that pays attention. They need employees who understand they’re fighting the good fight against the Cheesecake Factories of the world. But most of all, they need patient customers who recognize there’s no place like homegrown.
Dixons Downtown Grill, 1610 16th Street, 573-6100. Hours: 6:30 a.m.-11 p.m. Monday-Thursday; 6:30 a.m.-midnight Friday; 8 a.m.-midnight Saturday; 8 a.m.-11 p.m. Sunday.
