Jump to content

lxt

participating member
  • Posts

    310
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by lxt

  1. lxt

    wd-50

    Eatpie, thank you very much. Please feel free to forward it.
  2. One of the challenges of a small authentic restaurant, when the turnover in the kitchen is habitual, is consistency. I have the same problem recommending Russian restaurants where you are not quite sure whether the tender and sumptuous duck in a thin, delicately sweet cranberry sauce that you had the night before will be replaced today by a tough turkey with a thick, jam-like paste, in the hope that the diner will not notice the difference. Pathetically, in most cases, diners either don’t notice or much care, seeking rather the entertainment that Russian restaurants provide along with food. My experience with NYNT is limited to only several dishes, which I found pleasing and which were the main reason for my consistent return. When the quality would fluctuate between very good and acceptable with occasional pleasant treats like soft-shells (as of several years ago) and baby pig, it was worth the effort. However, when the level of acceptable plunges to offensive, then the potential dissatisfaction is simply not worth the energy. Perhaps NYNT can still perform well, but my last meal with slimy shrimp was not only unappealing, it was almost repulsive. I still wonder how my companion actually managed to eat most of that dish. Pperhaps hunger adjusts one’s perception. After many visits, this was my first very unfortunate experience with NYNT, but the deterioration in the quality of the dishes I used to order on a regular basis over the years was quite obvious, and I doubt I’ll be inclined to try my luck again. I’d be curious to hear more recent positive comments as I still maintain a certain sentimental attachment to the place.
  3. lxt

    wd-50

    Rachel and Robert40, thank you very much. Fredbram, I wish you the best trip and no less pleasurable an experience at WD50 as we had. Please do report back. Pan, tangerine petals was a literary euphemism for tangerine segments, each of which, in its bright vibrant color and shape, reminded me of a petal of the flower. I suppose I should’ve placed this phrase in quotes. Blue Heron, I have no doubts that my experience would’ve been even richer had I been able to share it with you at the same table. Perhaps some day… Jogoode, thank you for providing the menu information. The seven-course menu is $95 indeed, which is not much different from some three-star restaurants’ seven-course tasting (Café Buloud‘s is $90). The service, though good, is very casual, especially before you are seated at the table. However, the food, when it hits the heights, is a four-star experience. You may not choose to order the chef’s tasting, in which case the bill will be lower, but you can certainly use the information in this thread to select the most successful dishes. One of the peculiar things that we discussed after dinner was that the restaurant doesn’t serve regular bread before dinner. They serve flat, paper bread covered with sesame seeds – very thin, almost see-through sheets of bread that seemed to be so gentle that they would crumble under your fingers with just a slightly more forceful touch, or dissolve on your tongue if kept long enough in your mouth. It was an interesting concept, and it corresponded with the general style of the cuisine and a new trend in some restaurants (Ola, for instance). However, it seemed that regular bread before dinner wouldn’t be completely out of context with the cuisine’s approach as well and would be appropriate based on the portion size. However, it was mostly my husband’s complaint, as, apparently due to my relatively low mass, I was quite happy with the amount of food.
  4. lxt

    wd-50

    Kim WB, firstly, thank you for your compliment. Nevertheless, I must disagree with you on some key points. Chef Dufresne’s bold, daring flavors may not always be appreciated by all diners; however, the menu is “catholic” enough to accommodate most tastes, and it would be a shame to neglect the opportunity to acquaint oneself with the delight of one of the most challenging and creative cuisines of the city. One can always convey his preferences to the service staff, who proved to be knowledgeable and very helpful, and ask for their recommendation. After we returned from London, our gastronomic experiences in New York were mediocre at best, aside from a wonderful dinner at Atelier. WD50 was the only place that awoke our senses and sparked our interest. Chef Dufresne’s cuisine is not a simple blind mixture of contemporary extravagance: it is sober and very elegant. A few dishes may leave some palates puzzled or disliked, but to my mind, it is an experience not to be missed. Dufresne takes a “common object” out of its customary setting and places it in a new an unfamiliar environment, challenging traditional preconception. However, it is certainly not a random combination but the result of a well-thought-out process, experimentation and technique. I also don’t think that the flavor combinations are necessarily so revolutionary. The marinated fish/foie gras combination has been successfully explored by chef Blumenthal in his Crab Biscuit – roast foie gras, crystallized seaweed, marinated salmon and oyster vinaigrette dish. Caramel was used with tuna tartare in Dispirito’s Tuna Tartare with asian pear and fresh wasabi dish very successfully. Red pepper oil was used by Vongerichten (though with a different preparation technique). Beets with squab was on Pierre Gagnaire’s menu for years (Squab breasts with germiny mousse and beet cream sauce). To anyone who is even slightly interested in the current development of the culinary scene in New York, I would strongly recommend to visit WD50 and decide for himself whether this cuisine suits his palate.
  5. lxt

