Travels with Chili: Three Nights on the Road, Pt. 2

Did I start to complain about the heat in Redding in Part 1 of this post? That would be like complaining about rain in Portland in January. What else would it be in Redding in the middle of August, for heaven's sake?

The bar at Jack's.

After all, the reason for going to Redding was to fulfill a longing, to quench a desire, to satiate an appetite. And that hole in the soul we both were feeling could only be filled with a trip to Jack's Grill, a nondescript, hole-in-the-wall steakhouse that captured our hearts years ago with its unassuming façade masking a ferocious dedication to steak, the whole steak and nothing but the (perfectly grilled) steak.

Martini. Shaken. Up. Olives.

Some of the online reviews of Jack's are clearly from fans like us who get that the passion here is all about respecting the meat. Yes, you get a choice of a side salad with housemade dressings, served tableside from colorful plastic salad bowls your grandmother might have used. But I'm here to let you know the greens are not going to be micro or seasonal. This is an iceberg salad your gramma would recognize, and expect, from a steakhouse, the leaves drenched in dressing but still crunchy.

Similarly, the baked potato is your grandfather's russet, creamy and soft on the inside and dry and crisp on the outside, served with the butter, sour cream and chopped chives he would have loved. Jack's is a classic, preserved-in-amber place that's still rocking the oldies like they never went out of style. So for those reviewers who wanted newfangled cocktails or organic microgreens dressed with aged Italian balsamic, who gasped and swore they'd never return, I say, "More for us!"

In my happy place. Thanks, Dave!

Our dinner, preceded by the requisite martini at the bar while we waited for a table—on a Tuesday night Jack's was packed and they don't take reservations—took place in the holy of holies, the corner booth where our magnificently decked out and behatted hostess seated us. The wine list has shown some improvement from our last visit, and since I'd neglected to pack a bottle in the car, we ordered a bottle of 2010 Clos du Bois cabernet, which was everything a cabernet should be, which is to complement the steaks on our plates.

The Sundial Bridge.

Satisfied on so many levels, at the end of dinner we bid Jack's a fond "au revoir" and returned to our bed and breakfast just down the street. The Bridgehouse Bed & Breakfast was one I'd wanted to check out, being close to Jack's and right on the Sacramento River. The rooms are spacious and pleasantly devoid of Victoriana, with one room designated as pet-friendly, a necessity on this trip. Owner Janelle Pierson was happy to accommodate the dogs, giving us space to store food in the guest fridge, as well as tending to Dave's lactose intolerance, substituting almond milk and oil for the milk and butter in her signature waffles.

Heading due north.

It's also an easy mile or so stroll across the Market Street Bridge and down the Sacramento River Trail to the Sundial Bridge, our second-favorite Redding landmark. A daring work of public art that Portland could learn a thing or two from, this bridge, designed by Santiago Calatrava, is both pedestrian and bike-friendly, drawing tourists and locals alike to experience the wide river that courses through the heart of the city. (It also puts the river crossing portion of our downtown Eastbank Esplanade to shame.)

Arriving at Calatrava's bridge early before the heat settled in, we strolled over and back, then pointed Chili north for home.

Read Pt. 1 of this post.

Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 2: Paying Our Respects

Everyone has their touchstones, places they return to again and again, whether it's the house they grew up in, a lake in the mountains where the dock was long and the water cold, or maybe a romantic spot where love first blossomed. One of those places for us is Jack's Grill in Redding, an old-line steakhouse from the era when a steak dinner was not a prissified affair with balsamic reductions, wilted arugula or, heaven forfend, "ambience."

A simple room in a small stucco building downtown, it was originally a second-hand store, befitting its working-class attitude. A bar where strong drinks are served as you wait for your table runs halfway down the right-hand wall, the thirty-year-old ice machine sits squatly at the end and the bartender has been there almost as long. Fewer than twenty tables serve the crowds that come here most nights, but early in the week as it was on this trip, we had our choice of even the sacred booths that line the walls.

