Rural, chic tastiness out west

Nostalgia is the easiest way of engaging with the past. It perfects and corrects it, compensating us for our imagined losses with false memories of golden glories. But indulge me for a moment.

Back at the beginning of the '90s, the Breadbasket was a thing, a pilgrimage-worthy Mexican restaurant housed in a former bait shop on Arkansas 10 far west of town. While it served no alcohol, it encouraged folks to supply their own, which they did, sometimes in ice chests. In those days it wasn't unusual for us to make the trek (and it was a trek, a journey through dark country for which you might need to pack a lunch if not a firearm) with a gallon jug of Carlo Rossi Paisano.

Once you got to the restaurant, you'd find no waiters, but an invariably happy mob of fellow travelers who had come for the "authentic" Mexican dishes made with non-pesticide-sprayed vegetables and other fresh ingredients. It had a great all-you-could-eat cheese dip back in the days when I used to eat cheese dip. It had spectacular chicken enchiladas. The Breadbasket was as cheap and glorious as the misty past to which it belongs.

Pinnacle Valley Restaurant puts me in mind of the Breadbasket. It too is located way out west, in a part of Pulaski County that you either frequent or not: It's tucked away in the flatlands between Cantrell Road and the Arkansas River, about half a mile south of the entrance to the Maumelle Park campground. This is an area with bike trails, grasslands and houses on stilts, and the restaurant apparently looks to capitalize on the fairly regular traffic of cyclists, campers and would-be outdoors folk (Two Rivers Park and the Pulaski County-owned Garden Center plots are also nearby) who might drop in for a burger or a BLT.

Like the Breadbasket, a lot of what I find appealing about Pinnacle Valley Restaurant has more to do with its winning atmosphere than the food -- which we'll get to in a moment. It isn't situated in an old bait shop, but in a former yoga studio, a spacious steel-fabricated structure that's as unprepossessing as it is clean. (Were it not for the signs, it could pass for a modern country church of modest means and austere faith.) Horses graze in a white-fenced pasture that bounds two sides of the property. There is a sizable deck set behind the main dining area, accessible directly from the parking lot.

Inside is the main dining room -- to the left as you enter; a small "grab and go" store that sells Gatorade, energy bars, homemade pickles and other sundries is to the right; the "Studio," a private dining area with audio and visual equipment is straight back -- the walls are earth-toned and decorated in what might fairly be described as suburban aspirational, with artwork of varying quality and price hung on the wall. There's something of the feel of an old country roadhouse here, though everything looks sparkly new. The combination of the old-timey vibe with the obvious modernity of both the physical plant and menu produces a slight Cracker Barrel-style dissonance: this is not your meemaw's screen-doored general store/canteen.

That's not to suggest Pinnacle Valley feels unpleasant -- anything but. It's one of the more comfortable places we've been lately, well suited to a leisurely weekend lunch after a morning hike. We especially appreciate the (uncovered) deck, which accommodated us and our dogs (we asked first; they had no objections, and neither did the other diners). The clientele feels local and fairly well-heeled -- the parking lot was populated mostly by large American SUVs of recent vintage -- and distinctly family oriented, with a kid's menu (though unlike some "family" places you needn't feel weird about ordering a beer or glass of wine here).

One note about the service: The wisest thing Dave Barry ever wrote was that a person who is nice to you and rude to the waiter is not a nice person. I'd suggest that Pinnacle Valley Restaurant is a place for nice people, and that you might not want to bring the friend (or mother-in-law) who always finds something to complain about to PVR. For they will find something to complain about, and that might wreck the coltish charm of the place. This isn't a fully mature restaurant yet; it's more like a 6-month-old Labrador puppy, full of lummoxy energy that's not always laser-focused on getting you that wedge of lemon for your ice water or the extra bread you requested. But while the wait staff seemed inexperienced, they were attentive, sweet, enthusiastic and ultimately highly accommodating. They deserve a little patience.

Now the kitchen, that's another thing. The menu is more aspirational than chicken fried steak and 'taters -- there's some subtlety here with, like the Breadbasket, an emphasis on freshness. It offers a straightforward array of American classics like fried chicken, pork chops, burgers, soups, and sandwiches, but you can find slightly more exotic fare, like the San Miguel Turkey Sandwich ($8.49 with chips, but go for the excellent fries for 99 cents more), which adds avocado and green chiles to the sliced turkey and Swiss. The burgers are solid -- the house headliner ($10.99) comes with avocado and pineapple in addition to pepper jack cheese or standard American -- and the catfish po' boy ($10.99) was surprisingly light and refined.

The Pulled Pork Plate ($8.99) benefited from the house marinade and paired well with the crisp Barefoot Pinot Grigio. At the suggestion of Mike Fullerton, who owns the restaurant with his wife, Gina, we tried the Pinnacle Valley Alfredo ($13.49) with fried chicken strips substituted for the standard grilled ones. This isn't a call we'd have made on our own, but it was the right one.

A light appetite (and I mean light) might find pleasure in the Pinnacle Valley Salad ($10.99), with big, bursting-fresh blackberries, chopped pecans, and feta cheese atop a lively mix of tender greens. It's big on textures and tastes, but too pricey to be a side salad and not hearty enough for an entree.

We've heard good things about the breakfast -- served on Saturday and Sunday -- too. Especially the homemade cinnamon rolls (which aren't listed on the menu).

Don't misunderstand -- this is all basically pub food, and the restaurant is best understood as a reliable nonchain place servicing the relatively rural wilds of northwest Little Rock beyond Walton Heights and Fresh Market. But it's honest and tasty fare served in pleasant surroundings by nice people. And there are some good deals to be had. It might not inspire pilgrimages by urban foodies, but for cyclists and others who find themselves in the neighborhood, it's worth checking out.

Weekend on 09/10/2015