jpg If buzz about a place reaches me more than twice, it must be superhero-level hip. I live in a suburban wasteland where neighbors turn their garages into game rooms or meth labs. Yet choice words of newcomer St. Francis kept tickling my ear holes: beautiful, inspired, different. I had visions of a Tuscan courtyard where tame, non-edible animals nuzzled my pasta and monks tended a font of Chianti.

The reality is a box of L.A. coolness snuggled into a compact space on Camelback and 1st Street. Dining companion Lebo and I alighted on the bar patio beneath a roll-up garage door that lets the weather in. Yowza. If plate presentation is a visual first bite, then architecture must be the optic whiff. We couldn’t wait to taste St. Francis, a bustling urban ship of concrete and crumbling brick suspended by cables and powered by a wood-burning oven. Our bar-deck view into the restaurant was an invigorating splash of things to come.

Chef/owner Aaron Chamberlin is keeping the menu limited as he develops the kitchen’s repertoire, and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay like this forever. The choices are sparse enough that every dish gets noticed, ranging affordably between $6 and $20. I was instilled with a crazed desire to try them all.

Since we arrived during happy hour, offered from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. daily, Lebo and I decided to give it a whirl. The chef has picked out a perfectly drinkable bottle of white and red house wines for $10, a $6 discount. Don’t ask me why, but the menu dubs the bottle a “carafe,” and they won’t let you taste it first. Specialty cocktails drop from $9 to $5, a great deal if you’ve got a sweet tooth that can handle such concoctions as the Plum Blossom. Lebo adores honeyed-up liquor, a dubious trait in a man.

Though nobody informed us, we finally figured out that cocktail hour includes free bar snacks. You’ll find them semi-hidden on the west end of the bar: bowls of mixed olives, homemade potato chips, almonds roasted in spiced oil, and pizza. I give a big thumbs up to all. Even the cold pizza was shockingly tasty with a perfect crust.

I’d never seen Crispy Fingerling Potatoes ($6) on an appetizer menu before, and these tender taters should cause french fries everywhere to curl up in shame. Fried wisps of rosemary and sage and a shower of parmesan seasoned their perfectly blistered skin. A mayo-heavy lemony aioli on the side is available for dunking, if you absolutely must disgrace this perfect vegetable.

St. Francis’ most popular starter is Baked Goat Cheese ($8), topped with a pool of sun-dried tomato puree and a walnut-herb pesto ($8). Hey, how can you go wrong with a melted vat of cheese valiantly sided by thick, crusty slices of fresh bread? Because you can do much better, my friend. Go for the UFO-sized Flatbread ($12), outfitted with black mission figs, leeks, arugula and goat cheese. These figs are not kidding around; they’re Garden of Eden figs, quartered, pink and tender as Botticelli thighs. Feel the seeds crunch between your teeth, relish the tarty slap of dairy, inhale the fresh-baked crust.

And salad lovers will toss halos over saintly Romaine Hearts with Buttermilk Cheddar Dressing ($8). My mess o’ greens included diced grapes, avocado and squash. Chef Chamberlin, won’t you share the recipe for your mind-blowing dressing, lemony, creamy and addicting with sharp cheese? Maybe you could post it on your website as a holiday gift?

For a main course, Lebo insisted we try the Green Chile Pork Stew ($12) – tender chunks of pork simmered with green chilies, onion and probably a tomatillo puree. The “stew,” with an 85:15 protein-to-liquid ratio, comes in a cast-iron pan with a cloak of browned cheese. While you can’t go wrong with slow-cooked pigginess, I’ve had a very similar dish at Z Tejas, and it’s just $5 during happy hour.

My pick was a house specialty, Seafood Soup ($19) teaming with shrimp, mussels, clams, fish and aromatic vegetables. The restrained simple bowl, graced with a subtle broth, allows the ocean’s ingredients to do the talking. Lebo and I agreed this was the winner of the night. Just ignore that weird crouton heaped with the forgettable aioli.

Loser of the evening was the mysteriously crumbly French Onion Burger ($12), overdressed in smoked bacon and gruyere cheese and your choice of side, though I didn’t get asked and ended up with fries instead of the corn polenta. This is a burger with everything going on but flavor – a flutter of overwhelmed arugula, a full curvy bun, aggressive cheese, tough bacon, a huge patty and deep-fried onion that tastes burnt. It’s the Megan Fox of burgers.

The wait staff recommended we finish up with the Warm Sticky Toffee Pudding ($7), which resembles a two-tiered snowman. A tummy of cinnamon date bread has a melting head of sweet-cream gelato. Oohing and aawing, we dipped icy bites into a caramel-esque sauce. This is probably as close to “figgy pudding” as I’ll ever get.

Every night at St. Francis is like a holiday with a great mix of people and a well-heated patio. A few families were dining during our visits, and no wonder. The menu states that “Kiddos” – no age-limit noted – get their pick of cheese pizza with salad or pot roast with carrots at no charge. Until St. Nick opens his own restaurant, wish yourself a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year with a trip to this hip heaven.

St. Francis
111 E. Camelback Road, Phoenix
602-200-8111 or www.stfrancisaz.com
(Closed Mondays)