Augieland

Picholine, 112 septentrionalilian stars

So Helmet says, “You want to go to Picholine with me, Misspooz, Pichon, Ringwald, and Deputy?”
So I say, “There is nothing I like more than fine dining with you guys, and the last time I ate at Picholine I was very impressed by the food, although I found the room a little stodgy; that was like 4 years ago.”
So Helmet says, “I bought the dinner at a charity auction and it expires soon. I also hear they have completely remodeled the stodgy interior and revamped the menu so we’re going to go, you should come.”
So I say, “Revamped the menu? They still have wild game and that insane cheese cart, right?”
So Helmet says, “Yea geez (Helmet likes to talk British every now and then) relax, its all still there and according to Bruni it’s better.”
So I say, “Well you have piqued my interest. I will break my natural 23rd street northern boundary and trek up to the hyperborean wilds of the greater Lincoln Center area with you.” 

So it went a little something like this:

Simply put, the redesign is a study in purple. Enough shades that as you walk around you are reminded of how many names you know for the color: amethyst, aubergine, eggplant, heliotrope, lavender, lilac, magenta, mulberry, orchid, perse, plum, pomegranate, puce, violaceous, violet, and wine all come to mind as you glance about. While the paint is indeed fresh and the finish new, the room is not necessarily reinvented. It is still a room best suited to the well-heeled upper-what-ever-side Wasps to don their bowties and sup while discussing opera fundraising, just in mauve instead of dandelion.

The menu is new and fresh, with a strangely confounding simplicity. There are nine options branded “Preludes,” three Pastas offered (one being a risotto), four Day Boat selections and another four decisions From the Land. The setup is you get two courses for sixty-five dollars and may add more from the selections for fifteen dollars a pick. There are also five winter black truffle preparations available at a premium I didn’t really understand, explained on the insert as (25.suppl./35.suppl.) and a seven course chef’s menu mainly comprised of dishes offered throughout the menu.

As written there were not many courses I was not interested in trying so after some horse-trading and negotiations I ended up sampling as follows:

Amuse: Brandade croquette, cauliflower crème with lemon gel and parmesan crisp, and stripped bass ceviche with shiso and bergamot. The cauliflower bite was more crème than cauliflower and so rich it robbed the lemon film of most of its acidity. The brandade was fried crisp and light with a touch of aioli. The ceviche was so much more about the bergamot and shiso flavors than the fish that the fish role could have probably been played by most any cold soft chew. Liking bergamot and shiso I wasn’t bothered, but I might switch these flavors with a crème so the light lemon was on the fish and the stronger aromas were tempered by the crème.

First course, was a divided with Helmet, the SEA URCHIN PANNA COTTA, Chilled Ocean Consommé and Caviar, an exceptional dish. The panna cotta was complimented by a quenelle of caviar, some sea greens, and a cooled gel of lobster and mussel stock. Alongside were potato crisps topped with dried sea beans and greens. Great sea urchin dishes taste like the sunlit top of a beautiful sea, the danger is that when the urchins themselves are not immaculate or are over-manipulated they can taste brackish. Here it all comes together perfectly, staying light and pure while definitely of the ocean. Not to foreshadow the report, but even if all else was miserable I would probably go back for this. The second half of the first course was “BACON AND EGGS” Polenta, Tuna Bacon and Truffle Toasts: cubes of smoked tuna belly studded polenta topped with a poached egg (firm from being brought to table in a covered dish) and dusted with tiny indiscernible slivers of fried something (I would guess potatoes but not confidently). A stick-to-your-ribs variation on breakfast flavors it was a good course, probably perceived as more brutish than it deserves because it was eaten in concert with the Uni.

Second course, was shared with Misspooz, STRACCIATA, Sweet Maine Shrimp, Escargots and Hazelnuts. Homemade noodles tossed with shrimp that had been sprinkled with something crunchy, buttery snails, toasted hazelnuts, with wonderfully flavorful micro-celery all tied together by an herby pesto of sorts. The shrimp and snails were quite nice especially served together, with the snail’s chewy, buttery, earthiness contrasting the crisp, sweet saline pop of shrimp flesh, both well complimented by the greens and the dressing. The pasta however was overdone/chewy, and the dish suffered for it. The other choice in this round was LARDED DIVER SEA SCALLOPS, Chestnut and Almond Milk from the BLACK WINTER TRUFFLE DISHES supplemental portion. Wilted lettuce, a buttery almond foam, generous slivers of black truffle, and chewy yet still sweet chestnuts scattered about two plump scallops cooked until crisp on the outside with a pleasingly dense bite. A nice dish, it read slightly better than it translated.

In the third spot, Pichon, Helmet, and I selected one of each of the three options of WILD SCOTTISH GAME BIRDS (birdshot may be present) which the kitchen kindly third-ed  for us so we didn’t need to swap plates all over the place. From lightest to deepest in color as well as flavor were partridge, pheasant, and woodpigeon all roasted and served with brussels sprout leaves, roasted apple, roasted mushrooms, and tortellini stuffed with the game birds’ legs, all dressed with game bird stock. Growing up I was often forced to eat birds my father had shot, and the bright spot in the days before my palate matured enough to crave the sanguine gaminess of wild meats was finding the BB’s embedded in parts. Sadly I found no shot in these offerings. The dishes were quite nice, the broth doing an admirable job of compensating for the dry-ish meats. On a return visit I would go for just woodpigeon of these three offerings, or whatever was gamiest on that day. Picholine does a wonderful thing being one of the few places that offers truly wild birds and once you have committed to that they should be gamey with an oomph which is lost as you work through the lighter options.

Fourth round was a division with Pichon, with me insisting on the HEIRLOOM CHICKEN “KIEV,” Braised Mushrooms and Liquid Foie Gras because Frank Bruni had mentioned it both in the review and his year-end roundup. Having now read the words “liquid foie gras” for a third time I couldn’t see past it. Sadly the dish was bad. What poured forth when the waiter pressed a long pointed chopstick into the flakey fried yellow crunchies encasing the chicken breast had the consistency of a broken hollandaise. Clear fat with beige globules flowed onto skin that had set on a pool of mushroom demiglace between the kitchen and the table. Not only was there none of the unctuous poetry that should go with “liquid foie gras,” but rather a bland oleaginous weight that caused both Pichon and me to stop eating with stomachaches. (If Bruni was served this dish as I was and gave this place three stars he loves the color purple more than Prince, or has a stomach/palate made of iron). The other dish in this series was WAYGU RIB-EYE, Cépe Mousseline and Tempura Celery. The mousseline is probably worth remarking on, but the rest of the dish seemed mediocre, mostly due to a lack of salt, and I won’t comment further due to the association with the Kiev.

After some quick self-medicating with a few drams of grappa and an amaro I was fit enough to face the cheese cart, a collection so loved and well managed that it almost causes me to forgive the occasions of badness and mediocrity that happened between the brilliance of the Uni and here.

Max McCalman has a passion for cheese that translates as almost fetishistic, and the presentation of the cart is worth the price of a dinner. Still discombobulated from the Kiev, I put myself in his hands simply asking he provide me with a sampling of cheeses so funky you would believe they were created by angry deranged lunatics at an asylum on an island a safe distance from humanity. What he produced were: DURRUS, a cow milk cheese from Co. Cork, soft with floral and milky flavor; KRÜMMENSWILER FÖRSTERKÄSE, a cow milk cheese from Canton Thurgau, Switzerland, soft with a spicy mustard flavor; and VACHERIN FRIBOURGEOIS, a cow milk cheese from western Switzerland, firm with pronounced acidulous taste; which were horrible enough to heal me and the KRÜMMENSWILER FÖRSTERKÄSE was so absolutely ghastly that I asked for a second dish, which in turn got me treated to some in a doggy bag on the way out.