Classics are the strong suit here, and we always have martinis while we wait in the dimness, and as soon as we'd drained them the hostess ushered us to our booth in the corner. The only part of the menu you need to look at is on the left, where the steaks are listed in order of size. We've heard people say the prawns and chicken are good, too, but that's just so much blather in a place as dedicated to the appreciation of the holy bovine as this is.

The only other decision after specifying the level of doneness of your meat is to choose your starch, whether garlic bread, French fries or baked potato with the obligatory butter, sour cream and chives. And each one comes with a side salad that is mixed tableside in a (usually) chipped plastic salad bowl with one of four house-made dressings.

Steaks here are fried, not grilled, and my brother (another devotée and the one who turned us on to this jewel) says each one is first dipped in vegetable oil, then salted, peppered and thrown onto the superhot flat-top to sizzle to perfection. And those steaks, oh my lord, those steaks, even for died-in-the-wool grill freaks, are so tender and delicious they'll compete with the best you've ever had.

A word to the wise about Jack's wine list: While I love this place, their list is on the mediocre side, so it's worth bringing your own wine and paying the modest corkage fee, since meat this sublime deserves nothing but the best from your cellar. Our choice was an '06 Syncline syrah from Lyle, Washington, in the Columbia River Gorge, a deeply rich but not over-the-top red with lots of subtlety and spice to enhance the beefiness of our steaks. Perfect!

Details: Jack's Grill, 1743 California St., Redding, CA. Phone 530-241-9705.

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Home Away from Home, Off on the Right Foot, Choosing Chinese, The Ferry and the Hog, The Point of It All, and The Last Meal.

Thunder Road, Stop 1: Jack's Grill

Jack's Grill is the quintessential small-town steakhouse. One of those places that you hope still exists in this world of Ruth's Chris and El Gaucho high-end martini-of-the-moment driven showplaces. You walk into a small dim room and take a seat at the bar that takes up half the room, order a drink from the bartender who's worked there for going on 30 years and wait for a table to open up. And the drinks are masterful...strong and direct, not foo-fooed up with star anise or passion fruit.

The menu couldn't be more straightforward: seven steaks ranging from New York to filet mignon to a brochette. Each comes with a choice of baked potato (with sides of butter and sour cream) or fries and Jack's famous salad that's just like the one your mom used to make...iceberg lettuce soaked with creamy dressing and tossed tableside in a plastic bowl that looks like it came from Goodwill. Jack's does make a token effort at non-steak options by offering fried chicken (which I've heard is quite good), scallops and prawns, but really, if you're not into a lovely, tender piece of top-quality beef treated with the kind of respect (i.e. the searing heat of a grill and no more saucing that Lee & Perrins provides), then you'd best head elsewhere. If you want to move on from cocktails, the wine list is adequate but it might be best to bring a bottle from the cellar that will do justice to cuts of meat like this. And forget about dessert. You're going to be so full of steak and potato goodness that it just doesn't make sense. Best to just sigh deeply and head out into the shimmering summer night.

Read the rest of the posts in the series: Thunder Road Redux, Stop 2: The Sundial Bridge, California Campin', Back in Oregon. 

Thunder Road Redux

Should have some good stuff for you next week, since we're heading down on a liquor run to Redding, California, and hitting their Costco hard before heading over to the coast for four nights of camping.

The plan is to go hell-bent-for-leather to Redding, drop off our stuff at a motel and then head over to Jack's Grill for well-deserved cocktails and their famous seared-to-perfection steaks. Before collapsing in bed I'm hoping to walk (or limp, as the case may be) across the Sundial Bridge, a stunning footbridge designed by Santiago Calatrava, a famous Spanish designer and architect.

The next morning we'll load up at Costco and drive to Arcata on the coast, ending up at Patrick's Point State Park just south of the redwoods. Between the tempting Lost Coast and several excellent brewpubs in the area, plus a spectacular beach just down the bluff, our two nights there should be full. Then it's two nights at Harris Beach on Oregon's southern coast and home. I'll keep you posted on developments!

Read the rest of the posts in the series: Stop1: Jack's Grill, Stop 2: The Sundial Bridge, California Campin', Back in Oregon.