12 Acres (8 Mission Ave, St. Albert)
I had driven past it on St. Albert Trail, probably, the old house beside the river across from the mighty fast food block (a strip that includes Arby's, a combination KFC-Taco Bell, McDonald's) on the opposite side of the Trail. It had the reputation as a special event restaurant, the place where you would bring your mother for her 80th birthday. I pictured families celebrating First Communions over beef Wellington and Caesar salads, the girls starchy dresses and the boys in Bay men's department purple dress shirts and black ties, toasting with glasses of grape juice. I imagined the generation that had once ordered fois gras and reminisced about their stay at Chateau Frontenac were replaced by people comparing it to the time they had it at a celebrity restaurant in Vegas. I dined there once, on a whim, pulled into a parking lot empty save a few grey Buicks. The food was good, but its heaviness and lack of interest in the local marked it as a museum to a suburban fanciness that even venerable steak and potatoes chains had abandoned in favor of fresh, local, seasonal. It was the sort of meal you'd be happy with at a wedding reception in Cold Lake or an expat-run steakhouse in Kuala Lumpur.
The idea to revive the old space with a farm-to-table menu is admirable. That's the way the wind is blowing, and there's no shortage of good produce available in the province. The idea of partnering directly with a single source farm is interesting, too.
I read the pre-opening coverage, the media nights for local bloggers and food writers, saw the pictures, heard about how the owners had been converted to a new way of eating by a school lunch program. I decided I could make the drive up St. Albert Trail.
The house by the river is beautiful, embodying the spirit of almost-old money St. Albert, the suburban sheen and traditional values.
The first visit was underwhelming.
The servers buzzed around with the pink cheeks and braided blonde hair of Hitlerjugend recruiters but lacked an attendant bloodthirsty efficiency and singlemindedness. While other farm-to-table, back-to-the-land-ish joints in the city have drummed the philosophy and seasonality and adventurous dining for the sake of the greater good into their service corps, 12 Acres' cherubic servers seemed unsure of themselves from the beginning. By the middle of service, when the kitchen seemed to have ground to a halt, they fluttered in the pass, taking occasional abuse from a dining room lieutenant with all the charm of a mattress salesman.
Oh: the menus are on iPads. And: there's an expensive orange juice machine. Also: they've remade the interior of the dining room.
Anyways. Tartare and charcuterie, a lot of similar restaurants do them very well. Tartare is a good choice in a province with a steady supply of good beef. At 12 Acres, the choice to smother the roughly cut chunks of beef in a spicy mustard based sauce was confusing. The charcuterie was decent but doesn't stand out in a city where more and more good charcuterie is being produced by local restaurants.
A salad of arugula suggested that perhaps early demand had outstripped the supply of the partner farm, as it looked like the stalks of perfectly proportioned, thrice-washed arugula from a supermarket tub. (This is an unfounded accusation on my part, but I stand by it). An overcooked egg, black from the griddle was hidden underneath, for some reason.
The beef short rib was inexplicably dry and underseasoned, accompanied by a carrot risotto that tasted like powdered cheese.
Okay.
But, hey, we all have bad days. We all fuck up, right? And it's unfair to lay into a restaurant the first week it opens. So, I'm going to stop right there and say the second visit was a bit better.
The food was still uninspired, underseasoned, and cooked without passion. Some of the service kinks and kitchen issues had been ironed out. The place wasn't slammed. The short rib was cooked competently. A dish of lingcod in "ramen broth" was a confusing addition to a menu focused on pasture-to-table dining and local choices, but it was comforting and elegantly presented with more of the suspiciously perfect arugula. The fried chicken ("Chicken a la Buttermilk"!) was dope.
I don't know what to say beyond: underwhelming.
It wouldn't be such a disaster if we weren't in a city that has a surprisingly deep restaurant scene, where the best restaurants have thrown themselves into the philosophy of seasonal and local, where great chefs and great front-of-house teams are combining to present beautiful dishes, amazing cocktails (I forgot to mention 12 Acres fucked up different classic and simple cocktail both times I mentioned and a third time when I went for lunch), stellar and personal service, and great experiences. I'm deeply skeptical of the amount that the 12 Acres ownership care about the same issues that have pushed other local restaurants and chefs to push for sustainable and local and good food.
I hope everything works out for them. Maybe I’m missing something.
If you want to skip dessert, I suggest walking down the road to Geppetto's Gelato. The amaretto is really good!
If you want to save the trip altogether, but want to avoid some more obvious choices, maybe check out:
Solstice (10723 124 St.): exemplary focus on local and seasonal, but easy enough to get a table. Service is top notch. Cocktails are perfectly executed, whether classics or new creations. They may not have a farm but... they're better.
If you want the old school charm and a pretty river to look at, you could try the Harvest Room (Hotel Macdonald, 10065 100 St.). There's the unimpeachably classical approach to food and dining, great cocktails, and a rediscovered focus on local suppliers and a more Edmonton experience.