[Pigging by Wilfrid: February 22, 2008]
Since I boost Grayz every chance I get, I should mention that the organization doesn't pay me. I just keep eating there. And this week I can add a new comment: Martin Brock is a chef to watch.
I merely play my humble role in helping you all to understand what you may be missing. Wow, wow.
The happy lot of a dilettante: I don't have to review a new, different restaurant every week. I don't have to review two or more restaurants every week. Golly, I can walk away from this keyboard right now, pour a glass of cognac, and leave you twiddling your thumbs.
I write about Grayz, not once, not twice, but even thrice, because I keep eating there, and I can only write about what I've eaten. It's a factor, of course, that the reception of this exceptional food has been - and I understand why - uncomprehending and dismissive.
I return to the subject chiefly to point out that Martin Brock is the chef, and he appears to be a remarkable talent. Early takes on Grayz naturally took it for a Gray Kunz restaurant - which clearly it is, and Master Kunz was ever-present in the early days of service. Increasingly, however, the guy who's doing the cooking - Martin Brock - seems to be making his mark.
Kunz is known, of course, for his calculated deployment of both Asian and native Swiss accents with a framework of modern Franco-international cuisine. Brock is currently tipping the balance noticeably in a German direction. Fine and modern German cooking is not something Manhattan has much experienced.
I call the first witness: a velouté of chanterelles in a dinky tea-cup, partnering a raviolo of foie and chervil on an adjacent saucer. Anyone who has rambled through Germany in the appropriate season will understand the importance of pfifferling - for such is the local name for these slim, savory mushrooms. This frothy soup had deep flavor, and the only fault was the scarcity of foie in the pasta parcel bathed in a spoonful of the same rich broth.
My second witness: a not entirely successful clash between the echt Deutsch and the echt Kunz. Pike dumplings, no less - small ones, well made and served warm - were brought face-to-face with Kunz-ian fusion. Each little gefilte-fishy ball was successfully impregnated with tart-sweet tamarind sauce.
Good, so far - but each dumpling was set in its individual saucer over a sharp salpicon of fruits and herbs which would have seemed natural as an accompaniment to raw fish. I found this to be a contrived clash of eastern and gemütlich.
The next dish, in any case, was a show-stopped - and an early nominnee for plate of '08. A special, announced by the server: flatiron, that tender shoulder cut, braised and served with a cut of pasta I didn't recognize. In a copper pot.
My goodness. This, in fact, was when the scales fell from my eyes. Aside from the precise braising of the meat, what was so familiar - and really good - about the gentle sweetness of the sauce and the sharpness of the pickled shallots.
Heck, this is sauerbraten, and probably the best sauerbraten ever served in this town. The pasta reflects the dish's manner of service in Schwaben. It is my failing that I can't do justice to the layers of flavors and textures in this deep dish - I almost licked the pot.
As if a final witness were needed, here comes rote grütze. Anyone who has travelled in Germany will have found this sour-sweet mélange of berries and cream as ubiquitous as sausage and mustard.
Here it upstaged a good, coffee-flavored crème brûlée.
This awkward little joint, which straddles the concepts of bar, restaurant and party space, seems always to have tables and bar seating available. It now takes reservations for lunch and dinner. It isn't cheap. You have the chance to see a fine young chef forging a style.
And they still aren't paying me.
Here they are. And yes, there's a bottle of wine in those photos, and we'll be coming back to that soon.
