n-Joi

Cranston’s newest restaurant has a mandate for diners: n-Joi. Our food critic makes up her own mind on the matter.

n-Joi

39 Phenix Avenue, Cranston, 944-7770, njoiri.com. Open Tues.–Sat. 4:30 p.m.–1 a.m. Reservations accepted. Wheelchair accessible. Parking lot. Cuisine Upscale American with a bar menu of updated favorites. Capacity Sixty in the dining area with room for a dozen and a half at the bar. Vibe Techno meets date night. In a word: swanky. Prices Appetizers $7–$12, entrees $20–$35, desserts $6–$8. Karen’s picks Tuna meatballs, grass-fed veal, Kurabuto pork two ways, pb-j JR. 
Key Fair Good Very Good Excellent Half-star

I have forgiven owners Po Chiu and Paula and John DeRuosi for giving the year’s worst moniker to their restaurant, n-Joi. Pacman Jones made a name for himself despite—well—his name, and this sixty-seater may in time do the same. It may be, however, a tough sell in Cranston, where the local Italian restaurants (such as Tony Papa’s next door) remain perennially packed, while, on any given night, n-Joi feeds pan-roasted quail and pomegranate kernels to a select few.

The restaurant obviously faced some formidable design challenges given that it sits in a retail alcove one door away from a nail salon and a few more from a launderette. Ultra-casual wouldn’t fit the upscale menu, but formal would be incongruous as well given the surroundings. The result is amiable, if slightly self-conscious. The expansive bar flanks a nineties-style centerpiece that changes neon hues intermittently, while a gauzy scrim attempts to create a segmented effect in an otherwise boxy dining room. Late-night singers are occasionally brought in to liven up the atmosphere, though it’s a futile effort to candy-coat a strip mall. It’s all one step past traditional but not far enough to scare off conservatives. The menu manages to fall somewhere in between: recognizable (grilled porterhouse) with just an air of innovation (hence the sweet onion jus and fig mustard).

Chiu and the DeRuosis were wise to make the bar front and center: Seats remain filled even on a weeknight, which speaks not only to the modern penchant for drinking in front of a flat-screen but the drinks themselves. It’s become common to carry comprehensive but manageable wine lists, but n-Joi also embraces the school of familiar but festive cocktails. There’s a drama to the presentation (perhaps too much so for the manly men who shun anything larger than a shot glass), but the libations—particularly a mature basil-infused vodka cocktail—still sate. Incidentally, in my tour of absolution, I also pardoned a server who suggested an espresso martini with a seafood appetizer (shiver).

Drinks, however, are not Todd Lesakowski’s professional pursuit. A chef who has held local posts at CAV and the short-lived first incarnation of Waterplace, he’s been known to produce food that’s, at the very least, ambitious. Occasionally, too ambitious. An ill-conceived foie gras-tuna sashimi-watermelon combination at Waterplace left me with serious reservations, but at n-Joi he manages to not let trendy overtake talent completely. In response to the casual nature of the location, he’s even gone so far as to add a bar menu that feeds the comfort food crowd: chicken pot stickers, steak sandwiches and the decidedly less-than-pioneering jalapeno poppers.

But bar food doesn’t seem to be Lesakowski’s area of interest either. His cooking’s got some ego in it, and in a competitive culinary world, that’s not always a bad thing. The dishes aren’t delicate; they’re more often about bold combinations than a single ingredient. Subtle scallop crudo? Paired with bold, brine-cured olives. Yellow fin tuna? Ground up and made into a meatball. I ordered the tuna meatballs ($9) with sadistic apprehension, but they proved me wrong. Lesakowski’s seasoning is restrained, which allows for the delicate flavor to shine through, pairing the ground meat with a nearly candied tomato-ginger preserve and minced-caper relish. The condiments are strong, yes, but they don’t overpower a surprisingly light dish. (Note to kitchen: Add these to the bar-food list. They’re worthy of gratuitous exposure.)