All in all my first Picholine foray which was prior to its reinvention is a good, albeit hazy memory. This fresh experience really straddled the gambit from spectacular to bad. Will I go back? Probably. The cheese program and game meats alone make this a unique enough place to merit a second shot. Combined with my fond memory I am pretty sure it will happen. Either way I am very glad this was not my first and only experience.

Chef's Table in Restaurant Gordon Ramsay at the London, 194 gratlillian stars from 12/10/06

As exciting as a guy hitting a homerun in the late innings to cinch a victory is, my favorite version of the American pastime is the few and far between games when every player on both teams plays every out expertly executing the fundamentals. Dining at the Chef’s table at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay is that kind of exhilarating.

At the East end of Chef Ramsay’s rather expansive and beautiful kitchen, set in a recessed compartment, raised two steps, is a sleek black stone table flanked on three sides by a plush leather banquette and white privacy glass making the perfect vantage for six diners to observe the brigade of chefs at the pass, meticulously assembling food for them and the forty-five or so patrons in the dining room. 

Helmet, Misspooz, and I arrived about half an hour ahead of Pichon, Tourelles, and Ringwald and were sat in the London bar to wait with some complimentary champagne, toasts and spreads. The champagne was ’98 Dom Perignon, the toast was thin rounds of an airy baguette, and the spreads were chicken liver and foie mousse topped with Sauternes gellée and truffled cream cheese. In this bit of service lay the metaphor for the evening.

The London bar was largely populated by some kind of corporate party of people milling about with cocktails and enjoying passed hors d’oeuvres. In the middle of this crowd of folks enjoying being at a hot spot and reveling in each other and the Christmas season, a little oasis was provided us with our own server, sommelier, and some of the quintessential provisions of fineness. As they do Ramsay as a chef, I know some people enjoy poo-pooing Dom Perignon as a brand rather than a great wine. At times I have been one of them (towards the wine not the chef, him I had little knowledge of before a month ago), but experience shows that when treated with sober reflection and contemplation of the product’s merits, it is usually revealed to be consistently estimable even to the naysayer.

When this type of product is supported by others of high quality, the sublime becomes possible, and just as the truffle aroma infused cream and the rich liver spread drew complexity from the champagne, the talented staff, exemplary execution, fine product, and attention to detail drew enthusiasm from us, making for an exquisite experience unlike many I have had.

When Pichon, Tourelles, and Ringwald arrived they joined us at our banquette, adrift in the sea of travel agents or whatever they were, to finish off our bottle of champagne. Two more classic accompaniments were provided at this point as well: parmesan cheese crisps with sliced black truffle, and a plate of cured pig. The crisps were pleasant, but the cooking process magnified the cheese’s inherent saltiness, overshadowing whatever the truffles would have brought. The charcuterie consisted of a coppa, which was also a little overpowered by salt, and fine examples of sopressata and prosciutto.

With the champers and snacks plundered, we were led through the London bar and the main dining room, down a hall with a wine wall and up the two-steps to the dais from which we would survey and dine. It all started with a discussion of allergies, avoidances, and wine. For wine we simply asked that sense and decorum be used in an attempt to provide the most enjoyable pairings, for food, well you read the blog, you know this crowd eats any and everything, so it all went a little something like this:

Marinated beetroot with goat and ricotta cheese and toasted pinenuts: the beets’ earthy sweetness, the lightly lactic zing of the chevre, the toasty aromas of the nuts, came together with the astringency of micro greens and beet syrup in what should have been a small, two bite amuse that I tried to extend to four and ended up making a beautiful, pink messy amalgam of crunchy slices of beet, soft cheese, and the waxy bite of the nuts.

Red mullet with fennel, pink grapefruit and fresh herb vinaigrette: the crunch of the seared side of this fillet and the flavors drawn out from such intense heating would probably have allowed it to stand alone impressively. Instead, aspects of its accoutrements happily drew attention to different parts of this tidy whole: the bits of pink grapefruit popping with acidity, accenting the richness of the sub-skin fat; the raw olive oil warmed by the fillet’s heat providing warm tomato leaf notes to the tender flesh. Each of the individual herbs in the vinaigrette showing strongly in separate bites, combined with the bitter accent of citrus zest pervasive in the dish and made more dramatic by a pairing with Rudi Pichler, Weissenkirchner Achleithan, Riesling, Austria, 2005, made for perfection in this little fillet.

Ballotine of hamhock and foie gras with granny smith and cider vinaigrette: no matter how they are prepared pig’s trotters are rich unlike anything else. My sense here is that these were cured and reconstituted because they have all the meaty richness of a pig’s joint without the oleaginous cartilage that usually goes hand in hand with ham hock preparations. Studding the dry richness of the ballotine were flavors of cornichons, capers, and foie, in supporting roles never overpowering the salty pork bits the dish was about. Dressing (also in accent roles) were thin slices of green apple under and a salad of herbs over. Château Suiduiraut, “S” de Suiduiraut, Bordeaux Superioré, France, 2004 provided rich stone fruit and melon flavors as well as muted acidity to the course.

Seared hand dived scallops, with cauliflower and golden-raisin purée, cauliflower beignets: I think the proper name for this cut would be a steak. The scallop was cut vertically and seared on its sides. Years of being served scallops cut medially led me to expect this was the case here, so it was only after the third bite that I realized I was cutting cross grain and if I simply shifted my line of attack 45º the texture would change from sinewy to pleasingly plump and dense. Accompanying the scallop were cauliflower florets fried in a tempura-like crust, a mélange of cracked peppers, and a thick caramel with deep raisin sweetness which played as well with the Domaine Skouras’ Moscofilero’s, Peleponese Islands, Greece, 2005, spicy, rich, structure as the did the scallops.

Roasted foie gras with caramelised hazelnuts, with pear purée with champagne and honey vinaigrette: recently I have been preferring the creamy richness of slow-roasted foie over the scorched exterior/fatty inside textural results of intense fast heat. This doesn’t change the fact that the fast heat method is still the classic preparation and therefore fit in this meal well. Crunchy filberts’ roasted sweetness presented a stark contrast, while adding another layer of richness. The notes of the pear purée were pretty successfully swooped into the flavors of a cocktail paired to this dish, Chapel Down, Sparkling wine, Kent, England, Rosé, N.V. with pear liqueur, cubed pear and apple crisps, a heady libation layering constituent flavors of the dish, which traded some of the booziness of the liqueur with the fattiness of the foie to keep this from being a crippling course.

Turbot with red and yellow pepper confit with chorizo, topped with calamari, scallops and bacon, with artichokes: the fish and the accompanying fine dice of textures would have been light enough to disappear were it not for the perfect cask and paprika vinegary notes of the fleshy pile of peppers they rested on. Nora de Neve, Rias Biaxas, Spain, 2004, Albariño, with far more body than any Albariño I have yet had, walked the middle line hand in hand with bacon and bits of nut to tie the lightness of the sea to the lightness of the Spanish kitchen.

The truth is, four out of five food preparations in the world of fine dining are actually better suited to white wines than red and if you ask a good sommelier to just pair as well as can be done you will end up with a lot more white than red. Sure you can do red, and the same good sommelier will always find a red to go with just about anything other than oysters, but if you want the best pairing you will end up white heavy. Therefore, late in a meal about subtlety, nuance, and layered flavors, there can be genius in the simplicity of a classic red course. Roasted Château Briand, celeriac purée and roasted root vegetables: sooner or later if you are sitting down in a British man’s French restaurant, simple pleasure can be found in well roasted beef, traditional fixings, and a good bottle of Claret. This straightforward dish was carved tableside and accompanied perfectly by Château Gloria, St. Julien, Bordeaux, 2000.

