A feast fit for the King at Elvis Cafe

A feast fit for the King at Elvis Cafe

Inching through Jakarta's lunchtime snarl, Epicurus and
friends spruced themselves up for their rendezvous with the King.
No, not Larry, Carole or even Rodney, but the one and only Elvis.

Or rather, the theme restaurant on the ground floor of the
Arthaloka building on Jl. Sudirman, Central Jakarta, devoted to
the Presley phenomenon. An apt choice, as this month marks the
20th anniversary since the King toppled from his throne and came
to his final resting place kissing a marbled bathroom floor at
Graceland.

Elvis and food. Isn't that a tortured relationship akin to
Judy G. and Jack Daniels, or Mama Cass and ham sandwiches? Now,
now, curb that cynicism. If Kenny can have his chicken joint, and
Naomi, Elle and Claudia deign to dish up slim pickings at their
own swank eatery, why can't the favorite son of Tupelo,
Mississippi?

For Elvis does, after all, hold his own peculiar place in
modern food lore, a true lover of down-home Southern staples
before the cuisine acquired the sheen of respectability that
comes on the pages of a tony Martha Stewart cookbook. Gourmand or
glutton, Elvis sure liked his grub. Lots of it.

There was at least one dyed-in-the-wool Elvis fan among us, a
startling walking compendium of royal trivia. In what Elvis movie
did Mary Tyler Moore play a nun living in a ghetto? Who was his
leggy costar in G.I. Blues? What did he prefer to chow down on in
the wee hours of the morning? (for the uninitiated, The Habit,
Juliet Prowse and fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches).

We were caught up in our own game of Elvis anticipation as we
neared the restaurant. Would the waiters be dressed in Vegas
ruffles and flares, answer with a sheepish "yes, Ma'am" and curl
their lips in the trademark smile as they jotted down our orders?

We had even more fun in guessing ahead the menu. Would it
boast a King Creole Lobster Salad, Jailhouse Rock Burger,
Caesar's Palace Salad, In the Ghetto Grits or Roustabout Rib-eye?
Or, our favorites, a Love Me Tenderloin, Ring of Fire Onion
Rings, Blue Hawaii Salad and the Colonel's Fried Chicken (as in
Parker, not Saunders)? We were on an Elvis roll.

Alas, it seemed we were a little more creatively minded than
the people who came up with the theme cafe.

Elvis Cafe, located at the back of the building, past
Mu'amalat Bank and the elevators, is surprisingly cavernous, with
an upstairs balcony section for gazing down on the evening's
performing acts.

Memorabilia, primarily press clippings and photos, adorn the
walls, a chronological gallery of Elvis through the ages.

A young, wholesome, unpardonably cute Elvis smiles broadly at
diners. The King, sleek in black leather, gyrates provocatively
before a gaggle of adoring female fans. An older Elvis, in tragic
decline, bloated and glassy eyed, his white pant suit stretched
dangerously at its seams.

That, and some merchandise of T-shirts, is about the sum of
the Elvis influence.

The waiters, pleasant and efficient, did not don the expected
togs, but that universal uniform of jeans and crewneck shirts. No
soulful ballads blared out from the music system, but,
incongruously, a frenetic number from those great 1980s
pretenders Depeche Mode.

Except for the Priscilla fish sandwich, which at least one of
us thought had to do with drag queens cavorting through the
Australian outback, there was no nod to Elvis on the menu.

That included the selections. Mashed potatoes drowned in
gravy, honey-dipped fried chicken and grits were nowhere to be
found among the standard upscale diner fare of sandwiches,
steaks, salads and Mexican.

A tad disappointed, we made our choices. "Maybe the veggies
come in guitar shapes," one of us quipped. They didn't, but,
fortunately, the spread would have done the King proud.

We enjoyed the Nachos Supreme, individual corn triangles laden
with a mountain of beans, jalapenos, cheese and extra beef. Just
as tasty were lightly crumbed onion rings served with tartar
sauce.

Two of us plumped for steak selections and the other went
south of the border for entrees. Steak Zingara, a U.S. sirloin in
a gravy speckled with mushrooms and green peppers, was pronounced
succulent and delicious. Baffled at first by the oddly named
Mushroom Steak Mushroom, we discovered it was a tenderloin doused
in a tangy mushroom sauce and garnished with additional breaded
fried mushrooms.

The Chicken Fajitas made it a hat trick in the satisfaction
department. One more corn tortilla would have been helpful, but
the chicken, mushrooms and green peppers were sauteed just right.

The only dessert item we wanted to try was the Blueberry Hill
Cheesecake (what's Fats Domino doing in an Elvis eatery?). Bland,
too-dryly textured and lacking any distinctive flavor, the
cheesecake turned out to be just passable.

Which brought us to the end of our midday tryst with a legend.
Although not cheap (Rp 144,000 for three, including drinks of
mineral water, coffee and coke) and disappointingly skimpy for
avowed Elvis aficionados hungry for some musical blasts from the
past, the food was excellent. Fit for the King himself.

-- Epicurus