Mixx and Match

Maybe because I was a waiter myself for so many years, I don’t want to work while out to eat. That means I don’t like ordering at a counter and I really hate to carry my own plate, silverware and napkins across a dining room in search of a table. For doing that much work, the restaurant owner should be tipping me.

But I do make exceptions to my own rule, if the payoff — the food, the atmosphere, the price — is worth the irritation of schlepping my own meal. That’s definitely the case at the two-month-old casual-dining concept called The Mixx. Created by caterer Jo Marie Scaglia and her brother, Phil (her financial partner and occasional busboy when the place is swamped), it’s a salad and sandwich joint that’s truly upscale.

A friend of mine calls The Mixx “a sandwich shop for customers who wouldn’t be caught dead at Subway.” But that’s not a fair comparison, because the operation offers a far more sophisticated menu — with real chefs behind the counter — and sells more salads than sandwiches. And it sells a hell of a lot of sandwiches.

Actually, since she first threw open her glass-and-steel door last December, Jo Marie has been selling quite a bit of everything, except the Tuscan tuna sandwich (which is now off the menu but occasionally offered as a special) and the Grilled Steak Philly sandwich. The Philly got a glamour makeover last month and was reborn as the Classic Blue; the slices of beefsteak stayed the same, but the topping of grilled onions and provolone was changed to grilled, balsamic-splashed onions and mushrooms and a punchy blue-cheese aioli. It’s all tucked into a crusty French baguette and is extraordinarily rich but delicious.

Because The Mixx is in my neighborhood, I’ve dined there at least a dozen times and ordered a couple of carryout meals so I could lazily eat in front of the TV. But the tube is rarely as interesting as people-watching in The Mixx’s 75-seat dining room. It attracts a really eclectic clientele: white-collar workers from the offices above and surrounding the restaurant (including a lot of lawyers), Plaza condo dwellers, construction workers building new midtown lofts, and mothers and kids who stepped over for a snack after visiting the branch library right across the parking lot.

“It’s sort of a see-and-be-seen place,” said my friend Sophia, who joined me, Annabelle, Justin and Jane for lunch one afternoon. But Sophia didn’t see anyone she knew, except her boss, who was having some intense business meeting, so we pretended we didn’t see her. “But there are people here who look like they’re somebody,” Sophia said. “Do you think they are?”

I couldn’t think, period. I was still reeling from just ordering my lunch. And that brings me to my only real gripe with The Mixx: It is utter chaos at the front door. Customers stand in line to get to an ordering station where several young men in white jackets are whirling around, taking orders, throwing salmon on a grill, slicing sandwiches and mixing salads. There’s a specific routine for ordering in this claustrophobic corner, but it’s not clearly defined, even when the adorably shaggy “greeter” hands you a laminated menu and attempts to explain it.

“Right there,” he said, pointing to the left-hand corner of the open wrap-around kitchen, “is where you order salads.” Pointing a couple of feet away from the salad station, he announced, “And you order sandwiches over there.”

“And where does one order pasta?” I asked. Shaggy scratched his head and grinned. “I’m not totally sure, let me go and ask.” He did, although I didn’t remember where to go, because he launched into an interesting monologue about his former job at a midtown Japanese steakhouse, where the money had been really lousy. I got caught up in that story and lost my sense of direction. It didn’t matter, because I hadn’t planned on ordering pasta. But Justin was going to order another of the daily specials, the beef stew, so he needed to be pointed in the direction of the pasta line.

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I ordered from the sandwich chef, who checked off my request — a Moody Rudy sandwich — then shoved a copy of the order slip at me and pointed me in the direction of the cashier. There was so much pointing going on, I briefly felt like Dorothy navigating the Yellow Brick Road in the middle of Munchkinland.

As I stepped forward, Annabelle caught my arm. “Look at the chef making salads. He looks like somebody famous.”

I squinted in the direction of the bald, attractive, whirling dervish on the other side of the glass divider and had an epiphany. “Billy Zane!” I said.