    wd-50

    It is so cold that I feel my face turn into a frozen imprint that would crack in tiny rippled patterns, reminiscent of aged canvases of old masters, with even a slight expression of emotion. The middle lights on; no sidelights, I finally see a cab hiding behind several cars at a red light. A couple of steps forward to wake my stiff legs, and I am at full speed toward the promising salvation. With the side of my eye, I notice a woman with cartons increasingly speeding in the same direction. Could she possibly aim for my cab? I lean forward in a last desperate attempt and finish first, safely positioning one foot inside the car. “Can I have this cab?” asks the woman with a certain entitlement and no hint of shame. “Bitch,” echoes inside the cab as we pull off. 10+ years in New York city, and I still can’t get used to it. There was no one to greet us as we walked into the dark, small room, with bare tables and exposed dark-wood ceiling beams, lacking ceremony or formality, stiff demeanor or any vibe of elitism imposed by a strict ceremonial dress code or stuffy clientele. Reminiscent of a fancy diner, illuminated by elongated, colored glass lamps, producing a dimmed glow and barely highlighting the contemporary art on the walls, the place lent a very distinct sense of being a neighborhood, around-the-corner hangout. It is only when one finds himself toward the back of the restaurant, closer to the stunning open kitchen, and has a chance to observe the precise movements and all the elaboration behind the scenes, that the sense of great monumentality and solidity behind the superficial noise of the dining room, swarmed with a deceivingly young crowd, takes over. In a matter of several minutes we were finally taken care of and led to a table toward the back of the restaurant where we had a chance to observe the kitchen in all its glory. While awaiting my daughter, who was supposed to join us any minute but was detained, we leisurely browsed through the menu and chose a seven-course tasting and one extra dish. After we were teased by a stellar amuse, the next several dishes didn’t provoke any impulse to return right away until…But let me start from the beginning. Sweet Maine shrimp, sauce gribiche. A pale-pink raw shrimp was curled in a shape of a well, filled with airy yogurt and flakes of tarragon and capers, a tall, dry and crispy shrimp head sticking up from the center as a mast, and was lightly dusted with dry chicken-egg-yolk powder. The sauce, in fact, was a deconstructed gribiche, where the process of amalgamation of ingredients presented separately on the plate took place in your mouth with each bite. The dish had neither austerity nor pomp -- a tender, but plump shrimp, bathed in a shaft of its porcelain perfection, traded attention for the fluffy, whipped yogurt infused with smoked eel stock. This was a very good dish. The unexpected, smoky taste of the yogurt, slightly offset by the almost neutral-tasting egg powder, was intense by not intrusive. The dish showed enough frivolity and, at the same time, an exceptional lightness of touch. It was clever and simply delightful! Foie gras/anchovy terrine, citrus chutney, tarragon. “Wonderful!” said my daughter as I was deeply into my plate struggling with this dish. I raised my eyebrows, as I couldn’t find the right balance that would satisfy me, trying to manipulate foie and anchovies with either acidic/very lightly sweet citrus chutney or soft-and herbal-tasting tarragon purée splashed on the plate. The six overlapping pieces of halved anchovies, well-dried from their marinade and simply placed on top of the rectangular bulk of terrine, with nothing to bind them to the smooth, creamy foie, contributed a very strong salty/sour taste competing with another level of sourness lent by the citrus chutney. So what was the word “wonderful” applied to? As I looked at my daughter’s plate, I saw the anchovies lovingly piled in the corner. “Just push them aside,” said she, “and it’ll be wonderful,” …and it was! The biting, aromatic intensity of orange, the ravaging sourness of lemon and the very mild sweetness of foie couldn’t offset the fishiness and the distinctive vinegary acidity of anchovies. I didn’t find this dish either interesting or challenging. To me, without the anchovies, the dish was more appealing. Smoked eel, cucumber, pumpkin seed, lime chip. Three small, rectangular, flat pieces of cold-smoked eel, almost hidden under the generously sprinkled coarsely chopped roasted pumpkin seeds and a stunning fan of thin lime chips, were dancing around cucumber spaghetti twirled into a roll -- yet another smoky dish, adding a different perspective to the tasting menu. The saltiness and acidity of the eel was very well offset by the earthy pumpkin seeds, lending a slightly sweet overtone, but the real surprise came with the lime chips. Delicate and fragile, broken with irregular thin-stripe patches revealing a honey, whitish-buff, transparent surface, the façade of the dried lime was reminiscent of a veil, a laced curtain, a gentle lens through which the world would acquire the grace of its colors. One bite, however, and a strident, vociferous bitterness and acidity struck the palate with its full force, showing a remarkable disparity between the look and the taste. The wet cucumber, saturated with crème fraiche remained fresh and slightly crunchy, escaping sogginess from the moisture. To some extent, this dish echoed the previous amuse, but without foie gras, a more classical combination of the smoked fish/lemon/cucumber, so much loved in Finland and Russia but with a little twist, was much more pleasant, in our opinion. This was an interesting, nice, but not a spectacular appetizer. Rabbit sausage, avocado, grainy mustard paper. Two cylinders of rabbit sausage separated by a tall, irregularly shaped mustard chip were positioned right in the center of the avocado purée splashed across the plate. A tiny rack of rabbit a bright-green bean sprout leaf with baby “berries” at the bottom of the branch, and a piece of preserved, dark-orange apricot, lonely dwelling alone to the side, completed the composition. I didn’t have the impression that the sausage was made of ground meat. The distinct marbling, coming from the infiltrated herbs, separated pale chunks of rabbit, with a center piece of dark-pink squab meat and another side chunk of dry apricot. The sausage lent a wild taste, it was not overseasoned, so that a very thin and delicate in texture, though spiky and biting, “freckled” mustard chip punctuated the meat well. The smoothness of avocado and sweetness of apricot added a nice leveled and sweet contrast. An adorable, tiny pickled rabbit rib brought strident notes of acidity along with its tender meat. This appetizer was interesting, but by that time, I was getting a little tired of the pickled taste in my mouth. Sardine, lentils, soy caramel, nori froth. I didn’t enjoy this dish much. One lightly warm sardine was positioned in the center of the plate, with lentils, mixed with apples and hidden under the bubbles of nori, touching one end of the fish encircled in the caramel. The sardine had a slightly fishy taste, with perhaps some acidity offset by the sweet lentils and even sweeter caramel sauce. In fact, the sweetness of the caramel sauce overshadowed the sardine taste, and when eaten together, the dish was not bad. Langoustine, celery noodles, shiitake, toasted rice broth. “Now we’re talking,” said my consort, carefully biting on the pinkish flesh of a plump, meaty, springy and astonishingly sweet raw creature. This dish was simply fantastic! It was the breakthrough of the evening, and from that moment on, each subsequent dish was an astounding revelation worth many returns. Elaborately composed, this small intimate dish was filled with a wealth of closely observed details. A large langoustine, resting on a hill of shredded celery coquettishly peeping out through the plump body, was bathed in a transparent, thin rice broth, producing a tantalizing smell of toast and smoke. A crown of pearly-blue, perfectly shaped, medium-sized langoustine caviar, and sprinkles of dry, bright-green celery straws enveloping one side of the body, completed the composition. This was the first time I tried this caviar. Not salty, with slightly crunchy texture, and a mild, non-fishy, non-bitter flavor, it exuded an air of aristocratic beauty with its monochromatic but opulent bluish-gray “clothing” adding to the dish a spark of marvelous energy. The celery brought freshness and created a nice background for the exceptional sweetness of the langoustine, which chef Dufresne gets from New Zealand. The most interesting component of the dish was its broth. Just slightly salted water, infused with an intense, distinct flavor of toasted rice and a strong woody taste of dry shiitake mushroom hidden inside the celery comprised a perfect balance to accompany the sweet, raw langoustine. This excellent dish was a carefully structured composition with a calm, balanced mood. Slow poached egg, parmesan broth, tomato powder. I was not looking forward to this dish and was a little upset that I didn’t ask for a copy of the tasting menu in advance and replace the eggs. When one consumes the same product regularly for an extended period of time, there is always a possibility that the magic, the expectation, the seductiveness would fade and turn into comfort, necessary nourishment, stripped of mystery and anticipation. I was raised on eggs with caviar. In fact, in one of my earlier posts I said: “The lingering taste of egg that is always present independently of what technique is utilized to prepare it can never give me enough sense of luxury that the texture of the egg or the fancy accompaniments could otherwise suggest. Neither caviar nor truffles can bring eggs to the next level of sophisticated dining experience for me, and are similar to blini, which will never rise above being just tiny pancakes from the nearest Deli even if served with caviar.” I never thought the day would come when I would have to take my words back. This slow-poached egg was not only exceptionally good; this dish had a revolutionary effect on me. A deep bowl held a chubby, plump egg, swimming in thin broth. The egg was topped with grated cheese ( “peppered” with bloody-red tomato powder) and baby chives