Hip but fishy

Jumpin’ Jay’s has the atmosphere right

By Kathy Gunst

Jumpin’ Jay’s Fish Café 150 Congress Street, Portsmouth, N.H. (603) 766-3474
Open 5:30 to 9 p.m. Mon.-Thurs., 5 to 10 p.m. on Sat., 5 to 9 p.m. on Sun.
All major credit cards
Full bar

JUMPIN’ JAY’S: great fish, well done.

The place is packed, pulsating with noise, music, people — drinking, eating, some just standing around, waiting for someone to notice them. It’s a Sunday night, close to 7. Where am I? New York, L.A., Portland? No, oddly enough it’s Portsmouth, New Hampshire — in the winter, no less. I have lived near Portsmouth for close to 20 years and I don’t recognize a soul. Is this a reflection of the wretched state of my social life, or is it another indication of how much Portsmouth has changed? Nearly everyone making this scene is 20-something. It’s a crowd of excellent haircuts and glasses and the self-assured air of being in the right spot at the right time with excess cash in your pocket.

We went to Jumpin’ Jay’s Fish Café looking for fish, however, not action. It has always been a mystery to me why a fishing town like Portsmouth doesn’t have several first-class seafood restaurants. But when Jumpin’ Jay’s opened late last fall, the buzz was that Portsmouth finally had a place to eat really fresh fish that wasn’t deep fried or baked with a breadcrumb topping.

The restaurant has a kind of hip, bare bones, urban atmosphere. It occupies two storefronts: some of the tables are set in a kind of awkward elongated space, and there also is a large, more open dining room a few steps below ground-level. The kitchen is open, and the bar wraps itself around the two levels, with dim lighting (bare bulbs with crude metal sconces) exposed heating ducts, red walls, and a hand-painted mural of fish.

The blackboard is outlined in tiny white Christmas lights listing the day’s specials: Grilled Swordfish (from Australia), Pan-Seared Chilean Sea Bass, Grilled Atlantic Farm-Raised Salmon (from Belfast, Maine), and Pan-Seared Yellow Fin Tuna (also from Australia). You choose the fish and then decide on the sauce: butternut-cauliflower coulis, lobster veloute, roasted red pepper relish, coconut ginger-soy, as well as “clean” (olive oil, salt, pepper and lemon) or “dirty” (citrus, fines herbs and Dijon marinade). Although the waitstaff will help guide you to match a fish and a sauce, you can basically create your own dish.

We had reserved a table, a tiny little square pulled up against a plate-glass window, looking out at a rather lackluster Portsmouth intersection. The wine list, hip in its little metal jacket, was interesting with a good collection of Italian, Australian, California, and French. The Pinot Grigio by the glass was a good choice.

Before we could decide what to eat, the waitress (dressed in the house “uniform” of khakis and a kind of Indonesian cotton shirt) brought out a terracotta plate with thick slabs of country bread, roasted garlic, black olives, and a bowl of creamy butter.

The bread, with its tangy sourdough flavor and dense, chewy texture, was ideal for sopping up the garlic cloves. We struggled to choose an appetizer, because it all sounded so good. On a previous visit, I had tasted the pan fried oysters with bacon and onions over fingerling potatoes. A superb salad: hot oysters combined with crisp bacon and buttery potatoes blended with a horseradish Dijon crème fraiche. I was also familiar with the pan-roasted little neck clams with Portuguese sausage, onions and tomatoes in a white wine-clam broth; an amazing combination of colors, textures, and flavors. I was tempted to have both of those again, but opted instead for the Lobster Risotto. My friend chose the soy-blackened jumbo scallops with bosc pear and dried cranberry chutney.

Three huge scallops, quite literally seared black on top, were tender and perfectly cooked. The fruity chutney had a slight zing, and combined with the buttery crunch of macadamia nuts turned out to be the perfect foil for the fish. The risotto was more problematic. A tail and one claw from a Maine lobster sat atop a wild mushroom and five-onion risotto. This Italian rice classic is one of my favorites, an ultimate comfort food, but here it lacked the creamy, cheesiness essential to risotto. The mushroom and onion flavors seemed superfluous. The lobster, while perfectly cooked, was a separate entity — not at all an integral part of the risotto.

As for the main course, the swordfish, grilled with a lemon-basil-pepper marinade was juicy, and like the scallops, cooked just right. But the presentation and the side dishes left a lot to be desired. The fish was tilted up onto a mound of mashed potatoes (decent potatoes, but nothing thrilling) alongside a roasted acorn squash half filled with an uninspired medley of sautéed carrots, celery, and tomatoes. The squash was dusted with a heavy dose of cinnamon and possibly nutmeg, making it a sweet dish that had no connection to the fish.

Worst of all was the garnish: half a cherry tomato, a spear of endive, and the top of a sad-looking piece of celery jutting out of the potatoes. My friend, an artist, declared it “retro and unthrilling.” It was the same story with the grilled salmon: beautifully cooked fish (though the Dijon mustard marinade was a bit heavy-handed) accompanied by the same sad “blob” of potatoes, sweet squash, and garnish 101. The plain white ceramic plates simply reinforced the lack of color, dimension, and interest.

Why is it that so many places serve such creative appetizers, but fall short when it comes to the main course? Maybe it’s more fun to cook small plates? In all fairness, we came for fish and the fish was well prepared. But the chef needs to take a good look at the plate and spark it up. If you go to Jumpin’ Jay’s, my advice is to order a few cold and then hot appetizers, a good bottle of wine, and skip the entrees entirely.