1600 Disneyland Drive (Map It)
Anaheim, CA 92807
714-300-7170
The idea, I guess, seemed irresistible, and the group of happy, sated diners launched into a quavery "M-I-C ... K-E-Y ... M-O-U-S-E" as it left Napa Rose. A stone's throw from Disney's California Adventure,
this new restaurant in the entertainment company's Grand Californian Hotel is the resort's bid for the brass ring.
Like the new Las Vegas, the new Disney wants to impress with its cuisine. Joachim Splichal, the Brennan family of New Orleans, even La Brea Bakery have all launched restaurants at the new Downtown Disney, while inside the park, Puck's Avalon is the single serious restaurant. Of the Disney-owned restaurants, Napa Rose is the only one that offers real competition to the chef-owned kitchens.
When I invite my mother and her girlfriends for lunch, these ladies-who-merrily-lunch have already scoped out the place before I arrive. They're a-goggle. They show off the hotel's towering lobby, a la
Yosemite's Ahwahnee Hotel, tarted up with Craftsman-inspired lampshades in cartoon-bright colors. Massive light fixtures dangle overhead, and a huge stone fireplace complete with roaring fire is set into an alcove larger than most living rooms. I'm just surprised management hasn't
provided a flurry of snowflakes for atmosphere. The Disney tie-ins
abound. When the pianist sits down, the sounds of "When You Wish Upon a
Star" issue from the grand.
Manager/maitre d' Michael Jordan gives everyone an expansive welcome,
but I notice that even he has to wear his first name emblazoned on a tag.
Friendly down-hominess rules at Disney. We're seated at a half-moon booth
just in front of the busy open kitchen. Overhead, a mural of California
wine country unfurls. But its style and saturated colors clash with the
amber egg-shaped light fixtures and the MacIntosh-inspired chairs. I'm
sure the designer never envisioned people draping their jackets over the
tall, skinny backs. You do, though, have the luxury of a dining room
quiet enough for talking.
The chef is Andrew Sutton, hired straight from Napa Valley's Auberge
du Soleil, a resort renowned for its view. Here, outside the windows we
can glimpse the mass of Grizzly Peak and the occasional flash of the
monorail as it speeds toward the park.
I reach out and touch the pink-and-copper rose in a vase on the table.
"Yes, it's real," says our server. It looks too perfect to be real, but
it is.
The roses embroidered on the waiters' vests are a little hokey, but
what do you expect from the creators of Snow White? Napa Rose's staff has
been schooled to recite the specials in luscious detail for folks
unfamiliar with the intricacies of California cuisine. The good thing is
that their enthusiasm still shows. Our server describes how pizza dough
is cooked in their special ovens, then topped with smoked salmon, capers
and a drizzle of dill cream. Sold. We fall for the grilled grape leaves
filled with Laura Chanel goat cheese, too. Served with a head of roasted
garlic and a peppery tomato sauce, the idea is to take a dab of this and
that and spread it on bread.
We've already demolished the shards of lahvosh sprinkled with Parmesan
and herbs, even though it's rather heavy on the oil. But there are still
some crusty little rolls from La Brea Bakery left, along with a dusky
olive bread.
A special filet of beef is grilled with rosemary and set on a bed of
proper risotto -- firm at the core, creamy on the outside. Just for
science, my mother, who doesn't normally like ravioli, orders the
ravioli. "These aren't those fat, chewy things," she crows. "These are
wonderful!" For me, though, the taste of truffle oil, even more prominent
on the shredded duck confit garnish, makes them somewhat less than
wonderful.
There's a grilled shrimp and spinach salad strewn with corn and
dressed with a light hand, and a delicious chicken breast with artichoke
and fingerling potatoes served in a splash of broth. I'm impressed by a
lovely piece of sole coated in bread crumbs and fried in butter. It's
sauced in a light beurre blanc punctuated with capers and quartered
grapes that add a nice touch of acidity.
A couple of dinners at Napa Rose only confirm my lunch experience. All
in all, Sutton and his crew are turning out respectable California
cuisine of the hotel variety, with a few flashes of something more. Just
taste his seared rock scallops, meaty and sweet, set off by a swath of
lemon lobster sauce perfumed with vanilla. His Portobello mushroom
cappuccino with a light cap of steamed thyme froth is astonishingly
intense in flavor and light of texture. Prime rib of pork from the
rotisserie is as thick as a brick, a formidable piece of meat with a
handsome caramelized crust. Among the more conservative choices,
mustard-crusted rack of lamb and filet of beef with a polished Cabernet
"essence" are both tender and perfectly cooked.
The kitchen gets in trouble, though, with the flashier dishes. The
seafood platter is a towering structure of raw oysters, clams, steamed
mussels, chilled shrimp and half an overcooked crab. With the exception
of the prime oysters, none of it has much flavor. Another signature
appetizer features a sizzling "beach rock." Partitions hold sticky, sweet
soy-glazed ribs, skewers of chicken and a crock of garlic-seared shrimp
in what tastes like al dente baked beans. The hot rock sizzles, but not
for long: This dish is a pass. The best is billed as "Seven Sparkling
Sins," a platter of dainty bites similar to really fancy party hors
d'oeuvres.
Sutton also offers a four-course vintner's menu for $52 every night. With wines, it's $79. The extensive wine list ranges over all of California, not just Napa Valley, and it seems to range all over the page, too. Prices are so far over to the right you almost need a ruler to make sure you're asking for a $29 wine and not a $120 wine.
Desserts are a strong suit. Meyer lemon mousse brulee has the texture of a cloud and comes with a lacy cookie filled with blood orange sorbet. There's a dreamy goat cheese flan with a tropical fruit salad, an elegant roasted winter pear and a seductive crepe soufflé -- crepes puffed in the oven with a half-inch layer of chocolate that come with bananas and good ice cream.
On the last night, we decide to linger near the fire for a while, but the only seat left is a child-sized chair. In the lobby, tuckered-out resort-goers are sprawled across the armchair and sofas, asleep. Just then a flock of couples in black tie streams into the lobby and alights on the remaining sofas. They look impossibly exotic among all the sweatshirts and jeans, like actors let loose from a Cole Porter play.