Annabelle agreed, although she felt that the real Billy Zane could never be as spectacularly coordinated as chef Jim Gasser — formerly of the Dragonfly Grill — who juggles metal bowls and fresh vegetables with nearly breakneck speed. A friend of mine says that asking for an unexpected request, like a chopped salad, can briefly throw him off his beat, but only momentarily.

Annabelle watched in fascination as Gasser tossed together the ingredients in Sophia’s made-to-order Mixx salad. She was the only really creative member of our group —she took the restaurant’s concept at face value and chose all the ingredients she wanted in her salad: wild field greens, artichoke hearts, edamame, couscous, tomato and avocado.

Jo Marie named her place The Mixx because customers can order custom-made salads from three dozen ingredients or sandwiches mixed together from a less extravagant list of meats, cheeses, breads and spreads. She said that half of her patrons really do choose their own ingredients, but I never have because I draw the line at carrying my own plate. Having to invent a sandwich or a salad wouldn’t be an exercise in culinary creativity for me; it would be work.

Besides, I already have a couple of favorites from Scaglia’s selection of signature sandwiches, including a very fine chicken salad flavored with tarragon mayonnaise, crunchy pecans and the Mexican turnip, jicama. It’s served on a buttery croissant — two words so alluring to me.

I was sure that one of my lunch companions would go for the Country Club, with its ham, bacon, smoked turkey and cheddar on a ciabatinni roll. But the ladies all chose healthy salads, and Justin opted for a big bowl of beef stew. I chose the one sandwich I hadn’t tasted, a vegetable number called the Moody Rudy, which is constructed from roasted zucchini, eggplant, red peppers, spinach and melted cheese. I wasn’t warned when I ordered it that it was a labor-intensive item. When it finally arrived (someone brought it out to me!), my lunchmates were halfway through their meals. I got moody, all right.

Justin was impressed with the beef stew because, he said, “It’s better than I expected, although I’m not sure what I expected.” Justin has the same wariness that I do about the “fast casual” restaurant concept, because so many corporate chains of this ilk pay more attention to the fast and the casual aspects … and less to the food quality.

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But Jo Marie is a perfectionist, and her stew was loaded with chunks of beef, celery, potato and carrots in a hearty broth. Her noodle offerings were also terrific. Jane waffled over that day’s special, a Thai carrot pasta, but wound up ordering the Thai salmon salad. I tried pushing her to order the former because a few days earlier, I had eaten a bowl of pasta with grilled chicken and fresh vegetables in a Thai chili sauce that was so extraordinary, I almost requested a second bowl.

Many of the same ingredients in my Moody Rudy sandwich are used in the Veg-Out salad that Annabelle ordered. It’s a healthy creation, with roasted vegetables, goat cheese and couscous tossed together; although Jo Marie confessed that a lot of her clientele ask for meat to be thrown in, too. This is Kansas City, after all.

Those uncomplicated fresh salads certainly didn’t stop Annabelle, Jane, and Sophia from eagerly reaching for desserts when the lunch plates were cleared away. The pastries are made by Jo Marie’s aunt and a family friend, and they really do look and taste homemade. We shared two cookies, an oversized cupcake and a tiny bundt cake. All agreed that the standout sweet was the miniature carrot bundt cake glazed with sugary frosting and coconut.

The moist German chocolate cupcake was baked with a dark chocolate batter instead of the traditional milk chocolate, but we liked it better that way. “And I don’t usually like German chocolate cake,” Jane said, grabbing another small piece. She liked the cookies, too, especially the chewy, flat macaroon. We almost got into fisticuffs over the last crumb.

Annabelle was intrigued to hear that Jo Marie’s outdoor patio opens next month. And Jo Marie is thinking of hosting a few mixers (Mixxers?) for singles. “You could meet someone smart here,” I told Annabelle. After all, the library is practically next door.

No single scene for me, though. I’ll just mix it up with Moody Rudy.