Company Kitchen and Pub House

3948677

3948680

Think of Company Kitchen and Pub House as a white zinfandel of restaurants.

A sommelier once described white zinfandel to me as a good starter wine, and that’s an apt description. It’s an easy-to-drink (read: sweet), usually inexpensive wine that’s a good introduction to vino — especially for the young — and most of us eventually move on to bigger and better things as our palates develop (though if you haven’t, that’s just fine with me; you don’t need to e-mail me to let me know you’re offended).

Anyway. Readers sometimes ask how I can give the same good grade to a diner that I give to a temple of haute cuisine, and the answer is simple: They’re each evaluated in a vacuum according to how well they fulfill their mission, in much the same way a sommelier might include a white zinfandel on a wine list with lots of big reds.

Which brings us back to Company, formerly known as Company American Bistro. You might get a hint of Company’s mission when you notice that it’s right smack-dab next to LAX, one of those trendy nightclubs. You also might get a hint if you know it’s operated by Pure Management Group, known for some of those trendy nightclubs. If you’re really dense, you can figure it out from the 20-somethings crowding the bar area, which you may have to weave through to get to the hostess stand.

Yes, this is starter food. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

There is, for example, an element of whimsical, updated comfort food, which has been done enough that it’s no longer fresh. That would include the fried mashed-potato sticks ($9), of which Company clearly is sufficiently proud, as it pictures them on posters all over the Luxor. They are, essentially, potato croquettes, fat tubes of mashed potatoes flavored with bacon and a bit of cheese, with a lightened sour-cream drizzle. They’re not particularly noteworthy, unless you’ve never had a potato croquette. But you know what? They were very good, with pillowy, fairly assertively flavored interiors, and exteriors with a satisfying crispness.

There’s the whimsically named Pig & Peas Mac & Cheese ($10), essentially a lightened macaroni-and-cheese with vegetable and meat — not particularly noteworthy, either, unless your experience is mostly with the thick, gloppy stuff. But with al dente elbow macaroni, a profusion of peas and chunks of lean ham and a sauce that was flavorful as well as gratifyingly light, it was another well-executed dish.

That was officially a Small Plate, which was a little odd in that it was larger than the Large Plate we had, a roasted chicken breast ($19). At any rate, again no culinary ground broken here, but the chicken breast was moist and well flavored, the accompanying mushroom ragout with a somewhat exotic sound but accessible flavor, and a bit of frissee for an air of sophistication.

A side dish of miso-glazed eggplant ($7) was predominantly sweet instead of the smoky we’d expect with a miso description, but it was quite tasty. And while we didn’t quite understand the reason for the pastry bowl in which the bananas Foster ($8) was served, we loved the caramelized fruit and subtly rum-flavored ice cream.

We loved the service, too, from some fresh-faced 20-somethings who seemed perfectly happy to be serving those they no doubt were sure were 80. The interior is full of nonsequitors — one wall of skis, one of sleigh runners, tables made of cross-sections of wood that haven’t held up real well under the strains of daily commercial use, judging from the extreme unevenness of our tabletop — but we liked the high-energy music with the distinctive beat (and the fact that it wasn’t overly loud) and the cool little cast-iron serving dishes, with magnetic wooden trivets to keep things together.

Yes, we’d say Company is a starter restaurant, but we imagine that’s appreciated by those who are starting. As for the rest of us?

Sometimes it’s fun to remember your roots.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella @reviewjournal.com.