Is the Fuss Over Jook Joint All Hype?

There’s big buzz around Jook Joint. I’m not feeling it.

You may not take Jook Joint's chili oil in a little container to go.

Chef Ryan Ostler wants all of his containers to be biodegradable, and he can't find one that's right for his housemade hot sauce.

A quibble? Maybe, but tiny Mexican and Vietnamese spots have been humbly making in-house pastes of oil and chili forever. They'll happily let you take a little plastic cup to go, so it can be applied prudently throughout your meal.

And so went my first impression of Jook Joint, the much-hyped new Asian-barbecue fusion cart at the big downtown pod on Southwest 10th Avenue. This is a cart that makes upscale, "innovative" versions of traditional street foods, with premium ingredients and prices to match. In a week's time, it went from "sleeper" in Portland Monthly to "the early breakout food cart star of 2016," in the other weekly.

Jook Joint GO BOWLING: This joint’s jook is its best dish. (Emily Joan Greene)

A caution to those who might be tempted to take an early lunch and hop in line: It's fine, but it's no match for more traditional Asian fare or the best Texas barbecue, and the combination here brings out the best qualities of neither.

Mostly, it's the little things: The book-thick dough on the bao is too big and not especially pillowy, the bread on the banh mi is too old and crusty, the pickled veggies have a beautiful color but are drenched in a cidery flavor that masks their individual character, and the coconut-covered hush puppies ($4) travel poorly and aren't worth a buck apiece.

Many of those little faults are forgotten midway through the jook—aka congee, aka rice porridge—which takes on the smokiness of the chicken on top of it, along with the invisible prickle of lemongrass and ginger that keeps your spoon moving. I also enjoyed the papaya hot dog, whose shredded slaw played well against the curried-up link of Thai sausage. And on that heavy dish, the An Xuyen bun does its job well.

But the banh mi were another story. Vietnamese sandwich shops tend to make those buns in-house, often on the hour, because their high-rise French dough ages very poorly. Here, they were purchased the same day but already crusty with age. They all but swallowed the meager serving of brisket, pork belly and "pulled chicken." The pulled chicken especially was dry and totally lost.

A little chili oil might have helped, but while still at the cart, I'd hesitated to dump too much on and lose any delicate flavors lurking in there. I needn't have worried. Feel free to ladle it on. If you like spice, and you want chicken, and you're eager to try a buzzing downtown cart, load 'er up.

EAT: Jook Joint, 511 SW 10th Ave., 801-647-9408. 11 am-4 pm Monday-Friday (but sells out early some days).

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