resembling long, thin grass with black, round seeds at the root. The velvety egg white, looking like a sumptuous silk “suit,” was cushiony and fluffy with a tender and melting texture. As the spoon penetrated its surface, it broke into the soft, bulging, almost fluorescent bright-yellow belly, causing the flavors to explode with razor-sharp vibrancy from the liquid egg yolk released into the broth. Neither the warm-water broth nor the egg were seasoned when tried separately. It was the sharp parmesan cheese that provided the strong-flavored, salty finish as it melted into the broth (hence parmesan broth) and amalgamated with the egg. This dish was clever, brilliant and startling with dynamic, vibrant and visionary swirling forms. It had “signature dish” written all over it. At that time, Dewey, the father of chef Dufresne and the General Manager of the restaurant, approached our table inquiring about our impressions of the dish. Casually dressed, which fit the overall restaurant atmosphere, he presented himself as a man with soft manners, sharp and knowledgeable. I couldn’t help but to share my astonishment at how this dish broke my stereotype of egg dishes. As it appeared, the egg is cooked at a very low temperature of 100-125 degrees in the shell for an hour to produce the fluffy texture of its exterior (Dewey’s description differed somewhat from the service staff’s version which was a 140 degree temperature and 35 minute(?) cooking time). The egg is cooled in the refrigerator until it is time to serve it. It is then quickly heated at a high temperature, spooned out of the shell and voila, the dish is ready. A quick introduction, a gentlemanly compliment (which I took with gratitude and pleasure), and a generous offer to have a kitchen tour after dinner. After that, despite the crowded room, Dewey stopped by with each subsequent course, which was greatly appreciated by all of us. Cod, smoked mashed potatoes, pickled mushrooms, red pepper oil. Another dish; another success. This dish was somewhat different from all of the previous courses -- it was slightly heavier stylistically. Perhaps the notion of mashed potatoes enforces the feeling of comfort and gives a rustic air to a dish. Cod is one of my favorite fish, especially in the wintertime when its delicate, sweet flesh stands out. I like it to be cooked just before the flakes separate, so that when the fork pierces the flesh, there still prevails a certain level of solidity. It is then that the original flavor and the spirit of the fish are intact, and the texture is heavenly. My cod was just slightly overdone, according to my preferences, and the dish certainly lost its potential heights. However, the pleasant surprise came with smoked potatoes and sweet red pepper oil, wonderfully offsetting the strident flavors of smoked potatoes and pickled mushrooms. The skinless fillet of cod was positioned in the center between the blob of mashed potatoes, which were supported from the side by the pickled, very vinegary mushrooms, and a puddle of brightly red-orange pepper oil thickened with red-pepper powder(?). Several crisp pieces of cod skin topped the mushrooms and brought a final touch of silver shade to the dish. I didn’t care much for the mushrooms: The vinegary taste was certainly intentional, but a bit too strong for my palate. The mashed potatoes, however, were surprisingly good. Though the texture was quite ordinary, they had a very strong, hearty smoked flavor. In fact, it seemed as though all the smokiness from the previous courses culminated in this one mass of off-white cloud. If tried separately, the potatoes tasted like double smoked bacon. However, when combined with the cod, they acquired a slightly fishy taste (in a positive way). Later, Dewey explained that the idea implemented in this dish was a flip-flop of a Scandinavian “smoked haddock mashed potatoes” dish. It was clever and certainly worked. The potatoes are smoked in the electric smoker until turned into a dry powder (“You certainly know that the best mashed potatoes are made from dry potatoes,” added Dewey while explaining the process to us). The potatoes are then simply mixed with cream and butter and are ready to be served. I wouldn’t be surprised if in the near future I’ll hear about Dufresne’s potatoes in the same manner as we refer to Robuchon’s potatoes now. Squab, encrusted golden beets, sweet potato juice. This dish was simply superb and a perfect conclusion to our savory courses. Two buttery-tender medallions of delicate, succulent and velvety, almost raw squab breast separated by a piece of strongly-flavored crispy skin positioned in between, rested in a puddle of a thick, sweet potato liquid whose vibrant, warm, brown tones created a dynamic, visionary motif, and whose sweetness subdued a whiff of that wild-game taste. The sweetness of the sauce was perhaps a little too intense but wonderful nevertheless. Two fingers of golden beets “dressed” in a thick cloak of fine pomegranate-red beet flakes (made through dehydration) were set on one side of the plate. It didn’t seem that the only purpose of the beets was in complementing the squab, but rather in presenting a counterpart that would compete at the same level of forcefulness as the meat. The beets were excellent, and while I contemplated on its honey-sweet, crunchy nature, my daughter gently asked whether I was going to finish my second “finger.” What wouldn’t we do for our children! I’ve noticed how much my perspective on and taste in desserts change when I don’t have sweets for a long time. I restricted myself in sugar for several months, and surprisingly, at some point, I completely lost interest in that part of gastronomic indulgence. In fact, I could take just a bite, evaluate the dessert, and put my fork down without any temptation to see the bottom of the plate. With a long restrain comes a new, more sensitive way of receiving sugary objects: The desserts generally taste too sweet, and the balance, to fit your preferences, is harder to find. If there should be a destination place for a leisurely evening with smashing desserts, it must be WD50. I was simply smitten not only by the mastery of composition and perspective or the clever touches, so wonderfully continuing the general theme of the restaurant, but by how remarkably good it tasted. We started with the Tangerine, olive oil, honey dessert. This was a perfect buffer between the savory courses and the other desserts: Refreshment that could serve as a palate cleanser but was too good to be reduced to just that function. The sunrise dance of vibrant orange colors of this dish evoked a dynamism, swirling with pulsating energy, contrary to its gentle, cooling, tranquil flavors embodying bucolic peacefulness. A bright-orange tangerine sorbet set on several fresh tangerine petals was topped with a transparent, shiny-gold honey caramel “blanket” and surrounded by several gelatinized honey cubes resting on drops of olive oil. Several fresh anise seeds, sprinkled throughout the plate, brought a strong, distinct spark of licorice. The olive oil offset and smoothed the anise wonderfully. This was a very intriguing composition with stunning colors and sensual tastes. Coffee soil, butternut sorbet, basil. “How do you like eating mud?” asked Dewey of my daughter. This was the most memorable dessert I have had in the past year: a taste sensation that was intellectually and sensually stimulating. Bite into it, and savor a surprisingly finely balanced contrast with a remarkably uninterrupted flow of flavors as natural as the idea of squash dwelling on soil. Simple and elegant, it stated serenity and lyrical fluency. With a very undemanding subject and a restricted “palette” of ingredients, the dish achieved a range of subtle effects. Ground espresso with a smoked, earthy taste (mixed with crushed almonds, a little bit of flour, sugar and salt) was grainy and visually undistinguishable from soil. It served as a bed for soft curves of only slightly sweet, bright-orange-yellow butternut sorbet that seemed to have the most intense flavor of freshly baked butternut squash. An espresso/caramel sheet covered the sorbet, and a half-circle of gently sweet basil sauce with a very distinct basil flavor completed the composition. It was more than a mere depiction of an earth theme in this dessert. It was a perfect illusion and a glorious presentation. Rum roasted banana, milk chocolate ice cream, curry was a more forceful dessert with stronger sweet notes and flavor combinations than in previous dishes. It was a little too forthcoming for me, but still very enjoyable. A roasted banana with a shining rum glaze, resting on the sand of brown sugar crumbs, lie parallel to the beige, luscious ice-cream, set on a long “rug” of a thin curry splash, which bestowed the most exotic perfume as soon as the plate was in front of us. A bridge of crispy banana chip with a sweet spiky bite of black and red pepper joined the ice-cream and the roasted banana. A small mound of soft and very lightly gelatinized red soy caramel jelly contrasted with the yellow curry stripe and finished the composition. It was an interesting twist on a more traditional dessert, but all the little touches worked perfectly well. Right after our dinner, we were taken to the kitchen, a large room with overwhelmingly bright lights and clean surfaces. One could hardly imagine that this was the place that just fed the full room of people. As soon as we stepped inside, a sense of leisure evaporated. Dewey’s mildness transformed into a strong will of command which gently but firmly indicated that we were in his domain now and should behave. We were put in a line, away from the long tables and the kitchen exit, after which Dewey, with a habitual, sharp manner described the kitchen design and its functional features. “Table 37. Three tastings,” Dewey introduced us to Wylie Defresne. A man with Lord Byron’s side whiskers turned and smiled. A light chat, handshakes, and a memorable picture of my daughter between two handsome gentlemen, Wylie Dufresne and Mike Sheerin (sous chef), completed our evening’s composition. We shall return. It is quite natural to apply one’s previous experience in an attempt to find a parallel between different entities of the past or the present. Robert Brown mentioned earlier in this thread that one of the dishes reminded him of a dish he just had in Spain. The chef’s fascination with smoke and cold smoked fish brings us to Scotland, Finland, perhaps even Russia and Poland. Smoked rice and shiitake mushrooms certainly show an Asian influence. The man takes us around the world with his own, very distinctive style that appears simple, natural, without strain or artifice. “Got to give him credit for trying. He made you think a little about which flavors are complementary. Also, since the portions are small, he can afford to take chances even if he misses now and then,” said my friend after our discussion of my dinner at WD50. He was right on target. I can easily imagine some people viewing chef Dufresne’s cuisine as toy food, too experimental and not comforting, perhaps too abstract and free from traditional constraints, too inclusive and indiscriminate. It is certainly an adventure, where chef Dufresne exercises his freewheeling license to be uninhibited and creative. Huxley said once about Montaigne: “Free association artistically controlled – this is the paradoxical secret of Montaigne’s best essays. One damned thing after another – but in a sequence that in some almost miraculous way develops a central theme …” For us, not everything worked, but everything was worth trying, and some dishes were spectacular.
