El Dorado | In a city where staff shortages and inexperience are norm, Jay Bee’s staff are a breath of fresh air.
JAY BEE’S RESTAURANT AND GRILL
3633-118 Ave., 477-5885
There are quintessential summer experiences that stay with you for a lifetime, and each year when our winter of discontent is once again made glorious summer, I find myself awaiting those few magic moments. Moments like stepping into the backyard on a warm afternoon to the smell of raspberries baking on the vines, or cool, moist dill-scented night air... But more than anything, when I think of summer, I think of road trips, the freedom of the open highway, and, of course, truck-stop food.
I don’t know why, but there’s something sinfully delightful about pulling into a truck stop with a “what happens in Innisfree stays in Innisfree” attitude, and ordering the greasy, honest fare that I’d never allow myself otherwise. I’m sad to say, however, that I haven’t managed to get away from work long enough for a road trip, and upon coming to this realization, I hurriedly piled the kids into the truck and informed them that we were going to “get Daddy’s trucker on.”
This being Edmonton—which I believe is a Celtic word meaning “an Albert’s Family Diner on every corner”—I wasn’t sure exactly where we were heading. I know numerous Humpty’s and Denny’s locations where I can get dodgy breakfast fare, as well as touted favourites like the Sugarbowl and High Level Diner, but I wanted something grittier. I wanted a place that work crews would frequent, and that’s when I remembered a friend’s recommendation about Jay Bee’s in Beverly.
Jay Bee’s is hard to describe. It looks like it might have been a Smitty’s or White Spot once upon a time, but its décor is oddly pleasing and somewhat reminiscent of the diner Honey Bunny (aka Yolanda) and Ringo try to hold up in Pulp Fiction. We grabbed a booth along the window and were immediately greeted by a smiling, coffee-carrying woman whose nametag read Frances—but she wasn’t fooling me. She was Flo from Alice and just about the sweetest and most professional server ever. In an age when “good service” typically consists of a marginally helpful 12-year-old who doesn’t tell you to eff off after getting your order wrong, Frances was like a shimmering fountain of hope that made me say aloud with hands raised in praise: “El Dorado.” She slipped in and out effortlessly, calling other patrons by name, offering side bits of chatter while adjusting orders and providing menu guidance. Then, without ever really realizing we had ordered, she magically appeared with our food, a smile, and more coffee! Brilliant.
I ordered a ham and cheese omelet ($8.50, most items are between $7 and $9). I love omelets and can go on at length about why they’re the perfect food. I’ve served porcini mushroom omelets at dinner parties, and given copies of Elizabeth David’s An Omelette and a Glass of Wine as birthday, wedding, and Christmas gifts. I had absolutely no delusions, however, that I most certainly wouldn’t be getting a classic French omelet at Jay Bee’s: instead of a gently folded pancake of egg rolled around a slab of creamy French cheese, I was dealt a brown crusty layer of egg that had been cooked on a grill and cracked in half to accommodate some good old cheddar. The whole thing was then placed under a broiler to melt the cheese before being adorned with heaps of hashbrowns and hurried to my table. Perfect. As for those hashbrowns, they were grated potatoes that had been batch-cooked on the same grill and held in a steam table before being heaped in mounds onto waiting plates of eggs and various fatty meats. (The menu isn’t too extensive—mostly fried eggs and grilled meat.) Don’t get me wrong: the food was perfect. Real potatoes, cooked honestly and served to an appreciative audience, and a hearty omelet, although somewhat greasy, served without pretension to a very hungry man. I definitely had my trucker on.
As I stepped out onto the street after breakfast, I realized that my visit to Jay Bee’s had done relatively little to satiate my need for a road trip, and a drive to the “306” was likely still in the offing. Nonetheless, I left with the reassurance that I had just discovered one heck of a good breakfast restaurant, and was well on my way to creating a new quintessential summer experience.
