California Café

I think most of us were surprised last fall when Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl published a glowing review of Napa Valley Grille at the Mall of America. It and its upscale (national chain) sibling, California Café, had seemingly lost their energy nearly a decade earlier, and as the mall’s clientele skewed more and more Iowa and less and less Galleria, these national chain outlets seemed to serve as havens for displaced sophisticates.

But the word was chef Matthew Fogarty, a West Coast transplant dragged here by a homesick wife, was the real deal. Based on a recent Saturday night dinner at California Café, I can’t endorse that.

The room remains contemporary and attractive in a 1990s way, well lit, comfortable, and a place where you can imagine you are not just paces from a store selling Green Bay Packer gifts.

Early indications were mixed: a tasty barbecue chicken salad with smoked gouda, cucumbers, corn, apples, onion strings, and grape tomatoes suffered from being underdressed as did a whole-leaf Caesar. (Is it just me or is the whole-leaf Caesar a conceit of a chef who values the way a dish looks over how it functions or tastes?) CC’s signature Dungeness crab cakes were deep-fried, mushy inside, and overwhelmed by accompaniments of green onion pistou and tomato-ginger jam. Can we admit that any alternative to jumbo lump crabmeat is inferior and move on?

The best main course I tried proved to be Beamish Stout-baked ribs served with a fresh apple slaw, a dull twice-baked potato (why do these always taste so flat?), and a too-sweet smoked onion barbecue sauce. Bacon-wrapped scallops were credible though the accompanying leek vinaigrette had too much vinegar and proved mouth-puckering. Vibrant chicken tostadas were a decent bargain option; I can’t say the same for the despicable “funky chicken pizza,” a dry mess of bacon, grilled chicken, artichoke, broccoli, and provolone. The promised garlic ranch sauce was not in evidence on the pie. This pizza sounded on the menu like some sort of chef’s practical joke, but one of my companions did order it.

The best thing I ate all night was a light mascarpone cheesecake with berries, a sweet end to a meal that didn’t convince me that the Mall of America is again a safe place for foodies.

Mall of America, Bloomington, 952-854-2233