  6. A cook cooks. A chef not only cooks but manages. DiSpirito might cook well but from last year's The Restaurant and the decay of UP it seems he is not a talented chef. When we talk about the talent, does it fit into the realm of the chef or the cook? For instance “[Keller’s] great talent is that he never tires of coming up with new, surprising, and well-executed variations of the possibilities of something as simple as an egg or a tomato…” (Dana Cowin – Food & Wine). Should have we demoted Mr. Keller to a “cook” after the failure of Rakel in New York city? Mr. DiSpirito may have demonstrated an inability to manage two restaurants (one of them underfunded, per Fat Guy) simultaneously, but when he ran UP alone, he was one of the most interesting chefs on the New York city restaurant scene.
  7. Or perhaps we're projecting an inapplicable set of expectations onto her reviews. I am not quite sure whether this review could be seen as being in discordance with the rating that was given to the restaurant. It is quite obvious that the restaurant got demoted for the service and kitchen mistakes primarily, and that full credit was given to chef Dispirito’s talent. “Some of the food is spectacular, a sophisticated blend of ingredients in unexpected ways, like fluke carpaccio drizzled with sweet cashew purée and a coriander vinaigrette.” I mostly agreed with the description of the dishes in this review, and concur that some of the dishes were not well conceived or rather not exciting, but the successful ones were far beyond the point of being ignored and certainly outshone less fortunate “productions.” Besides, it is my experience, that there is no restaurant that wouldn’t produce several questionable dishes. Perhaps one’s view depends more on a perspective from which he applies his evaluation: the best that the restaurant can do or the worst of it. Had I never visited the restaurant and read this review, the phrase I quoted above would be the key point in my decision whether to visit. I didn’t find the review overly negative, just objective. My impression of this report was that the negatives overwhelmed the potential of the restaurant and on average the performance evaluated to a 2 star level, which I think is fair. I found no dissonance between the review and the grading. What I do find unfortunate is that after writing a balanced review, Ms. Burros ended on a negative note leaving a bad taste for Union Pacific in a reader’s mouth.
  8. The review pretty much reflected my experience with the restaurant, which I still keep on my list of favorites. UP was always inconsistent, which would become especially apparent during the chef’s absence. However, there is no doubt in my mind that UP can be one of the most exciting gastronomic experiences. If the grounds for evaluation were only food with all the necessary fundamentals intact, including the chef’s presence in the kitchen and a flavor balance away from the dramatization of sweetness, I’d say that UP absolutely deserves no fewer than three stars. However, the overall experience and such a dramatic inconsistency not only in service, but in how the same dish can taste on two different occasions perhaps calls for a demotion. The talent of the chef is still apparent, and I hope he’ll be able to get back on his feet soon. The question is how long Rocco has to wait until UP is evaluated again. Also, with so many exciting newcomers to the arena of the New York restaurant life, I assume it’ll be a little harder to fight for market share.
  9. I think it's a French cheese. Some versions are sweet, so you see it in desserts once in a while. lxt, did you taste this at all in the dessert? jogoode, I think the inclusion of the cream cheese ice cream in the vacherin dessert was pretty much a humorous touch or rather a pun, as I don’t believe that vacherin cheese is related to vacherin dessert at all, though I may be mistaken.
  10. Pan, vacherin (not to be mistaken with cheese) is usually a dessert with a crisp meringue base and several ring layers positioned on top of each other. The middle layers are usually filled with ice cream, sorbet or even whipped cream, and the composition generally includes fruit.
  11. Interestingly, I recall Fat Guy’s opinion on the degree of the chef/owner’s involvement with the menu at each of the restaurants. Though I wouldn’t feel comfortable arguing for all establishments, I had a small chat with Akhtar Nawab of CraftBar yesterday and one question I asked was whether Bill Knapp or even Colicchio oversees the operation/menu at CraftBar. As it appears, Akhtar has enough freedom to compose the menu on his own, provided that his imagination does not carry him too far beyond the restaurant's general concept of more approachable (price-wise) dishes, though the specials can certainly increase your bill. I wonder whether Nougatine operates completely independently as well. I neglected to mention the desserts at Nougatine, and I am grateful you did. I didn’t seem to be happy with the desserts at Jean-Georges in the past, though the fruit-based desserts (“exotic” in particular) were much more successful, in my opinion, than the chocolate ones. It reminds me of a recent dinner at Atelier where the desserts by Eric Hubert (a former Jean-Georges pastry chef) were awfully similar to those at Jean-Georges. I always appreciated the “undersugared,” light touch in desserts, but aside from being delicate, I found them generally bland. This was not the case at the Nougatine room, and if Chef Johnny Iuzzini does oversee two rooms (which comes as a surprise to me), perhaps I need to make another visit to Jean-George. Here's the dessert section I omitted from my original Nougatine review. We had an excellent rustic apple streusel tart with cinnamon, blood orange reduction and burnt orange ice cream with buttery and delicately crunchy mille feuille pastry hosting caramelized apples. Two exotic touches of thin, pink orange sauce, bringing acidity, and the dark-beige orange ice cream with a very distinctive burnt taste, as a counterpart, truly gave this rustic dessert a new twist. An exotic fruit vacherin with guava sorbet, cream cheese ice cream and mango-mint compote was creative and quite good as well: A three-layer cylinder consisting of meringue as a base, pink guava sorbet in the middle and a very thin layer of vanilla and fromage blanc ice cream on top were surrounded by a thick mango/passion fruit sauce with pleasantly acidic passion fruit seeds. This dessert brought refreshment, and the combination of all elements eaten together worked well. We also had their signature dessert, Warm Chocolate Cake with vanilla ice cream, which I enjoyed the least. Does Jean-Georges still offer a prix-fixe lunch, I wonder?
  12. Pan, thank you very much. You are too kind indeed. Felonius, my personal impression was that even the concept Nougatine offers is quite different from Jean-Georges‘ and simply cannot be compared. I found little in common between the two. Therefore, my question is whether Jean-George is the one behind the dishes at Nougatine and what is his philosophy with respect to the restaurant. Is “clever” really the only link between the two cuisines? I heard very positive comments about Nougatine some time ago, and some praised it over Jean-Georges. I wonder whether the restaurant’s approach/concept has changed recently or that it is simply not to my taste. I have to admit, however, that the dishes that worked for me were certainly worth my return. More often then not, I am willing to take a chance with inconsistent restaurants that I know can perform excellently as well. Craft, when Marco Canora was in the kitchen (I have not visited it since Bill Knapp took over) is one of those places. I had excellent meals there, and I also had quite mediocre experiences related to both the whole meal and individual dishes. Unfortunately, my husband’s first visit was not very favorable, and since his mother-in-law and her cooking (he kept noting that she “cooks almost the same dishes, but better”) were on his lips most of the evening, I knew that my subsequent visits to Craft would never be a family event again. However, I would not waste my resources if I know that I may not enjoy the cuisine at a restaurant due to my personal preferences. With Nougatine, I simply couldn’t make up my mind. Soba, thank you. I am glad you enjoy my impressions.