Vacherin Mont D’or cheese with salad and walnut bread: warmed under a Salamander in its wood and served tableside, scooped into tiny bowls, it played more to a lighter home ammonia side of the funk rather than a barnyard one. This was a ripe, pungent round that probably was as funky as decorum lets be served in a fine restaurant, with buttery leather and wood notes making it well suited to a slightly sweet, perfectly acidic A. Margine, Tradittionalle, Brut, Premier Cru, Demi-sec, Champagne, France.

While I enjoyed a second and third serving of the cheese the table had:

Caramelised pineapple purée, vanilla yoghurt with pineapple granité, candied cilantro and coconut tuile.

Palet D’or and Gin Gelée and passion fruit cream: I tasted this one and found the stiffness of the jellies pleasing, as was the not cloying Cuvée Beerenauslese, Kracher, Austria, 2005 which tied up our wine parings beautifully.

Chocolate Fondant a souflee that won me over by remembering it was more an egg dish than a chocolate dish.

Having now dined at Ramsay at the London twice, I found some similarities between the first night in the dining room and this night in the kitchen. Both times I was very impressed by technique, quality, value, and excellence of service. The big difference between opening night and week three can only be described as soul. The first time felt like the motivation was survival, whereas this time it seemed to be as simple and noble as the quest for perfection.

The line in classic French cuisine between good and exceptional is perfect execution, and often even the most discerning diner will forgive lackluster and at times even poor performance because perfection cannot be an every time thing. Which makes the times when everything hits exactly right remarkable. Even though both my meals at Gordon Ramsay at the London have felt like absolute bargains in comparison to their competition as I have experienced it around the city and the world, the price still falls in the realm of luxury dining and I forgive little until trust has been built. This was an exquisite meal and, taken in concert with my first foray, the restaurant has definitely impressed me.

Hawthorne effect in full swing, The chef’s Table at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay shines under a watchful eye. Symbiosis exists between a staff being considered and those observers offered intimate proximity from which to study. Chef’s tables by nature exist on a different plane than even the tables in the dining room of the same restaurant. That being said, no phenomenon can make bad food taste good or poor parings synergistic.

Was my opinion affected by having the opportunity to watch the kitchen perform, and to involve myself with the people striving to make the best possible meal that can be had? Of course it was. Substituting in the role of front waiter was executive chef Neil Ferguson who presented, explained, and served each of these courses. The wine pairings were selected and served by wine director Gregory Condes. Thoughts and choices were explained and discussed in a pleasant, unhurried manner by both gentlemen without a pushed sense of agenda. The food was remarkable, the juice was an extension of the perfection. Even a devotee of the new and exciting has to admit that there is clearly a reason someone in this day and age would strive for classical excellence; in a word, when done correctly, it is exquisite.

Blue Hill

In the last two weeks I have had omakase at Masa and Morimoto, mutton at Keen’s, everything at Degustation, dinner in the kitchen at GRatL and the dining rooms at Boqueria, Varietal and Klee, and the classic with cheddar at BLT burger, stopped into Cru for dessert and dessert wine, had delivery from Surya and Pio Maya, roasted a chateaubriand, broiled a sirloin, made truffle creamed chestnuts, and attended a Lynches Bagges wine dinner at Eleven Madison Park hosted by The Wine Workshop. I don’t say this to brag, I say it to illustrate that when I said to Wife “what would you like to do for your birthday?” I feel I was offering a wide variety of options, which would make her choice most telling. Given all the things we could have done, Wife’s inclination was for the humble little restaurant down the steps in the middle of  Washington Place.

 

Wife is one of those special animals born and raised entirely on the island of Manhattan so it makes sense for her to choose Blue Hill; few things are as New York. An awkward space, probably better suited to a Laundromat, has become the sleek/comfortably contemporary little place where New York ingredients are celebrated by New York people at a level befitting the greatest city in the world.

 

Since my write-up last spring not enough has changed to merit a re-report, it is still one of the unique great ones the town has to offer. The only note would be that the room was a touch more crowded on this visit which I am sure can be attributed to the Times’ 3-starring during the summer, but the feel is no less authentic. If anything, the food is more confident, dishes less adorned, products allowed to speak for themselves even more. All I asked was that they feed us and here is what we got:

Acidulated purple cauliflower and green apple beet juice.

Beet chip and garlic cookie.

Blue Hill Stone Barns Salad.

Seared fennel bulb, toasted quinoa apple purée and green apple matchsticks.

Bass and buttered carrots and walnuts.

Lamb leg, chop, loin and belly on cracked wheat and  artichokes

Green apples, green apple jelly and green apple mousse.

 

Pear & Almond Cake with red wine granite and cream cheese ice cream.

Quince Coupe Cranberry gelleé and granité with ricotta cream and candied almonds.

Chocolate Bread Pudding salted caramel roasted peanuts caramel ice-cream.

Varietal, 832 finalillian stars

I was going to be in Chelsea after a class last Wednesday night so I looked around for a place for a late bite. A couple of sources were talking about a restaurant called Varietal that was opening that day and three of the things mentioned struck me: it was a couple of blocks from school (West 25th between 6th and 7th), it was named after wine grape types (I happen to like wine), and the pastry chef, Jordan Kahn, was from Alinea (I love Alinea). So armed with this much back-story Wife and I headed over for a quick bite to check it out at close to ten on that fateful night.

Now before I go on an egocentric rant like a two-year old child about how Varietal feels like someone who reads Augieland opened a restaurant just to please me alone in the whole dining world, let me point out that they are new and they are rough and there are things to work out. That being said, assuming a fair percentage of the bumps smooth out with time and barring a huge natural disaster on 25th Street, I can see this becoming one of the great restaurants of New York.

My tastes are fickle, particular, and often slightly contrarian, and for every aspect of this restaurant that makes me happy I can see a reason it could put some people off, and that fact may be the very thing that finally draws New Yorkers to a restaurant applying the practices of the new cuisine. I am quite interested to see the reactions some of the choices evoke in others, but after a quick bite turned into a few truly enjoyable lingering hours I have this much to report:

Starting with the left taken from 6th avenue onto 25th street things get interesting. The turn is made from one of those tunnels built under scaffolding through a construction site that never surely ends until you find yourself suddenly in the middle of the next street, a pretty lonely dim one populated by a collection of windows full of mannequin parts, which is a surprisingly strange thing to walk by. I guess it makes sense that mannequin shops exist and would gather fashion district adjacent, but these are nevertheless semi-eerie to encounter. Once found, number 138 West 25th feels a little out of place for this street, as out of place as I am sure Union Square felt on 16th in the ‘80s and 71 Clinton did in the ‘90’s.

Through the door is a lounge of white hard surfaces accented with bold white architectural cubes, and a bar with a sculpture of champagne flutes fused horizontally and hung over it. The space has the feel of a small New York wine bar as conceived by the designer of the Standard. I found it a clean, well-lighted place suitable to both wine contemplation and people enjoyment, while maybe a little cold and stark at the same time.

Through a narrow hall at the southern end of the bar you enter a large, airy, square white room decorated with a chandelier made of suspended wine glass bowls, and five blow-ups of brutishly simple daylight photographs of grape bunches hanging on the vine. Upon entering it seemed sparse and austere, but also kind of delightfully minimalist. Looking back on the experience it was a warmly lit, unobtrusive space that encouraged my attention to my company and my food.

The staff was young, enthusiastic, energetic, and new. Some will laud Varietal, saying that the reason places other than WD-50 that involve the modern cuisine have not had huge success in Manhattan is that they try to be too many things to too many people, and that journeymen waiters who have made a study of ways of unobtrusively covering wine stains on linen table clothes with napkins during service are, as a type, a little restrained to translate the passions and excitement of a creative chef. Others will boorishly call the color of the uniform shirt “wine” and will find the fact that waiters have opinions they are willing to share and involve themselves in your choices a little intrusive and out of place in the dining realm. I personally was delighted to have a conversational front waiter with a culinary education who could answer my queries in detail, and reveled in the fact that he had opinions he was willing to offer and enjoyed geeking out on ideas like the right plate for presenting certain dishes.

