J Betski's

J. Betski’s, one of the few German restaurants in the Raleigh area, features well-cooked German and Polish food.  It has long been one of our favorite places for fine dining, great for celebrating special events.

Though not tonight.

When we first moved here, five years ago, I would have eaten at J. Betski’s every night had I a wallet ample enough, and a waistline not already too ample.  Jeremy, the bartender and occasional waiter, a friend of my son, was friendly, funny, charming, knowledgeable and willing to try different approaches even to the staid old duchess, the martini.  Todd, the chef back then, cooked tremendous treats and the menu always listed something special, different, and intriguing. 

Two weeks ago my wife and I brought my sister there for a festive last dinner to celebrate her having been able to live in Raleigh for almost a year while on a long time job assignment. She was leaving that weekend, heading back home.  We were in the mood to party; especially since my sister had heard us speak frequently and glowingly of J. Betski’s food, drink and merriment.

Tonight put the lie all our claims.

Though we knew that Jeremy had left to work elsewhere; and that Todd had moved on to open his own restaurant in Durham, we also remembered having a fine time last September even with the replacements.  Among our many delights that past autumn night, was meeting a renowned local architect and his wife, who were also enjoying a good supper.  He had been a teacher of one my favorite people, Chris Boney, our school architect in Wilmington.

Our spirited bubble of enthusiasm began its slow deflation with the arrival of our waitress.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Vivian ordered wine; Lyn one of their specials, the Beet Jammer, beet infused vodka mixed with apple cider and spicy ginger ale.

On tasting the Jammer, Lyn couldn’t even take a second sip she disliked it so much, claiming that it reminded her too much of unwashed beets. Swelled with my pride in J. Betski’s, I told her not to worry, the restaurant would gladly get her something else at no charge.  Good restaurants do that. The waitress, however, frowned at my comment, took the drink away and then came back for Lyn’s new order.

The waitress frowned? How very strange for J. Betski’s.

I ordered a Hendrick’s martini, in honor of Jeremy who had first introduced me to this unusual, cucumber infused gin, after all our whole evening wound around nostalgia and Lyn’s fun Raleigh memories.

Two other customers near us had their martinis, full and pleasant. I was in great expectation. But …. 

What I received was nothing like Jeremy’s.  Nothing like that served at any other table. Frankly it was nothing like what I usually got from Henry, Jeremy’s bar tender replacement. Plumped down like a gauntlet was no martini, but rather its puny resemblance, a mere dash of gin, barely filling a third of the glass.

Did this have anything to do with my sending back the Jammer?

Was Henry getting back at me for my cavalier attitude toward one of his specials?  Was he punishing me for my presumption? One hates to have such thoughts because they sound so petty, so childish, but perhaps so unfortunately close to reality.  Whatever the reason, the Lilliputian martini, with mocking smugness, dared me to take some action.

I sent it back, but I did tell the waitress that I would pay the extra for a real martini.  It came back, filled almost to the top, and was quite delicious.  Wonderful taste, fine aroma. It was so good that I had three.

My faith in J. Betski’s seemed renewed. We all sat back, relaxed, sipped our drinks and nibbled on our appetizers.  Our orders had gone into the kitchen. The service seemed to be getting better.

As with every other time we had been to J. Betski’s, the food was really fine. These were the old and well-remembered Betski’s recipes.  My sister had never tasted spaetzli, and so my wife ordered a spaetzli side as one of our appetizers. Lyn was delighted.  We also ordered mushroom and cabbage pierogis with sage brown butter.  These were plump, moist and tasty, but in my opinion, the spaetzli stole the show.

Lyn, who wanting to taste the true German/Polish influence, strayed from her diet and ordered the fresh kielbasa with house made sauerkraut and spicy mustard.  So good.  She was enjoying it so much, I dared not even ask her for a taste.

Though it seemed hard to believe, I had never ordered their schnitzel.  Tonight was the night, and I was not disappointed.  The pork had been pounded thin, lightly breaded and fried.  The meat was tender, the breading crispy but not oily.  The lingonberry preserves were served just like the picture on the web, a deep purple pond between two wedges of lemon. A feast to the eye as well as the tongue.  Though I rarely eat cucumbers, tonight was my night: Hendricks and now Austrian potato and dill-cucumber salads, both were so very satisfying, especially on a hot summer night.

But the shadow over the evening returned with the presentation of the bill. The “extra” that I incurred for one full drink came to $20 – that’s $20 each, $60 dollars for three martinis.  I’m guessing that none of the other patrons spent $20 on their drinks – we certainly had not in September.  We are retired and careful that our life savings are not too early depleted. Betski’s punched the fun out of our sails, as well as our budget.

Betski’s Revenge was no way for my sister to remember Raleigh.

Part of tonight’s problem may be due to lack of supervision.  When Todd left, the owner took over as chef; as a result he rarely ever gets out to see over operations or to talk to his guests.

I left feeling used and ill-treated, especially compared to the optimism I enjoyed on entering. 

I will go back to Betski’s if for no other reason than I still have a Betski’s Gift Certificate from my son last Christmas. But, I’ll have a beer instead.  If the hospitality has not much changed, I’ll cross Betski’s off my list – but with great regrets.

J. Betski’s is located at 10 W Franklin St, Suite 120, Raleigh, NC 27604. (919) 833-7999.  http://jbetskis.com/