  13. "Just a block or two more…," rushed through my head as I was on my way to Jean-Georges. It was a subconscious acknowledgement of being utterly exhausted from the persuasions, meetings, intellectual strain and physical fatigue of the day that could easily transform constructive spiritual energy into a useless inertial reverie. It seemed that nothing could cure the apathy of senses and mind until the faint radiance of an electric heart pulsing through the grand, transparent, 25-foot glass walls of the Nougatine room awoke awe and tranquility. “Without a glass palace, life becomes a burden,” said Paul Scheerbart. The house of glass, without carved or painted ornament, rich only in the inherent beauty of its lines and extraordinarily brutish in its simplicity, filled everything around with its mechanical “breathing.” My consort was awaiting me at the round, wooden table, facing the entrance and the congested bar where we could observe the trendy and elegant, young and well-groomed crowd that seemed not to suffer from the claws of claustrophobia tugging at their subconscious. I enjoyed the frosted glass entrance door, conveying a checkerboard theme that unobtrusively infiltrated every element of the interior design from the marble floor and tablemats, alternating beige and white rectangular patterns, to the wooden backs of the chairs. It seemed that the only disturbance of the structural order of the room was brought about by huge bouquets of brightly orange-pink peonies artfully arranged on two sides of the bar. It was our first visit to the Nougatine room, and we expected it to be a reminder of Jean-George’s style of subtle and classic, augmented by delicate exotic touches. However, we faced quite a surprise -- but one thing at a time. A small amuse of two-layered apple soup, with thin brownish cider on the bottom and thick white, pillowy goat cheese with yellow-green puddles of chive oil floating atop, opened our dinner. The goat cheese layer was of a whipped cream consistency, though with a slightly pungent tang and a bit denser so that on the first sip the bottom layer of the liquid cider didn’t make its way through. The cream was overwhelmed by cinnamon and cardamom spicing until the apple cider mixed with the foam and suppressed other flavors with its strong sweet and sour notes. This amuse was shockingly sweet, sour and heavily spiced, and though I could appreciate the new interpretation of the apple/cinnamon/cream concept and the inventive touch behind the execution, the strong flavors seemed to be too disturbing for a starter, and I had to clear my mouth with water for the next dish. Butternut Squash and Sweet Potato Soup, Maple Crème, Crispy Lentils There is no novelty in a hearty, winter, yellow-orange-fleshed squash soup: the dish, I enthusiastically ignored as a child but seem to have fallen in love with at an older age; the dish that tends to remind me that winter has its own earthy pleasures. However, a little twist of dry, roasted lentils and a maple crème fraiche “turned the pumpkin into a carriage.” A deep, white bowl contained dark-brown dry, roasted(?) lentils that produced a little cracking sound as the plate was shifted before being settled on the table. A contrasting dash of white crème fraiche, positioned in the center of the plate on top of the lentils, was pierced by a small sprig of parsley. As the velvety, heavy purée reluctantly released itself from the pot, while being poured slowly into the plate, it drowned all other ingredients so that only wet parsley floated to the surface. You could see how the crème fraiche slowly started amalgamating with the purée, leaving rainbow signature trails. The puree had a density of stiff peaks, with a smooth taste enveloping the mouth with its intense well-seasoned flavor lacking any sweetness. It is only when the crème unleashed its strong maple sugariness, that the soup, like a chameleon, changed its ‘skin’ to a much milder version with just a touch of sweetness accented by the nutty, roasted flavor of crunchy lentils, which seemed not to loose its crispiness through the whole ceremony. A combination of a very distinctive squash flavor, roasted lentils, and a “foreign” sweetness wrapped in a slightly sour crème made the soup fantastic. This dish was a highlight of our dinner. Crab Salad, Mango, Red Onion, Croutons and Cardamom Infusion A cake of diced crab meat adorned with finely chopped onion and medium-sized mango cubes, adding a festive touch to the pale gamma of colors, and crunchy oily croutons were topped with a green “hat” of mache salad and sat in a thin cardamom sauce with floating green puddles of, perhaps, parsley oil that echoed the color of the mache, looking almost like a reflection of the leaves. The crab meat was not very sweet, but had a nice freshness cheered by the sweetness of the mango and offset by the distinct taste of olive oil lent by the crunchy croutons. The sauce, however, was slightly too acidic for the delicate flavors of the other components, in our opinion. This was a nice appetizer that would not make a bookmark in your memory files. Terrine of Foie Gras, Cinnamon Toast, Quince Purée and Chamomile Syrup. A well-toasted, round brioche served as a podium for a light-beige cylinder of foie gras terrine, generously sprinkled with coarse salt and pepper, and was set on the side of the plate’s crater in transparent, slightly glutinous chamomile syrup, which penetrated every pore of the brioche with its gentle moistness and sweetness. Two plump strokes of yellow quince purée shaped a handle connecting to the brioche, and a last touch of freshly grated cinnamon completed the composition. The foie gras was almost uniformly pink inside, but it was served too cold and was hard, so that the potential velvety luster was masked, leaving only the butter aftertaste to prevail. “Tastes like chocolate butter,” said my consort. Indeed, one of the childhood treats I could recall was the chocolate butter that, for some reason, was served always right out of the refrigerator and was, sometimes, spread on bread. The foie gras’ texture, and even its buttery aftertaste, reminded me of this dish. The chamomile syrup had a slightly herbal accent with almost undetectable sweetness echoed in the quince purée which was reminiscent of a baby food. It wasn’t a bad appetizer, however, but the temperature at which it was served certainly affected the overall impression. As we ordered our appetizers, we asked our waiter for his recommendation with respect to the order in which the progression of flavors would increase naturally. I inquired whether the tuna tartare should be one of the first starters based on the assumption that the mild flesh of the raw fish would best be experienced at the beginning. He, however, insisted that the tuna dish should be served last, and he was certainly right. Bluefin Tuna Tartare, Avocado, Spicy Radish and Ginger Marinade. An elliptical burger of finely diced tuna, on a bed of pale-green, creamy avocado purée, topped with thin, large radish rounds, rested in a soup of brown-red soy and ginger marinade. The tuna had such a soft texture that the impression left was that of its being slightly pounded with a mallet. The avocado purée, as it was dissolving into the marinade, brought out the vague reminiscence of wasabi texture. It was an interesting concept, but the spice infatuation with pungent, salty ginger marinade, chili oil and bitter radish was simply too overpowering for the mellow smooth avocado, and buttery tuna, to offset the spice and stand out. It was a very direct and strong-flavored appetizer where the tuna seemed to have merely provided a body with its taste being subjugated to other strong condiments, and I enjoyed this dish the least. Butter Poached Maine Lobster, Brussels Sprouts and Mustard Fondue, Fried Red Bliss Potato with Passion Fruit Wine Sauce. I was in the mood for lobster and was certainly looking forward to this dish. However, it was not to my taste, and I was slightly disappointed. Two pairs of tails and claws were mounded side by side on a shaved Brussels sprouts with two slices of fried, crunchy potato rounds in between. A thin wine and soy(?) sauce, poured on top of the edifice, flavored the lobster meat with acidity, covering the plate with its dark-brown jus. The crunchy Brussels sprouts saturated with the mustard had a hefty bitter taste, which was slightly offset by the neutral potato starch. The passion fruit was undistinguishable in the wine sauce, which lent rather a sour and acidic tang, consuming the other elements of the dish with its dominance so that the sweet and tender lobster taste was basically lost between the mustard and the wine sauce. I haven’t had a lobster dish, other than enjoying its simplest rendition in a shell with a melted butter in the summer, since my visit a year ago to Blue Hill where the lobster was served in a gentle and subtle broccoli sauce, which only stressed the sweetness of the meat rather than suppressed it. I appreciated the Blue Hill version more, and perhaps this comparison reflects my personal taste, preventing me from objectively evaluating the dish at Nougatine. Soy and Sweet Wine Lacquered Veal Cheeks, Celery, Jalapeno and Apple Salad. Braised veal cheeks, resting on a pale-beige, creamy celery purée, appeared buried under a roof of mixed thinly chopped crunchy celery, rounds of burning hot, fresh green jalapeno, medium-sized thin slices of sour-sweet green apple and a fresh herb, which I can’t recall now, but which added the same emerald nuance to the salad palette. The cheeks were wonderful – dark, shiny from the glaze and meltingly tender, with a soft rustle of silk. The celery purée, with a strong initial celery tang, released a spice as an aftertaste from, perhaps, red pepper. The sweetness of the glaze merged with its counterparts and was not so distinct when all elements were eaten together. I enjoyed this course, though I found myself pushing the jalapenos aside, as they seemed too strong for the apples to offset and too powerful for the meat, leaving literally a burning sensation in the mouth. We had conflicting feelings about our experience at Nougatine, and perhaps more visits will resolve our confusion. It was not only that the Asian theme ran strongly through almost every dish, it is that the flavors were aggressive, direct and quite often instead of augmenting the main element of the dish to bring out its utmost flavors or allow it to interweave with other accompaniments in a perfect ensemble, it was simply overpowered and suppressed, dulling the senses and lacking roundness of flavor. I have no reason to believe that our visit was an off-night experience. The rendition of each dish was perfect, with seasonal ingredients at their best. I found the concepts of many dishes intriguing and far beyond the point of boredom, but our impression of the restaurant was as controversial as Bruce Nauman’s contributions to the American art.
  14. lxt

