Jow Nai Foquet
Even though it’s situated in one of the smallest restaurant spaces in the city, Jow Nai Foquet has a big hole to fill in the Milwaukee dining scene. The previous tenant, Abu’s, was the first and longest-standing Middle Eastern restaurant in town, and an East Side culinary landmark for more than 30 years. Setting the new Thai bistro at even more of an immediate disadvantage is its two-block proximity to local favorite EE Sane. Undaunted by neither history nor competition, The A.V. Club wasted no time in giving Jow Nai a fair shot.
The space: If there are any relics remaining from the Abu’s lengthy occupation of the space, they’ve been whitewashed over and gussied up. Somehow, the diminutive establishment appears larger than Abu’s. Still, seating capacity barely eclipses 20 between the tables and colorfully chic wood-crafted bar and booth. The dim eatery was brightened with fresh white paint and colorful flower decals. Sonically, Jow Nai seemes to rely on jazz and big band to set the mood, including a rather strange adult contemporary version of “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number.”
The service: Though the dinner crowd never climbed past four people—five, if you count the man who briefly walked in and asked customers for money—our server was kind, attentive, and knowledgeable of the menu. Smiley owner Aomjai Nueakaew made sure to check in a few times as well, once to bring us (and all other patrons) complementary soup.
The A.V. Club’s food: The drink list had a decent amount of spirits, complete with house margaritas, specialty martinis, and (primarily domestic and local craft) beers. We dodged the booze in favor of a fresh-made mango smoothie ($3), which was thick, exceptionally rich, and super sweet with all the makings of a dessert substitute. Plus, it made a capable coolant when our entrée arrived.
The tiny restaurant’s menu is deceivingly large, boasting 11 appetizers, three soups, and 36 entrees that run the gamut from green, yellow, and red curries; and an array of seafood, pork, beef, and chicken dishes. (There are also 10 vegetarian dinners.) We quickly settled on a Thai standard, volcano chicken ($9.50) at a “very hot” spice level of three. (One is “hot” and two is “go native.”) The spice key was accurate, as we battled through the tangy fried chicken hunks and blistering mixture of jasmine rice, cabbage, carrots, and red Jow Nai sauce. That’s not to say we didn’t love each and every smoldering bite. We only wish there were more bites to take, as the portions were fairly light and had an imbalanced chicken to cabbage ratio.
The verdict: Jow Nai probably won’t push past three decades like its predecessor, but its intimate interior and tasty take on Thai make the eatery a welcome replacement for Abu’s. At the very least, it’s worth considering when the wait at EE Sane is unbearable.