The wine list was not yet complete so I won’t go deep into detail here other than to mention that some of the bottles seemed priced on the very expensive side of good taste. ’97 Grange is on for $700 which I am sure is explained easily by the cost of assembling a new list and applying an appropriate mark up, but since Daniel has it for $390 and they are not famous for cheap wine this would seem off market. I would say Varietal should either choose to make less on the bottle or put it away until they can profit fairly from it in the future. Of course part of me views it as a great wine, and knows that since Daniel recently sold all the ones they had at that price and it is not readily available it is possibly worth it to someone.

The glass list is well in place and well organized, involving a couple of samplings from many varietals and many places as well as some interesting flights of three for sampling, at many levels of price point that also seem on to walk on the egregious side of the current market. You could definitely justify these prices, but if your focus is to be accepted as a wine bar the price per glass should be more in line with the wholesale cost of the bottle than the retail. Most glasses are also offered as a taste portion and I imagine it will be quite fun to play around in the list and would have been Wednesday night had I made it past the master challenge, which offers three undisclosed tastes for eighteen dollars that, if properly identified, are free. Some will see this as fun, accept the challenge and know they have been served Lucieu Albrecht Pinot Gris ’02, C. Joquet Chinon’04, and Susana Balbo Malbec ’04. Of course if you are me you will guess Italian Gruner Veltliner, Long Island Cabernet Franc, and heavily oaked new world Syrah, and be delighted to be wrong.

There was nothing on the menu as it read I did not want. Of course when I saw a dish that brought together the joys of bacon and America’s second favorite legal poison (tobacco, right behind industrial corn), I had to get it. I deferred to our server for advice on an appetizer, and since one of the things that drew my attention to the place was Jordan’s Alinea pedigree I opted for the dessert tasting menu.

Amuse of puréed duck gizzards with pear and mushrooms; offal way to start; the gamey bird, earthy mushrooms and sweet apple drew accents from each other and there was an interesting contrast of texture between the chewy disk and creamy purée.

Monkfish Liver Steamed, Black Bean & Miso Pork Shoulder, Daikon: These flavors don’t as much contrast as exist in totally separate worlds. Few things are as of the ocean floor as the liver of the monkfish and its characteristics were preserved here by sake steaming. Similarly, slow-cooked shredded pork shoulder is as of the land as can be. In this case, the pork is formed into a patty, seared, and placed in a slightly-sweet/slightly-bitter black bean and miso BBQ-esque sauce. All these disparate flavors are somehow well tied together by a few light crunchy batons of daikon radish and a small disk of scallion tuile.

Baby Octopus Olive Oil Poached, Sunchokes, Salsa Verde: this dish is all about its preparation. The flavors are the clean, simple light ones of Spain. Most remarkable here is the contrast of the soft bite of the octopus flesh with the caramelized hard crunch of the suction cups. The result is a single component with two textures and two flavors, which the accoutrements play with differently depending on the ratio of flesh to sucker in the particular bite.

Grass-Fed Beef Grilled Strip & Malbec Braised Short Ribs, Bone Marrow Polenta, Leeks: I think everyone will like this, even vegetarians. The strip is tender with notes of stone and metal, the short ribs are rich, deep and toothsome, the leeks are a well suited oniony chlorophyll-bitter contrast, and the stroke of genius is the polenta (white corn grits formed in a cube around a piece of bone marrow and seared, possessing all of the traditional richness of a cornmeal cake without butter notes blowing out the corn’s sweetness).

Pork Roasted & Cider-Tobacco Braised Belly, Celery Root Puree, Baby Collards: the description lays it out pretty well. The celery root purée was buttery and rich, the celery root chip garnish was ever so slightly sweet, the tenderloin was simply roasted and sliced, the collard greens were more suggestive of bitter than bitter, and then there was the bacon. Seared until the skin was crispy, the fat and flesh were cooked a little past perfect, the flesh was tight, and the three components of the belly were almost completely separate entities. This is about the fourth dish I have tried that involves tobacco in its flavoring and it is by far the most subtle. There were smoky notes while eating it that turned into aromas in the back of my cheeks and throat similar to those after a small cigarillo when I exhaled throughout the rest of the meal.

No one will look at the desserts and not see beautiful creativity. Some may taste them and remark that mushrooms don’t belong in dessert; others will be stimulated by the new tastes. Me, I don’t care for sweet. I don’t hate sweet and often I come across what would be considered a traditional dessert that I enjoy greatly, but more often than not I would have preferred cheese, or one more course of savory; so finding a guy who keeps one foot in the traditional while exploring all of the space with the other is very much appreciated by me.

Having gotten the news from our server that a large part of our visit was based on our past experience with his offerings in Chicago, Jordan came out to meet us and chose to send two pre-desserts in advance of the four course tasting I had ordered. I will not go into all the details of the six dishes I tasted, mostly because I don’t think I could; there are many aspects to each and I will list as many as I can remember in the descriptions. On the whole I would say that although these were definitely sweeter than the items on the savory portion of the menu and involved very traditional dessert aspects, they were all truly an extension of the menu, even more liberated by the lightness the end of the meal allows.

Each dish in its own unique way plays vastly with flavor variations, some times comparing similar notions, others starkly contrasting, but mostly doing both at the same time. Flavors as familiar to dessert as chocolate, pineapple, and Concord grape work seamlessly with mastic, dried mushroom, and wood. Textures range as much as I imagine possible – light airs, spherified liquids, frozen creamy, frozen icy, loose gels, firm gels, nutty crunchy, puffed crunchy, and on and on.

Pre:
Frozen Concord Grape Caramelized Eggplant Purée, Crispy Orange Blossom: icy frozen grape ribbons, viscous slightly bitter (like dark chocolate) aubergine goo, orange blossom snow, and foam, all together somehow reminiscent of the aroma of Molton Brown hand soap, in a good way ;-).

Sweet Potato Ice Cream, Caramel and Picholine Olives, Yuzu, Salt and Yogurt a thick sheet of icy orange cream folded onto itself like a bolt of fabric, dusted in sweet/salty dried olive bits, on a plate with dots of noticeably citric yuzu gel and a mild yogurt cream.

Four-Course Dessert Tasting
Chef’s Selection

Folded Mango Taro Root Purée, Coffee Genoise, Tamarind: toothy thin sheets of mango intertwined with bits of kaffir lime, basil, white chocolate encapsulated coffee, frozen coffee powder, peanut nougat, thai chilis, basil gelée, and thai chili gelée.

Celery Root Abstract Fenugreek Toffee, Cocoa Nib, Yogurt, Cherry Wood Ice Cream: yep, cherry wood ice cream. You gotta trust me; it is very cool, like the smell of lumber being milled. A crisp ribbon of celery root as well as a celery root cake, and a tangy dollop of yogurt were all there and important but the novelty and curiosity and general fascination of accurately flavored and nice tasting wood ice cream stole the show for me.

White Chocolate Cubism Licorice, Pistachio, Chrysanthemum Cream, White Beer: a cube of thin white chocolate squares formed around a cake base containing the creams. This was the most traditional tasting dessert, with the addition of a dot of a coagulated concentration of white beer that sweetly evoked sense memories as diverse as good Asian meals and mornings after high school keggers in one small taste.