    Shopsin's

    A narrow door squeaked as I entered a small dining room with just a few tables, booths and a counter (unused for seating) right opposite the door separating the kitchen from the dining area. I was preoccupied with some problem from work, and before my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room, my cell phone rang. "She's new here," said my dining companion jestingly as the hostess, Eve, gave me a firm look manifesting disapproval in a manner free of tolerance toward any disagreement. I had no doubts that if not for my immediate submission, I had little chance to stay and, therefore, I turned off my phone right away without answering it and finally took a look around. A strong sense of the surreal penetrated my thoughts, transporting me more than half a century back in time to a desolate ghost diner somewhere in the middle of nowhere, with the golden orange glow in the distance of a desert where even a thought of those marvelously ugly, lonely, round sticker bushes tumbling with the burning wind makes you want to stay inside the only island of dusty, barren, outdated civilization, with period music playing lightly in the background and shelves filled to the ceiling with canned food silently witnessing the history of the place for untold decades. The outburst of energy pouring from every word and movement of a large man behind the counter, Kenny, and the soft manners of his assistant, José, were balanced by the authoritative calmness of Eve, who, in a quiet and confident manner managed to set the tone and a main leitmotif of the whole place. She'd be the one who'd greet you, take your order and make you feel at home. She'd be the one who'd keep you in line with the strict rules of the "household" in exchange for a chance to have a sumptuous bowl of soup or some wonderful chili infused with the smoke of chipotle peppers. Even when Shopsin's moved to larger, brighter, more contemporary quarters later, Eve was the one who made it all just as cozy and homey. I wasn't at Shopsin's for several months. As friends and I made ourselves comfortable at a table, I saw someone, bearing a tremendous similarity in look and even voice to Eve but about 30 years younger, moving around perkily and briskly. "Is Eve OK?" I asked genially as the girl approached our table. "My mom passed away several months ago," she answered. For a moment, my eyes wandered and stopped at a painting with Eve smiling right at me and all of a sudden I was stricken with a very acute realization that people like Eve, those who don't take over our lives, but rather represent short passing moments of our comfort and happiness, those silent friends whom we never really know, but who become symbols of our joy, bring such a tremendous importance into our existence that when they are gone, a little part of us is gone with them. This post is in memory of a wonderful person who made me feel so comfortable, warm and welcomed in her "home." This post is for Eve. P.S. The food was very good, as usual, and even though the spirit of the place stayed the same and was filled with the smiles and kindness of Eve's children, we left with yet another reminder that we should treasure every single moment in our lives, even the ones that don't seem important at the time. Earlier thread: A visit to Shopsin's
  15. lxt