Lobster raviole (yes, that’s spelled correctly), on the other hand, are heavy where one expects light. Lychee-sized dumplings ($12) are dense and doughy, and, though they’re garnished with poached lobster tail, it’s a stretch to call it a lobster dish. Starchy indulgence, yes, but don’t expect New England in the summer. Better, perhaps, to go with n-Joi’s deconstructed rendition of gorgonzola figs wrapped in prosciutto ($10). Grilled figs lie upon jerky-like strips of sirloin and a bed of snow-white goat-cheese polenta. The beef is chewy, but the polenta is worthwhile, just slightly granular with a discernible tang.

Lesakowski has a few templates that he likes to build on when composing entrees. Fish (wild salmon, Georges Bank cod and striped bass) are all served in fragrant broths. The dishes are usually restrained though slightly unbalanced. A ver jus blanc court bouillon creates a nicely seasoned cod, though, as a serving broth, it’s uncomfortably acidic.

The blueprint for meats is often a contrast between two cooking preparations: veal grilled and braised; duck roasted and wrapped in dumplings; lamb grilled and served tangine style. Most of my attention fell on the Kurobuta pork, which consisted of a grilled loin and a roasted, tamarind-basted belly. I’m still grappling with the dish, not because I truly disliked it, but because it’s a dish a culinary professional hates to like.

Pork belly is a high-fat cut that’s usually braised in order to melt its thick layers of fat and tenderize the tough meat. The result is a dish that people often refer to as unctuous, reminiscent of the thickest slab of bacon you can imagine. Lesakowski roasts his into oblivion, and coupled as it is with the sweet-tart glaze of tamarind, he ends up with something akin to a Chinese spare-rib. It’s perplexingly chewy, almost tough, but reminiscent of an upscale pu-pu platter. Some might consider this a travesty—like grinding filet into meatloaf—but if you like the day-glow red of ribs in silver pouches, and don’t mind the $25 price tag, you might be pleased.

Almost all of the grilled meats meet technical standards, though more detailed presentations have a greater tendency to go astray. Braised veal ($25) is well executed, though, like the raviole, the dough that surrounds the shredded meat is tough; it’s more like a wonton wrapper than a crepe. Stewed lamb ($26) follows suit, but the herb selection was far too floral for my liking.

The only dish—somewhat surprisingly—that was completely unacceptable was a side of deep-fried potato “munchkins” ($5). The crispy exterior has snack-shack appeal, but I can only describe the mashed potato filling as blatantly pasty. Manners notwithstanding, I could not get past the first two bites, thinking only of the glue-eating kid in kindergarten.

Desserts are what they ought to be: fun. Pastry chef Jennifer Ribeiro has a streak of whimsy much like La Laiterie’s Kate Jennings, though not as rustic or varied in approach. Crème brulee ($6) is offered in trios, and poached pears are served Napoleon style, wedged between layers of fresh biscuits and whipped cream ($7).

More adventurous is the “almond n-joi” (shouldn’t that be “almon-joi”?), which features a silky chocolate cake, coconut creme anglaise, almond-toffee ice cream and, most intriguing, a coconut gelee that reminds me of brightly colored Asian candies with galactic cartoons on them.

The highlight is a “pb-j JR” ($8), so beloved even by Ribeiro that she’s trademarked the name. It’s a molded peanut-butter mousse—embedded with pockets of jelly and a substantial shortbread cookie—that begins to liquefy on the tongue. Suddenly, grade school looks good again.

It’s tough to guarantee the success of an enterprising restaurant in Cranston, in part because there are instances when simplicity would appeal to more people. If any place deserves another restaurant that can serve daily dinners and special occasions, it’s this neck of the woods. The suburbs are thriving, and, I expect, homeowners are happy to take on something other than the state’s majority stock in fast food and chain restaurants. Some of Lesakowski’s dishes can stand up to the most urbane clientele; it’d be a shame to overlook his strengths because of a few bad munchkins.

Karen Deutsch is a graduate of the French Culinary Institute in New York.