Chocolate Gel Pear Sorbet, Mushroom Caramel, Brown Butter: dry/crisp textures of earthy dehydrated mushrooms dotted with caramel, ribbons of gelled fudge, pear nectar encapsulated in lecithin or agar, and a poir William sorbet, as well as white foams and clear gels tasting of minty pine.

More than the use of local purveyors of artisanal products credited on the menu, the sixty-plus glasses of wine well chosen to show off differences of types around the world, a chef’s menu fairly priced and not simply smaller versions of things available in the general menu, a clean warmly lit uncluttered space, a waiter educated as a chef, foods that push the envelope while ever mindful that interesting only works in hand with pleasing, and desserts by someone I am comfortable calling a genius, what makes Varietal my favorite new restaurant in New York this year?

Well, in a year of small places praised for making traditional American dishes well, the death coughs of the Asian mega-restaurant trend, and the big fish chefs of smaller ponds coming here to give us what impressed all the tourists of their hometowns (often only to show that other places reward fussiness) this spot opened pretty quietly on a deserted street in a dead part of town and blew me away.

I regularly travel for cuisine as creative as this, always kind of accepting there may just not be a way to make it work here. But all these parts, good and bad, came together and unapologetically maintained the integrity of striving for newness at this meal in a way I imagine will finally be respected by many New York diners, and embraced by just enough.

At the end of dinner I asked Jordan who was handling their publicity because I felt I had almost missed this place and was upset by that. Later it occurred to me that places that are lauded pre-opening as home to the avant garde and make reference to guys like Ferran are almost automatically scrutinized and rejected for trying to be too smart or for just being completely wrong. I was lucky enough to wander in one night with no presuppositions, just checking out a new place in town, and Varietal allowed me to be wowed (maybe they did their job exactly right). Do yourself a favor, forget everything you have just read and go in with a child’s eyes.

Chef's Table in Restaurant Gordon Ramsay at the London, 194 gratlillian stars

As exciting as a guy hitting a homerun in the late innings to cinch a victory is, my favorite version of the American pastime is the few and far between games when every player on both teams plays every out expertly executing the fundamentals. Dining at the Chef’s table at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay is that kind of exhilarating.

At the East end of Chef Ramsay’s rather expansive and beautiful kitchen, set in a recessed compartment, raised two steps, is a sleek black stone table flanked on three sides by a plush leather banquette and white privacy glass making the perfect vantage for six diners to observe the brigade of chefs at the pass, meticulously assembling food for them and the forty-five or so patrons in the dining room. 

Helmet, Misspooz, and I arrived about half an hour ahead of Pichon, Tourelles, and Ringwald and were sat in the London bar to wait with some complimentary champagne, toasts and spreads. The champagne was ’98 Dom Perignon, the toast was thin rounds of an airy baguette, and the spreads were chicken liver and foie mousse topped with Sauternes gellée and truffled cream cheese. In this bit of service lay the metaphor for the evening.

The London bar was largely populated by some kind of corporate party of people milling about with cocktails and enjoying passed hors d’oeuvres. In the middle of this crowd of folks enjoying being at a hot spot and reveling in each other and the Christmas season, a little oasis was provided us with our own server, sommelier, and some of the quintessential provisions of fineness. As they do Ramsay as a chef, I know some people enjoy poo-pooing Dom Perignon as a brand rather than a great wine. At times I have been one of them (towards the wine not the chef, him I had little knowledge of before a month ago), but experience shows that when treated with sober reflection and contemplation of the product’s merits, it is usually revealed to be consistently estimable even to the naysayer.

When this type of product is supported by others of high quality, the sublime becomes possible, and just as the truffle aroma infused cream and the rich liver spread drew complexity from the champagne, the talented staff, exemplary execution, fine product, and attention to detail drew enthusiasm from us, making for an exquisite experience unlike many I have had.

When Pichon, Tourelles, and Ringwald arrived they joined us at our banquette, adrift in the sea of travel agents or whatever they were, to finish off our bottle of champagne. Two more classic accompaniments were provided at this point as well: parmesan cheese crisps with sliced black truffle, and a plate of cured pig. The crisps were pleasant, but the cooking process magnified the cheese’s inherent saltiness, overshadowing whatever the truffles would have brought. The charcuterie consisted of a coppa, which was also a little overpowered by salt, and fine examples of sopressata and prosciutto.

With the champers and snacks plundered, we were led through the London bar and the main dining room, down a hall with a wine wall and up the two-steps to the dais from which we would survey and dine. It all started with a discussion of allergies, avoidances, and wine. For wine we simply asked that sense and decorum be used in an attempt to provide the most enjoyable pairings, for food, well you read the blog, you know this crowd eats any and everything, so it all went a little something like this:

Marinated beetroot with goat and ricotta cheese and toasted pinenuts: the beets’ earthy sweetness, the lightly lactic zing of the chevre, the toasty aromas of the nuts, came together with the astringency of micro greens and beet syrup in what should have been a small, two bite amuse that I tried to extend to four and ended up making a beautiful, pink messy amalgam of crunchy slices of beet, soft cheese, and the waxy bite of the nuts.

Red mullet with fennel, pink grapefruit and fresh herb vinaigrette: the crunch of the seared side of this fillet and the flavors drawn out from such intense heating would probably have allowed it to stand alone impressively. Instead, aspects of its accoutrements happily drew attention to different parts of this tidy whole: the bits of pink grapefruit popping with acidity, accenting the richness of the sub-skin fat; the raw olive oil warmed by the fillet’s heat providing warm tomato leaf notes to the tender flesh. Each of the individual herbs in the vinaigrette showing strongly in separate bites, combined with the bitter accent of citrus zest pervasive in the dish and made more dramatic by a pairing with Rudi Pichler, Weissenkirchner Achleithan, Riesling, Austria, 2005, made for perfection in this little fillet.

Ballotine of hamhock and foie gras with granny smith and cider vinaigrette: no matter how they are prepared pig’s trotters are rich unlike anything else. My sense here is that these were cured and reconstituted because they have all the meaty richness of a pig’s joint without the oleaginous cartilage that usually goes hand in hand with ham hock preparations. Studding the dry richness of the ballotine were flavors of cornichons, capers, and foie, in supporting roles never overpowering the salty pork bits the dish was about. Dressing (also in accent roles) were thin slices of green apple under and a salad of herbs over. Château Suiduiraut, “S” de Suiduiraut, Bordeaux Superioré, France, 2004 provided rich stone fruit and melon flavors as well as muted acidity to the course.

Seared hand dived scallops, with cauliflower and golden-raisin purée, cauliflower beignets: I think the proper name for this cut would be a steak. The scallop was cut vertically and seared on its sides. Years of being served scallops cut medially led me to expect this was the case here, so it was only after the third bite that I realized I was cutting cross grain and if I simply shifted my line of attack 45º the texture would change from sinewy to pleasingly plump and dense. Accompanying the scallop were cauliflower florets fried in a tempura-like crust, a mélange of cracked peppers, and a thick caramel with deep raisin sweetness which played as well with the Domaine Skouras’ Moscofilero’s, Peleponese Islands, Greece, 2005, spicy, rich, structure as the did the scallops.

Roasted foie gras with caramelised hazelnuts, with pear purée with champagne and honey vinaigrette: recently I have been preferring the creamy richness of slow-roasted foie over the scorched exterior/fatty inside textural results of intense fast heat. This doesn’t change the fact that the fast heat method is still the classic preparation and therefore fit in this meal well. Crunchy filberts’ roasted sweetness presented a stark contrast, while adding another layer of richness. The notes of the pear purée were pretty successfully swooped into the flavors of a cocktail paired to this dish, Chapel Down, Sparkling wine, Kent, England, Rosé, N.V. with pear liqueur, cubed pear and apple crisps, a heady libation layering constituent flavors of the dish, which traded some of the booziness of the liqueur with the fattiness of the foie to keep this from being a crippling course.

