I’ve always known hotel restaurants to be overpriced purveyors of mediocre food, though I’m aware that in some cities, celebrated local chefs lead acclaimed dining rooms within hotel walls. Still, I typically choose to venture out of the hotel for more cultural immersion. So curiosity struck when I learned about a hotel restaurant in Fairbanks that is frequented by locals.
Fairbanks isn’t known for an abundant or particularly inspired food scene, but any word of “popular” hotel restaurants raises an eyebrow for me. I kept hearing about Zach’s, located in the Sophie Station Hotel, which has a reputation for being a great date night spot, Friday night hang, or place for dinner and a meeting.
The dining room was less than half full and staffed by only two servers when we arrived at 6:30 p.m. on a Wednesday. As a former server, I am constantly scanning tables watching for signs of folks waiting too long with clean plates, empty water glasses, or bored looks with closed menus. Despite the sparse staffing I didn’t notice any of these signs, so I relaxed into the comfortable chair. The space is cozy with dark carpeting and fish taxidermy. Dark wood trim and bookshelves lend an intimate vibe that doesn’t feel pretentious at all.
Soon enough, the reputation as a locals’ spot rang true: a Fairbanks family came in with kids my husband had coached in soccer. We looked around to assess the hotel-guest to local ratio, and figured it at roughly 1:1.
We were promptly served our drinks and nacho appetizer. We ate it happily thanks to a flavorful cilantro crema, succulent pulled pork and, my favorite, pickled jalapenos, though the tortilla chips themselves were too salty for my taste. I would say things started going downhill after that.
The servers fell behind as the dining room filled. The woman at the table to my left had her credit card waiting for ten minutes. Empty wine and water glasses littered a table of three in the corner. I saw one server rush off to the kitchen and come back with a cart loaded on two levels with full plates of food, meaning they’d been rescued from a long stay in kitchen hot-lamp purgatory. The servers were friendly and working hard, there just weren’t enough of them.
My husband ordered a 10 oz New York steak at a bargain price of $35, which was served sauceless with mashed potatoes and criminally under seasoned steamed carrots and broccoli. I ordered the French dip ($22) which came on a nice French roll with an agreeable au jus, but was again overly salty. I added a side house salad for $10 — expensive for being run-of-the-mill. Both entrees had clearly served time under a heat lamp: an unmistakable grayness shrouded the mashed taters, and the horseradish sauce meant to accompany the French dip was crusted onto my plate.
With every new table that sat down, I became more distracted by the sideways glances toward the bar where existing patrons waited for refills, tried to pay, and checked their watches. I hoped newcomers had plenty of time to invest in their dinner journey ahead.
I ordered the peanut butter pie for dessert, since I’d heard it is a Zach’s standout. We waited so long for our slice to be delivered that it ended up being comped, but it didn’t turn out to be worth the wait with a one-dimensional flavor that was drowned in Hershey’s syrup.
Now yawning, we had to walk to the bar to avoid waiting to pay our bill. The bartender was gracious and apologised for the slow service. On our way over, my husband greeted another soccer family who’d just sat down.
Driving home, I thought about the restaurants my family frequented when I was a kid. They weren’t always good — they were just ours. Maybe that’s Zach’s distinction. It’s not a place I’d recommend, and I’m not itching to return, but I get it. Sometimes “good enough” is enough: a welcoming spot where you know the menu, the servers give you a familiar smile, and no one’s going to rush you out.
Still, I’m waiting to be proven wrong about hotel restaurants — Zach’s wasn’t it.
Jenny Weis writes for a variety of Alaska nonprofits and causes in between keeping up on Alaska's doughnut scene, sliding on snow, and gawking at cool plants and rocks along local trails.