    Gramercy Tavern

    Robert, thank you. I still believe that the main purpose of dining is to enjoy food while it is fresh and hot. I take limited notes (bookmarks really) and mostly when I dine with my husband, if he doesn’t mind. However, I am still at the stage of gastronomic curiosity, which apparently enhances the sharpness of my memory. Pan, thanks.
  16. lxt

    Gramercy Tavern

    It is not GT’s style that I found unmemorable, but rather the composition of individual dishes. I think that GT’s philosophy is well-formulated and, therefore, the style is currently acclaimed and what will survive. However, it is that same philosophy of essential simplicity -- the focus on one central constituent of the dish, where everything else is auxiliary and plays the role of enhancement rather than another inseparable layer -- that makes it difficult to remember the whole dish as one entity. It is not necessarily a negative point, and perhaps is even intentional. For instance, I browsed through my more recent copy of GT’s menu and noticed that venison is no longer served with fig puree but instead with mustard spaetzle. I may certainly remember turbot, but with time have some difficulties recalling its accompaniments. In my opinion, there are two potential dangers to GT’s approach. With the main element of the dish being the center of attention, the perfection of execution and ingredients is principal. Any deviation from the perfect routine will render the dish spoiled or at best mediocre. In fact this is what happened to me at Craft with two similar dinners where the first was excellent and the second less enjoyable. There was nothing wrong with the dishes; they were just not cooked to the same level of perfection. A slightly overdone turbot may be rescued by Château Chalon sauce at Jean George, but if turbot is not cooked properly at GT, the whole dish is ruined. As I said, whether to my taste or not the execution of almost all dishes was exemplary. On the other hand, even if the dish like pork belly, for instance, is done very well, I can always recall a pork belly my grandmother used to make from a baby pig killed several hours before. The technique is important, but with extremely fresh ingredients and an experienced cook in the kitchen, the dish may easily match and perhaps in some cases even surpass what GT has to offer. Did I enjoy our dinner? Absolutely. Would I like to return? Yes, and I have. However, to the question of whether I would consider my experience at GT unique, I’ll have to say no. Gramercy Tavern serves solid, simple, and tasty food several levels above of what a typical home-cook may create, but it may not be enough to make a dish more distinctive.
  17. lxt