Turbot with red and yellow pepper confit with chorizo, topped with calamari, scallops and bacon, with artichokes: the fish and the accompanying fine dice of textures would have been light enough to disappear were it not for the perfect cask and paprika vinegary notes of the fleshy pile of peppers they rested on. Nora de Neve, Rias Biaxas, Spain, 2004, Albariño, with far more body than any Albariño I have yet had, walked the middle line hand in hand with bacon and bits of nut to tie the lightness of the sea to the lightness of the Spanish kitchen.

The truth is, four out of five food preparations in the world of fine dining are actually better suited to white wines than red and if you ask a good sommelier to just pair as well as can be done you will end up with a lot more white than red. Sure you can do red, and the same good sommelier will always find a red to go with just about anything other than oysters, but if you want the best pairing you will end up white heavy. Therefore, late in a meal about subtlety, nuance, and layered flavors, there can be genius in the simplicity of a classic red course. Roasted Château Briand, celeriac purée and roasted root vegetables: sooner or later if you are sitting down in a British man’s French restaurant, simple pleasure can be found in well roasted beef, traditional fixings, and a good bottle of Claret. This straightforward dish was carved tableside and accompanied perfectly by Château Gloria, St. Julien, Bordeaux, 2000.

Vacherin Mont D’or cheese with salad and walnut bread: warmed under a Salamander in its wood and served tableside, scooped into tiny bowls, it played more to a lighter home ammonia side of the funk rather than a barnyard one. This was a ripe, pungent round that probably was as funky as decorum lets be served in a fine restaurant, with buttery leather and wood notes making it well suited to a slightly sweet, perfectly acidic A. Margine, Tradittionalle, Brut, Premier Cru, Demi-sec, Champagne, France.

While I enjoyed a second and third serving of the cheese the table had:

Caramelised pineapple purée, vanilla yoghurt with pineapple granité, candied cilantro and coconut tuile.

Palet D’or and Gin Gelée and passion fruit cream: I tasted this one and found the stiffness of the jellies pleasing, as was the not cloying Cuvée Beerenauslese, Kracher, Austria, 2005 which tied up our wine parings beautifully.

Chocolate Fondant a souflee that won me over by remembering it was more an egg dish than a chocolate dish.

Having now dined at Ramsay at the London twice, I found some similarities between the first night in the dining room and this night in the kitchen. Both times I was very impressed by technique, quality, value, and excellence of service. The big difference between opening night and week three can only be described as soul. The first time felt like the motivation was survival, whereas this time it seemed to be as simple and noble as the quest for perfection.

The line in classic French cuisine between good and exceptional is perfect execution, and often even the most discerning diner will forgive lackluster and at times even poor performance because perfection cannot be an every time thing. Which makes the times when everything hits exactly right remarkable. Even though both my meals at Gordon Ramsay at the London have felt like absolute bargains in comparison to their competition as I have experienced it around the city and the world, the price still falls in the realm of luxury dining and I forgive little until trust has been built. This was an exquisite meal and, taken in concert with my first foray, the restaurant has definitely impressed me.

Hawthorne effect in full swing, The chef’s Table at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay shines under a watchful eye. Symbiosis exists between a staff being considered and those observers offered intimate proximity from which to study. Chef’s tables by nature exist on a different plane than even the tables in the dining room of the same restaurant. That being said, no phenomenon can make bad food taste good or poor parings synergistic.

Was my opinion affected by having the opportunity to watch the kitchen perform, and to involve myself with the people striving to make the best possible meal that can be had? Of course it was. Substituting in the role of front waiter was executive chef Neil Ferguson who presented, explained, and served each of these courses. The wine pairings were selected and served by wine director Gregory Condes. Thoughts and choices were explained and discussed in a pleasant, unhurried manner by both gentlemen without a pushed sense of agenda. The food was remarkable, the juice was an extension of the perfection. Even a devotee of the new and exciting has to admit that there is clearly a reason someone in this day and age would strive for classical excellence; in a word, when done correctly, it is exquisite.

Klee, 120 herenortherillian stars

One of the conceits I greatly enjoy here at Augieland is attempting to predict a restaurant’s motivations and realizations of its chosen mission very early in its run. Seldom do I lack an opinion and confidence therein. Klee would be an exception to this rule and I’m not exactly sure what to make of that.

Wife and I stopped into Klee last week and I just can’t say what I think of where it will go and what it will be, or even exactly what it is to be honest. For every aspect of the experience there was a strong component and a weak. The strengths are strong enough that if the even balance tips that way I imagine it will become a good Tuesday/Wednesday place for people that live close, but if its weaknesses take the fore it will be another lonely box of a room along the uninspiring mid-Western avenues of Chelsea and Hells Kitchen.

The room is incomplete, which alone is no big deal. In fact some places are endearing for just that reason, inspiring a perception of earnestness to get to the task of making great food. The parts that are finished are quite nice – a very whimsical mosaic wall in the back, tasteful swathes of blond maple paneling, as well as great touches like retracting armrests along the banquette seating (so four can become eight, can become sixteen, and back again) and a recurring clover theme integrated into the door handles and booth ends (Klee means clover as well as the artist). The lights that are in are warm, the lights that are standing-in are too dim, the plans as described are for the uncomfortable temporary linen-covered tables to be replaced by maple-topped custom creations soon. It all feels like it has the potential to turn into a great and slightly different version of this type of room but could just as easily all come together to look like another place decorated out of the Ikea catalogue by a person with a knack. Can’t say as of yet.

The service was, on the good side, attentive and genuinely concerned with the guests’ enjoyment and thoughts on their experience. On bad side, the servers were far better versed in the chef’s pedigree and aspects of the room’s design than the food and wine. But all in all if there is anything you want a place that isn’t hitting on all cylinders to be strong in it is attentive, concerned service.

The menu has strong parts like a small bites section, changing daily specials, an array of affordable wines, and very evocative writing, while in execution it has drawbacks like the lobster rolls that take the “small bite” description more seriously than the product to dollar ratio, and a Gruner Veltliner that was a little to warm to drink (apologies offered by the server, before it was served).

Additionally and more importantly the food exhibited similar enigmatic dualities:

Small Bites: Smoked almonds, Bacalao croquettes, Lobster rolls.  The almonds came out warm which meant they were chewy until they cooled. The smoke had given them a gorgeous mahogany color but no real smoke flavor, and they were decidedly lacking in salt, but when I requested salt a small dish of good sel gris was produced. The bun on the lobster roll was a perfect micro version of a top-split proper lobster roll bun, and the meat was quite sweet. The aioli however was way out of balance on the lemon oil side. The croquettes were unique in that the potatoes were pieces rather than mashed, but other than that as a package they were unremarkable.

FIRST: Kurobuta pork tonnato, large Sicilian capers, albacore tuna sauce: there are dishes out there that benefit from an integrity of ingredient while others are more about homogenization. Vittelo tonnato is one of those that gets better and better the more uniform it is. The best I know of is the recipe in Paul Bertolli’s book “Cooking by Hand” because it gives time few would afford for the variant layers of flavor to come together. In Klee’s rendition of the classic, pork of the black Berkshire pig, prized for its marbling, replaces veal and each ingredient is handled individually. Dollops of tuna mayo, and caper berries that have their bottoms lopped off so they stand proudly, flank delicate, folded, thin slices of poached pork. Once mashed all together the flavor was enjoyable though not deep, separately as served it was pleasant. The pork had a good chew and a respectable flavor, though it made little sense to feature such a lean cut from hogs renowned for their fat content. In the long run a nice, light appetizer for sure but not a remarkable new take on a well respected standard.

