When Johnny Nolan took over the Navajo Hogan this year, revamping the 76-year-old roadhouse with a menu of tasty pizzas, pub standards and delicious broasted chicken, most people thought it could be only a good thing. After all, Johnny has a good track record. He won a loyal following with his easy-going banter and knack for recognizing a face when he worked at Ritz Grill.

His fans, many of them of the white-collar Harley-Davidson crowd, followed him down Tejon Street when, with the help of investors, he opened his own place, SouthSide Johnny’s. And the good vibe he created there attracted many more followers.

At first, I was not a big fan of SouthSide Johnny’s, mostly because of the clientele. If I wanted to see baby boomers being loud and obnoxious, I would turn on C-Span.

What won me over was Johnny. He runs a tight ship. He is always there, checking on your food, telling a joke, maybe comping a drink. In a pinch he wipes tables. He changes taps. In short, he makes the business work. It became the type of bar you could go to for good food, good service and a good value. I figured if anyone could breath new life into the Hogan, it was Johnny.

And the Hogan needed new life. It started as a hip dinner and dancing road house, built on what was the north edge of town in 1935. The style reflected both the traditional rounded dwelling of the Navajos, the hogan, and contemporary geometric streamlining of the era — call it Diné Deco. It featured drinks, dinner and live bands like the Harlem Aces blowing dance tunes every night.

But the Hogan slowly moldered into a biker bar in a rough part of town where court-ordered ankle bracelets became as common as run-down motels. New owners came, new owners went. The Hogan resisted success.

But maybe, just maybe, Johnny has arrived at just the right time. The University Village shops have people thinking about North Nevada Avenue. On a recent night, the booths arranged around the circular dining room were packed with what looked like Volvo-driving north-end empty-nesters normally unseen in these parts.

And there is good reason for them to come. The Hogan has a standard but delectable pub menu offering everything you could want in a no-frills dinner accompanied by a cold beer.

The surprisingly tasty pizzas not only blow away other local bar pies, but can stand their own against most local pizza joints. The crust is thin, New York-style with a crisp veneer from the scalding oven and a chewy, glutenous bite. The sauce, a little heavy on dried oregano, is freshly made, light and pretty darn good. And the mixture of toppings is more than you might expect from a pub. My favorite was the standard pineapple and Canadian bacon, dressed up with long ribbons of roasted red pepper ($14 for a 14-inch).

Just looking for something to take the edge off a few drinks? The appetizer list is full of goodies. Johnny does not just tasty burger sliders, but bratwurst sliders as well ($10). The herd of little wieners comes nicely browned from the grill on sawed-off buns with hefty dollops of brown mustard on the side. They are a nice complement to beer, and great for sharing. The other wings and things on the appetizer menu resemble SouthSide Johnny’s offerings, and those of many other bars, for that matter.

Where Johnny has stepped up the game is in the chicken department. The Hogan boasts “broasted” chicken, a Midwestern advancement on classic fried chicken where the bird is essentially deep-fried in a special pressure cooker. The higher temperatures mean faster cooking, leaving the chicken more moist and less oily. The result is a treat: crisp chicken ($10 for three pieces with two sides) that is less greasy and superjuicy. It comes with a long list of side choices, including classic mashed potatoes and gravy.

The chicken is the best part of Johnny’s Navajo Hogan. You would be hard-pressed to find a better hunk of yard bird in town. But the other great thing is Johnny himself. He works the floor, making sure every detail is perfect. He fills drinks. He wipes tables. When he came by to ask how everything was, I asked about the broasted chicken, which I had not yet tried. He explained the process, then, without prompting, dropped a free sample on the table the next time he passed by. That’s how you run a restaurant.

The Hogan has a few expected weaknesses. The “sautéed vegetable” side is a greasy pile from the grill — a dish conceived by dudes who work in a bar. The salads, too, are lamely standard. But only a fool would go to a place like the Hogan for salad. You go for beer, for good music, for a roll-up-the-sleeves meal with friends. You get a pizza. Some wings. A good plate of chicken. And you know that Johnny will take care of you.

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