Review: B.J.'s Restaurant & Brewhouse in Fort Worth

B.J.'s Restaurant & Brewhouse, a California-based chain whose fourth Tarrant location recently opened in southwest Fort Worth, operates in the vein of restaurants like Bennigan's, T.G.I. Friday's and Chili's. It's an upbeat place for families and first dates and those who can't decide on a restaurant. A 10-page food menu, consisting of deep-dish pizza, pastas, burgers, sandwiches and steaks, practically guarantees that everyone will find something to order.

There is a contemporary twist: the "Brewhouse" part. As local awareness and appreciation of beer, particularly craft beer, continues to swell (see this week's DFW.com Ink cover story), the arrival of B.J.'s seems perfectly timed.

It should be clarified, however, that B.J.'s -- a brewpub -- is different from a brewery, like Fort Worth's Rahr & Sons. The restaurant's signature beer is brewed at Saint Arnold Brewing Co. in Houston; beer is delivered twice a week. Those brewery tanks you see in the back of the restaurant, behind a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, are filled with root beer, one of several soft drinks made in-house. That B.J.'s doesn't brew its beer on-site, though, doesn't necessarily diminish the quality of it. We tried a flight of four ($6.50), and found much to like.

Brewhouse Blonde, for instance, was a nice, light pale beer -- good for those who prefer smoothness over complexity. Jeremiah Red was a red ale made from five specialty malts, but it wasn't as heavy or busy as you might think; it had a fresh, crisp taste.

P.M. Porter, a thick, dark ale flavored with molasses, caramel and chocolate, was initially sweet but unfurled into heavy, roasted flavors that were slightly different with every sip. This beer is conditioned with nitrogen, as opposed to carbon dioxide, making it a bit more interesting texturally. Out of the four we sampled, it was our favorite.

Our least favorite was Harvest Hefeweizen, a wheat beer that the menu described as "spicy." We were expecting a kick but got a pat instead.

In addition to the signature beers, there are more than 20 others on tap, ranging from Rahr's Ugly Pug, to California's Stone Arrogant Bastard amber beer, to Germany's Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse Dunkel, a dark wheat beer. B.J.'s also has a surprising number -- 20 -- of Belgian ales, bottle conditioned like champagne, such as Orval, Piraat and Gulden Draak.

(Poor wine-lovers; the wine list is only a page long.)

Perhaps such a focus on drinks has distracted B.J.'s from the food, which, during our visit, was treated like an afterthought. As is sometimes the case with restaurants with large, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink menus, there's no focus, so everything suffers. We tried several items from the massive lists of appetizers, small plates and entrees, but few proved memorable.

One of the exceptions was baked macaroni and cheese ($3.95), served as a small plate but big enough for an entree. Twisted rotini pasta was mixed with melted cheddar and alfredo cheese sauce, then topped with Parmesan, bread crumbs, bits of applewood-smoked bacon and, a lighthearted and crunchy touch, crushed Goldfish crackers. Another good appetizer: avocado egg rolls ($9.95). Six crisp, slightly browned wontons came filled with chunks of soft avocado, cream cheese, pine nuts and sun-dried tomatoes -- a nice mix of flavors. The sweet, thin dipping sauce wasn't needed.

Pass on the Italian mini meatball appetizer ($3.95). A half-dozen small meatballs were drenched in routine marinara sauce, masking the flavor of the meat as well as that of the melted fontina cheese on top. The meatballs crumbled upon a fork's touch.

Deep-dish pizza is a B.J.'s specialty, the dish for which the chain has been known since the first store opened in 1978. A mini, 7-inch Mediterranean ($10.75) came topped with cubes of chicken breast, chopped pepperoncinis, clumps of feta cheese and sun-dried tomatoes; the thick crust was moist and pleasantly chewy. But the chicken had little flavor and the feta was overpowering.

Jambalaya made with shrimp, blackened chicken breast and chicken-andouille sausage ($15.50) sounded promising but was another disappointment. The small shrimp and brown rice were unusually mushy, and the chunks of chicken breast tasted neither blackened nor seasoned. Ribbons of green bell peppers were good, nice and crunchy. With a firm texture and good flavor, the sausage was the best part.

One area where the restaurant restrains itself is with desserts. There was only a single page of choices, and the menu made it easy to choose, as it emphasized the Pizookie ($5.95), a cookie baked in a small pizza deep dish then topped with ice cream. We went with a chocolate chunk cookie crowned with two scoops of vanilla bean ice cream; we wished we would have had it for dinner.

The restaurant itself is new-car immaculate, dotted with flat-screen TVs, comfortable booths and subtle wood colors. Service was friendly and quick, if a bit inexperienced. B.J.'s is also nothing if not instantly popular: On a weekend night, there was a 20-minute wait for a table. Then again, you can also belly up to the bar and just get a beer. With food like this, that might be the best way to go.