DAILY PASTA & SPECIALS: Monday: Viennese fried chicken, organic potato & mache salad: the conundrum of putting a finger on Klee at this early point is strikingly apparent in this dish. The chicken is breaded and fried to perfect, clean, airy crispness and topped with preserved lemon to accentuate this, the potatoes are boiled and dressed with lightly vinegary mustard and, in combination with the mache, serve as a very good side. However as skilled as you must be to make fried chicken this light and crispy, in the long run it seemed to lack soul: fried chicken on the bone served with potato salad this good should have a little gravity.

Snacks & Sides: Cauliflower baked with Gruyere cheese: I read this and thought of a casserole type dish with cheese sauce. What I was served was dry, curried cauliflower, roasted and topped with a sprinkling of grated Gruyere. Even though the restaurant did nothing to lead me to the au gratin assumption, I was let down and just failed to see the cheese and curry as a sensible combination.

For those of us coming so early in the restaurant’s run, dessert was a gifted small sampling of cookies and cakes suggestive of things to come. Whatever form the oatmeal cookie takes on the final menu get it, it was quite good (not City Bakery good, but quite good).

This dinner was a while ago already and I am sure if you go tonight some of my quandaries may already be settled. The truth is it took me time to write this place up because it took me time to figure out the impression it made. Ultimately I sensed potential but not promise, and I am not sure how I feel about that. Nothing was so inspired that I must return, and nothing was less than good. If it were your idea to pop over for dinner I would say “sure,” but it probably wouldn’t be mine.

The Waverly Inn and Garden, 741 shoppezillian stars

Stopped by The Waverly Inn and Garden last night with Wife and was offered what was marked as a preview menu, so I will give a simple preview report. Based on a single meal I feel that this place is going to get all kinds of positive and negative attention going forward and because it varies so greatly in its levels of execution that it will probably deserve it. But my feeling is all in all taken as an Inn, as it brands itself, and nothing else it is a success and worth visiting.

Obviously what an Inn is has changed over time as all things do, but the genesis is a place serving decent fare to travelers. From this beginning, across the long roads of times and places lost, what would an Inn evolve to were it dropped on the corner of Waverly and Bank Street in 2006 Greenwich Village? Probably this:

Décor: I assume it was named Inn because of the Ye Olde feel of the space, otherwise it would have had to be covered in mud and called The Cave. Three-fourths of the building has short ceilings topping narrow rooms that are warm bordering on hot. Then there is the Garden part, a small room in back which is more of an atrium. An oasis of a large airy space with a vaulted glass ceiling trussed with beautifully decorative ornate iron. Throughout, the decoration is that good kind of clutter of a person into collecting American antiques but with a semblance of taste who jams disparate items into cohesion. Touches like a wallpaper border in the men’s room that looks like it was stolen from Margot Tenenbaum’s childhood bedroom, and different sized and patterned oriental carpets laid to fit and fill the floor as if by happenstance not design, give it that welcoming long existing traveler’s rest spot feeling.

Service: in an old-fashioned inn the people serving you would probably be of the contemporaneous working class and live in the exact building in which you were taking your rest. In our new Greenwich Village Inn they are the contemporary version of this –actors on their way to Broadway. While the service borders on comical, the servers are sweet, good-natured and cheery enough to forgive many various little mistakes (awesome biscuits, I suspect lard, were served hot with spreadable butter but no knife) and are most decidedly the West Village version of the working class. I can’t not mention that the management of the seating borders on the incompetent, but it is the same type of incompetence has caused less good places to seem interesting to the New York dining crowd so I won’t go deeper. Just know that the people at the front have the most to work on at this point.

Wine List: the preview menu seemed to have a good variety of unique offerings, and what seemed middle of the road pricing.

Menu: again presented as preview, it must be accepted (though not happily) that the Monday special of Macaroni and cheese with shaved truffle is not yet available. But overall the entire Inn notion is well applied here if you keep in mind that the intended clientele has done little actual hard work or traveling in most of their lifetimes. Mostly hearty fare, with simple touches of our times applied. If the contemporary traveler arrives in the Village late on a blustery night just back from some place like Aspen or the Caribbean (or more likely just in from work in LA or London) weary from the demanding travel, and comes in a cab as opposed to riding through the cold night on dirt roads in a horse-drawn wagon, this would be the substantial type of offerings they would want to fill their belly before a restorative night’s sleep.

Food: in a word good.

Truffle fries: thin cut, appropriately salted and dressed in truffle oil (enough to present the aroma of truffles but remain crisp and as dry as a fry typically is).

Whole steamed artichoke: pared including about an inch and a half of the tail, simply and a little over steamed, served with drawn butter and a loose mayo which actually dresses the fries quite nicely.

Grilled vegetable salad (small): If there is anything New York needs it is neither more small homey places nor Japanese mega-restaurants, steak houses or burger shops. It is places that competently make decent salads that can actually stand up as a component of a meal. This is my first nomination for that salad. The small was a good size for splitting as a starter between the two of us, but I expect the large and a side of fries would pass as a light meal. Properly grilled summer squashes and asparagus are joined with oak lettuces, frisee, out of season tomatoes, avocados, and corn off the cob, dressed in a simple vinaigrette with accompanying lemon and lime on the side for a perfect acidic zing, the entire package (except the tomatoes) coming together to be a substantial but not overwhelming course with great flavor variety. Quite nice as an alternative to the more hearty offerings that comprise a large part of the rest of the menu, as well as those of the myriad other places in town that seem to either serve either light or hearty but never a decent salad in the middle

Hudson valley free-range chicken potpie: a red clay dish hidden beneath a crispy puff pastry cover holds shredded chicken, peas, pearl onions, carrots, and creamy sauce; pretty much a standard chicken potpie filing, unique for the quality and bite of the vegetables and its touch of tarragon. Tarragon is indeed a cruel mistress and it is well handled here, though I would leave any visible green strands in the dish as bites that included it ran right up against that soapy wall.

Amish organic free-range chicken with foraged mushrooms: how well you roast a chicken is a very good indicator of how talented your kitchen is; this one is commendable, served in two parts with crisp skin and pan juices that mix nicely with roasted mushrooms and winter squash. If you choose this you will probably want to get one of the à la carte side dishes to round it out.

So our new Inn is open, bustling, warm, and homey. The food is pleasing and the staff is amiable. It is definitely a solid addition to the neighborhood. Believe people who say they had a great time and good food, stop in when you are hungry, but be suspicious of anybody using words like “incredible” and phrases like “you have to try their…” They are most probably just excited by what they hear and not the facts. That’s my story, at least until the truffle Macaroni and cheese is available.

Gordon Ramsay at the London, brief thoughts and porn

Thoughts on my dinner at Gordon Ramsay at the London:

• This is exactly the place to take people who love food, but not necessarily a destination for foodies.
• The food I was served could not have been better prepared.
• Like an Olympic dive that could never get a ten because of its low degree of difficulty, the perfection is a bit perplexing. Nothing was so original or inspired as to amaze, but at the same time each component of each dish was exceptional in quality and execution.
• The room, if described in parts, would sound busy, but as experienced comes together much like the food: it is warm and intimate enough to be alive, while leaving the space to enjoy your meal and your company comfortably.
• The swivel chairs are by far the best seating I have encountered in a fine restaurant.
• There are aspects of the room that feel like the subtlest interpretations of Western motif, particularly the some wagon wheel-esqe chandeliers and bridle-y wall hangings.
• All in all the place feels like one of the greatest values in town on a dollars-spent-to-experience-provided ratio.
• Go because you want fine food, not because you want to be awed.