    Gramercy Tavern

    Perhaps the intimation of lifted rural fences finishing the arch entrances that separated one dining area from another, or the balding branches of autumn leaves and red berries that infused the room with the mystery and divinity associated with the noise of the winds, filled my mind, as I was led to our table through the nearly empty restaurant, with images defeating gloomy darkness of the labyrinths of the Gothic forests and imposing a prudent middle course between the mystic and the rationalist, the models of charity and simplicity between heavy rotten-cherry drapes, dark wood and bare floors. My consort, who arrived a little earlier and was sipping a glass of 1989 Vouvray, clenched his jaws in determination and declared that we were having the Autumn Tasting, taking the initiative and presenting a challenge to my usual dominance at the table, and I, though stunned by the stolen leading role, could not agree with him more. Torchon of Foie Gras with Quince, Hazelnuts, Arugula and Mint. A classic trio of smooth, fresh and sweet -- of a two-inch round cut of foie gras torchon, fresh greens and chutney -- was presented in a long rectangular white plate side by side. The pale-beige and pink cylinder of foie gras, though velvety and luscious, didn’t leave a buttery aftertaste, but rather delivered a light sourness with a mild flavor of liver, which testified to a certain amount of finesse employed in its preparation. Curly “hair” of frisée and several leaves of arugula, moistened with mild olive oil and garnished with coarsely chopped hazelnuts, brought freshness and earthiness. Deep-warm-red, neat cubes of tender quince, bound together by lightly sweet, viscous syrup, were infused with the exotic flavors of mint and coriander, and the natural sourness of the quince was further accented by balsamic vinegar. Light, with a prominent, piquant coriander tang and just a delicate sweetness counterbalancing the natural sour notes of the fruit, the chutney was excellent. Perhaps this was not an exceptional dish that would linger in memory for years to come, but it was so exceptionally executed and well balanced that one wouldn’t be able to say “too much” or “not enough” about any of its components. Roasted Sea Scallop with Chanterelles. A large scallop shell, serving as a basin for the grayish-beige waters of buttery fish stock under its churning froth washing the brown top of one large scallop, was not perfectly shaped. It lacked the symmetry and grace, fluted edges and engaging color variations, which throughout the centuries occupied the imagination of ancient Greeks and pilgrims and inspired poets and painters of Venus. The shell was rough with serrated edges and without pearly luster in the interior. The scallop, sprinkled with tiny, bright-green rings of chives and surrounded by moist chanterelles, one tiny piece of carrot and several shreds of lettuce(?), was slightly overdone, but sweet and still tender. The sauce, based on butter from the sautéed scallop with a little bit of fish stock and crème fraîche, adding slight creaminess, was oversalted though rescued by the sweetness of the scallop so that if not tried separately, was quite complementary. The dish was presented in a very appealing manner, but the oversalted sauce deprived me of the pleasure exploring its full potential. This was an average dish. Turbot with Minced Autumn Vegetables, Spinach and Ginger. Turbot is not my favorite fish. In my opinion, its white flesh tends to fail to deliver a deliciously mild flavor with just slight overcooking and lacks both the fresh marine taste and serene sweetness of turbot’s other relatives, so that even Jean-Georges’ enchanting Château Chalon sauce couldn’t change my opinion about the fish. This time, however, I was in for a big surprise. A generous fillet of firm, white flesh rested on a hill of spinach surrounded by a small amount of thin sauce from the yellowish vegetable stock with green puddles of chive oil, and topped with the a colorful potpourri of finely chopped beans, celery and carrots mingled with ginger. The turbot had a wonderfully crisp, dark-brown skin that remained crusty through the end, contrasting very nicely with its tender and moist flesh. The texture of the fish was excellent, and though I still didn’t find the flavor engaging, this was the best version of turbot I have ever tried. The vegetables, cooked minimally, preserving their raw crunch, lent just a slight acidity from, perhaps, being shortly marinated in lemon juice, and the ginger bound all elements of the dish together, adding a piquant tang to the fish and vegetables and offsetting the light sweetness of the sauce. This dish was very good. Fresh Bacon with Mostarda and Honey Glazed Turnips. My grandmother used to generously brush unsmoked pork belly with honey before roasting it for several hours, and I always had some reservations about her version, considering honey an excessive and unnecessary touch. After trying chef Colicchio’s dish, I realized the faults of my grandmother’s recipe. The overwhelming smell of fresh bacon slowly drifted upwards, inebriating my senses with strong aroma and preparing my palate for the actual enjoyment. A thick rectangular slab of pork belly sprinkled with coarse salt and several leaves of thyme sat on top of fresh spinach(?) and was surrounded by honey-glazed turnip and mostarda fruit cubes carefully positioned around the meat. Under the nicely browned, caramelized and crisp top layer of fat resided moist, tender meat yielding a rich and intense flavor. The meat was lean with just a thin sheet of very soft fat at the bottom. So what was my grandmother recipe‘s drawback? It lacked balance between the cloying sweetness of honey and some other tangy condiment that would offset it. The mostarda, crystallized fruit (in our case several fruits and lemon rind) preserved in glucose syrup and mustard oil, which is a cross between chutney and relish (an Italian salsa, as it was introduced to us by the service staff), was somewhat sharp in addition to its slight sweetness and brought some bitter citrus notes, wonderfully compensating for the cloying sugariness of honey. This dish alone is worth returning for. Venison Saddle with Savoy Cabbage, Golden Raisins, Cauliflower and Dates. Sauerkraut, served hot, sautéed for several minutes right before being served and mixed with small cubes of pork and green peas, is what I enjoyed through the years of my childhood as a sumptuous winter meal. The taste of the fried sauerkraut was usually so strong that the other elements of the dish only complemented it rather than stole attention from it. If the main focus of the dish was to be concentrated on meat, the sauerkraut was either not served as an individual accompaniment (a potato or other more neutral side dish was chosen), served with stewed venison or was combined with sliced apple, for instance, and boiled to neutralize its strong sourness. A dark-red sautéed(?) Savoy Cabbage, served as a bed for three medallions of very nicely done (medium-rare toward rare) saddle of venison, dusted with orange powder, in a thin puddle of jus that was surrounded by several fresh, small florets of cauliflower and a blob of date jam, had a strong sour taste augmented by balsamic vinegar. It overpowered the taste of the lean, delicately textured and virtually fat-free, but extremely moist venison so that even its slightly “wild“ taste was masked behind the strong overpowering accompaniment. Only when combined with a smooth and intensely sweet date purée (delivering exotic flavors of cardamom, cloves, fennel and perhaps other spices) and a neutral, fresh cauliflower, was some equilibrium of flavors achieved. I didn’t find the combination of exotic spices and the rustic sauerkraut taste of cabbage complimentary. This dish was not to my taste, though I would fail to point to any faults in its preparation. Gramercy Tavern‘s style, with a basic ingredient at the root of every dish, standing apart from any accompaniments that seem never to overshadow or even interweave with it, reminded me of the light cooking traditions of the Italian Renaissance, with the prominence of fish and meat, augmented by subtle combinations of spices and herbs (like bitter orange peel, ginger, cardamom and cumin), with meats and sweets dwelling in the same course and sugar used more as a flavor enhancer than as a sweetener, with pungently-flavored recipes replaced by a distinctive style of moderation. However, like the ancient Greeks who, with their love of the ideal type expressed in the canons of Polyclitus, failed in attempting to individualize figures but survived through styles and motifs, Gramercy Tavern, with its philosophy of retaining the best of the ingredients and perfecting the “ideal proportions,” creates food for the soul and not for the intellect, and in my view, doesn’t individualize dishes though projecting a very distinctive style with the persuasive power to command imitation. I struggled to remember any dish in its entirety after several days, but the general enjoyment of the dinner was great, and though several further visits were uneven, I have got a pleasant vibe of satisfaction from the “style and motifs” so well-delivered to each plate.
  18. I did for the tasting menu at lunch. Too busy to write up my report, but it should follow. In brief, I thought it was uneven. Some of the dishes were oversalted. I thought that Pied a terre showed more imagination than did GR RHR. I am surprised to hear your dishes were oversalted. If I had to make a general comment on RHR, I’d lean toward characterizing the restaurant as one that mastered balance and if anything mildness in seasoning. This is in contrary to its offspring, Petrus, which literally shocked us with the amount of salt utilized in almost all savory dishes, which overshadowed anything positive that could’ve come out of our experience at the restaurant. I am looking forward to your report.
  19. Matthew, thank you for the details. During our visit, only several tables were busy as well, which seemed strange considering the good value of the prix-fixe menu and the quality of lunch. I hope Sketch does better business at dinner. Perhaps a general perception of the restaurant being extremely expensive doesn’t lure many even to explore other possibilities like special deals at lunch. I also wonder whether the concept of having such diverse establishments (a serious restaurant with several bars that turn into museums during daytime) under the same roof is not appealing to more serious diners. I wonder whether the restaurant wouldn’t have done much better had it stood on its own.
  20. Not to spoil your appetite, but the idea of dining with Rasputin should not be in the least entertaining. Rasputin was known for his overpowering smell from bathing rarely and his manners never progressed beyond eating with his fingers. His “pets,” or shall I say most passionate devotees, didn’t seem to object cleansing his hands by licking his fingers.
  21. There are general rules and perceptions of etiquette (not necessarily dining), which over time evolved and became quite simplified, though still highly regarded among civilized diners and individuals. I can tolerate uninteresting and grouchy companions, less so loud and offensive buffoons demanding my attention, but I find it unacceptable and quite annoying when my dining companion finds it appropriate to be a half-hour late for a scheduled lunch for no apparent reason, and I don’t find myself entertained watching him retrieve and devour food he accidentally brushed to the floor. Though I realize that I may never be fortunate enough to lunch with the next Balzac, who was known for his questionable dining manners, I’d rather settle for reading his works, which are much more elegant and engaging. The circus, on the other hand, will satisfy my other necessities. Some people, however, find such behavior amusing.
  22. Matthew, did you have any interesting amuses? Can you describe how this particular starter was presented? At out lunch, our second starter, asparagus royale, provoked an identical feeling of being a little bland, where the purpose seemed to lie in demonstrating the pure taste of the main ingredient unobscured by seasoning. I can see how when the quality of the raw vegetable fails, the dish can be a complete fiasco. I also wonder whether the second starter was supposed to serve as a palate cleanser. What did you find surprising in this dish? I think the idea of matching aubergine with a sweet counterpart like raisins in caponata, for instance, is not new. Using figs instead of raisins could come from Greek cuisine or Middle East. Out of curiosity, was the sorbet sweet enough to stand as a separate dessert? Would you find it appealing on its own? I agree that the overall Sketch experience is not only engaging but inspires one to return as soon as possible.
  23. Vivre, I can’t agree with you more on your perception of the décor at Sketch. However, I am thoroughly sad to hear about the patisserie. Our impression was of glamour rather then of a run-down establishment. Fortunately during our visit there were no smokers in the room. What comes to mind is Verbena’s comment stating that he/she didn’t think it was a “great place to work.” I can only speculate, of course, but perhaps lack of organization contributed to its decline. Very sad. Did you make it to Gordon Ramsay?
  24. lxt

    Craftbar

    He must've left recently. I assume his leave is related to opening his own restaurant, Hearth, which is supposed to unlock its doors in November(?).
  25. lxt

    Craftbar

    Jason, Marco is no longer at Craft as I found out today. Chef Bill Knapp replaced him. He came from Gramercy Tavern as did Akhtar Nawab.
×
×
  • Create New...