One of my favorite things about eating in the Tech Center is the fact that as far as the staff knows, the person at the table next to you, or you for that matter, could easily be a multi-deci-millionaire CEO (or an attorney for one), prone to leaving really big tips on a whim.
So in many restaurants, including Maxwell’s American Brasserie, staffers call you (or me, anyway) sir and say things like, “Follow me, gentlemen,” and, “Thank you so very much for joining us this evening,” and “I’ll get those appetizers out right away.”
It’s like at a casino. There’s a chance, however small, that you might be a high-tipping high-roller, even if you look like a half-drunk golf hobbyist. So the staff hedge their bets by treating you like one. Not stiffly, really. And not overly formal. But enthusiastically, even, suspiciously, ingratiating.
Which, even though I’m about as far from a CEO of any kind as you can get, is a method I’ll take over snotty and disdainful (a method increasingly employed downtown lately) any day of the week.
Maxwell’s occupies a large free-standing building rising from what used to be the Eastern Plains but is now a vast parking lot between a mundane chain hotel (you know, a Comfort Holiday Courtyard Suites or some such) and I-25. It’s a sterile piece of ground.
Inside, Maxwell’s is thoroughly designed, yet nondescript. But that appears to be the conceit of much of the mail-order architecture in our suburbs. It’s designed to make you feel comfortable, like you’ve been here before, even though you haven’t. Non-intimidating.
It’s dark inside Maxwell’s, with wood details, an open kitchen, a step-up bar area, and two or three seating areas. Three guys in ties licking hamburger fingers sit at the table in the center of the room. A couple of pantsuited ladies forking at salads have taken their shoes off in a booth. A post-link foursome in golf shirts sips red wine at the bar. You get the gist.
On my first visit, our waiter sold us hard on the house-made potato chips and dip. He had me at “dip,” and we ordered the crab-avocado guacamole, and later, the blue cheese dip. Both dips went down easy, in particular the well-seasoned and refreshing guacamole. But the chips, heavily coated with a faintly spicy paprika-ish spice-dust, were forgettable. In fact, we forgot about them and just ate the guacamole with a fork. Aside from its sloppy presentation, it actually made a very pleasant appetizer on its own, sans chips.
I enjoyed my house burger, simply topped with cheddar cheese and presented on a plate with unremarkable but harmless sweet potato fries. I stole more than my share of bites from the Cuban sandwich on the plate across from me, appropriately gooey and warm and accompanied by a crunchy and not unpleasantly vinegary coleslaw.
Over subsequent visits, the food has flirted with the same clunkiness that clobbered those house chips. The ruby-red glaze on the otherwise moist and satisfying roast chicken was too sweet by a freckle. The grilled artichoke was flavorful, but the two dressing-drenched weeble-wobble halves were near-impossible to eat with any grace at all. The onion soup was a pinch (or more) too salty.
But the juicy rib-eye was well-prepared to order and although at first glance too big to finish, it disappeared at the table. The sparely-presented horseradish-breaded halibut filet, (also big—we referred to it as Shamu), was well-cooked and comforting, if not delicate. The mashed potatoes were earthy, the cucumber salad lively, the mushrooms velvety. If none of these astonished, they all made sense of a sort.
Maxwell’s prides itself on its wine list, which is substantial and, if not surprising, certainly accommodating. Our server had thoughtful suggestions and there were more than a few bottles priced under $40.
Am I in love with this place? Nope. I like a little more quirk in my crushes. But Maxwell’s is a well-planned, enthusiastically executed, relatively consistent restaurant with good intentions. (Not for nothing, they redirect leftover ingredients to the Food Bank of the Rockies and the Denver Rescue Mission, which more restaurants should do.)
And as my friend Michael said during one of my meals there, “You know, if I was on a business trip and I worked all day and was staying in a hotel across the lot, I’d be happy.”
Add that to a CEO welcome and well, some nights that’s just fine.
Tucker Shaw: 303-954-1958 or dining@denverpost.com
Maxwell’s American Brasserie
American. 7340 S. Clinton St., Englewood, 303-858-0111,
** RATING | Very Good
Atmosphere: Comfortable, contemporary dining room with wood accents, open kitchen and a large bar area.
Service: Friendly, enthusiastic and for the most part efficient.
Wine: Substantial list with a few good deals.
Plates: Appetizers, $6-$10. Entrees, $16-$39.
Hours: Lunch, 11 a.m.-2 p.m. Monday-Friday. Dinner, 5-10 p.m. Monday-Saturday. Brunch, 10 a.m.-2 p.m. Sunday.
Details: All credit cards. Parking lot. Wheelchair accessible. Expect to wait for a table during peak mealtime hours.
Three visits
Our star system:
****: Excellent
***: Great
**: Very Good
*: Good