Menu Prestige with lamb choice, the porn:

Thoughts week ending 11/10/06

… I just assume diners know that real Kobe is back in America after a hiatus. But Meg recently linked this rather fluffy piece in the Post so I figured I would offer my experience with it here. I became aware of the embargo’s end shortly before I had what I assumed was real Kobe on my second L’Atelier visit. I didn’t ask so I can’t swear it was authentic, what I can say is it was exponentially better than all the other meat I have been served around town that was branded as Kobe or Waygu (don’t know if you have been to Old Homestead but little in New York food is as pathetic as their offerings).

When I had this discussion with my friend Mark, the Chef De Cuisine at Morimoto, he explained that to truly appreciate the finest Kobe it should be prepared Shabu Shabu. In a nutshell, you quickly swish very thinly sliced Kobe through a hot, flavored liquid and pair it to differing vegetables and dipping sauces. Absolutely convinced that Mark had gone insane from too much Japanese exposure and that meat with that kind of fat content could not be better boiled than seared, I accepted his challenge, leading to my first ever full meal at Morimoto not at the Omakase bar.

The meal left me feeling three things: that Mark is a very good chef producing very cool food from the Morimoto kitchen, that I am a bad friend for confining my dining at his restaurant to the Omakase bar with which he is not involved, and that I was totally wrong – Shabu Shabu is indeed the superior manner for Kobe preparation.

Grilled/seared/roasted and all other high heat methods scorch the predominant and flavorful fats, while with Shabu Shabu the flavored broth heated by an incredibly hot rock releases and encourages them to bloom, offering more of a slightly melted silky texture. Words like rich, buttery, and unctuous describe fast high heat preparations of Kobe and they are indeed special. However, I have no words to describe the sensation of this dish. I will tell you it ended a headache that I had in my temples and I spent most of the rest of the evening with the aromas running through my head in rather blissful contemplation.

There are many reasons to be into trying Kobe and it is an amazing ingredient. If your inspiration is that you are into flavor contemplation and you have an opportunity to try it as Shabu Shabu I think it is well worth taking.

Not sure why I never posted a report on the meal; maybe because I didn’t keep good enough notes, or didn’t want to concede my wrongness to Mark. Either way it was an exceptional meal. I did shoot it, though. Here are the pics of the Kobe Shabu Shabu course:

Café Cluny, 421 saturatillian stars

It takes nerves of steel to decorate your restaurant with a three foot cockroach. To be fair, I am not sure it is a cockroach or that it is carved from driftwood, but that’s how it looked to me suspended from the ceiling in the back corner of Café Cluny, the new little French place in the West Village serving straightforward bistro food. I am sure you are asking, “the West Village needed a new small restaurant serving French bistro food, how will it stand out?” Well, besides the three foot driftwood cockroach, a serious collection of sketches of flora and fauna, and a strikingly good portrait of a young Jonathan Waxman in pencil, it has a stupendous appetizer.

Like Gavroche, Jarnac, La Ripaille, Le Gamin, Paris Commune, Tartine, and the many places in the neighborhood that also serve standard French bistro food but don’t identify themselves as uniquely French, this is a quaint room jammed full of little, two-person tables and bistro chairs that encourages an intimacy with the crowd. You are, after all, about ten inches from your fellow diners in two of the three directions that aren’t facing the table. Also, like all of these places, this one was full of patrons; it would seem outside Paris the best place to be a Parisian bistro is in the part of New York City where the East-West streets start running diagonally SE-NW.

When Wife and I walked in around six on a Monday to a rather sparsely sat restaurant we were told they could accommodate two but that we would need to finish by 7:30pm. This initiated a gamut of feelings in me. First was this isn’t Nobu and I stopped eating at Nobu because of the “I need the table back” thing they do. Second was, well, maybe the table has been reserved and this host is kindly squeezing me in, making a fair deal for both of us (we weren’t going to be long anyway, people who sit before six seldom are and he must know that or he wouldn’t be the gatekeeper at a restaurant in Manhattan). Third was what kind of inept reservationist loads a book around 7:30pm on a Monday? Finally, when the third phrase uttered by our waiter was “there is no rush” I figured best to write it off to new place jitters not worth being distracted by.

Ok, so the place is not very unique and is very popular very early in its run. What matters is the food and wine:

The wine list is trite and dear, however every bottle of wine on the short list is also offered by the glass. A tough program to maintain that would end up wasting a lot of fine wine, it seemed sensible with these simpler selections which may even improve with a little oxidization. The menu doesn’t care what you drink with it so neither should you. Get a glass of whatever you feel like; Swordfish “Au Poivre” will be fine with Malbec and Sauvignon Blanc.

Mixed Greens Salad: there can be beauty in a simple salad, as this example shows. Crisp, well selected greens with fine herbs mixed through, dressed in sherry vinegar and a nutty olive oil vinaigrette. There is a margin for error in such simplicity that many versions of this salad fall victim to, happily not here.

Sea Scallops w/ cauliflower puree & beet jus: no doubt the dish of the night. Seared scallops dotted with a touch of caviar resting on a velvety cauliflower purée which has been ringed with reduced beet juice, all topped with a scattering of what I assumed to be baby mache. The scallops, seared to a taut level, had a smooth texture, perfectly complimenting the luscious purée I would bet was 99% butter. The beet sauce offered a light sweetness, the caviar provided saline bursts that stood well individually rather than homogenizing as salt would have otherwise, and the mini-lettuce offered a light bitter touch of vegetal astringency to play off the tight spectrum of sweetness, saltiness, tartness, and richness of the other components.

For entrées we had Roasted All Natural Chicken w/ autumn vegetables and Hanger “Steak Frites” w/ fingerling potatoes, Swiss chard and garlic butter. The good side of both was the cooking. The steak had a great char with a tender, exactly-cooked center, the chicken’s skin was crispy while the flesh remained succulent; both were as good as or better than most of the versions around town. The accompanying vegetables were as good. The fingerling potatoes were called confit in the sides part of the menu, by which I assume they mean poached in oil, either way their waxy flesh had a sumptuous bite. The braised chard was light with only enough vegetal bitterness left to compliment the beef. The vegetables with the chicken were roasted Jerusalem artichokes, onions, carrots, and spinach, a mélange that played quite well with the deep reduction of chicken stock (with its zip of long roasted bones and vegetables) dressing the plate.

Notwithstanding the menu’s annoying habit of presenting certain options “in quotations,” the weakness of the entrées was a pronounced lack of salt, which is often the weakness at new restaurants. I never complain about salt in a restaurant that provides it on the table. If it’s there I can use it after all, but the level of preparation in this case wanted far better salt than was available in the shaker on the table. In the chicken dish the breast, the vegetables, and the sauce were properly salted, the thigh however was entirely lacking (I have to imagine because it was plated under the breast the last touch before service missed it). As for the steak, it was missing salt entirely as were its accompanying potatoes. After three bites I added some of the table salt, only to have it wash through and make the meat taste coated in salt rather than seasoned with. Better table salt would cure this, but I assume from the level of attention in the rest of the preparation it won’t be necessary for long.

So that I could say I tried a dessert I sampled the Concord Grape Tarte with Peanut Butter Ice Cream (apparently the pastry chef does not believe in shorthand). People often try to reinterpret childhood memories like PB&J in dishes, some to good effect, some to poor. This one works, both components are solid and well produced but in no way genius, much like the ingredients they ape. The result is a fun, good take on the fondly familiar.

I originally thought Café Cluny would serve best as a way to skip the line around the corner at Tartine and its sibling good French bistros, except that a week in they are already very full, which leaves us with that scallop. The staff has nailed that cute and adept, if not expert, thing that usually takes years to get down. The food is good enough to expect it will get better. The best you can hope for from a restaurant serving the standards that are on this menu is aptitude, which this place has. Have a bad jones for simply roast chicken? This place will be as safe a stop-off as any other. But I would definitely be willing wait around a short amount of time at the cute little bar and have some drinks in order to eat more of their scallops.