[Pigging by Wilfrid: April 7, 2008]
Me and Fleur de Sel were made for each other, back when it opened in 2000.
I lived a comfortable pre- or post-prandial stroll away, on East 22nd. I had been going through a grand French dining phase since moving to New York in the late 1990s - that style was then more prevalent in Manhattan even than London.
I had enjoyed Cyril Renaud's deftly classical grand cuisine at La Caravelle, and when I heard he was opening a cosy nook, ornamented with his own paintings, no less, in the Flatiron, I was an easy mark.
In fact, I dined at the original Fleur de Sel sufficiently regularly that the staff would line up to shake my hand as I left. "A great supporter of the restaurant," the maitre d' called me. And I boosted the place with friends and fellow feeders, and organized more than one dinner there for denizens of the eGullet forums.
I say "the original Fleur de Sel", because although the location remains the same, the restaurant soon began to evolve - in some respects away from its origins. The welcoming bar went, to be replaced with more tables (an economic necessity in such a small room now doubt); the first, affable maitre d' was replaced by a more reserved gentleman, less inclined to garnish me with compliments. The decor became smarter, the lighting dimmer, and chef Renaud handed the reins - for the most part - to a series of executive chefs.
The signature dishes stayed the same ...
I moved, and I kind of grew apart from the place. Not that I didn't return occasionally, sometimes for the better - a terrific seasonal dish of soft-shell crab with a fanfare of greenmarket ramps - sometimes for the worse - snails lost in a fiercely bitter green sauce redolent of wheatgrass.
The doorway on a short block between Broadway and Park is especially welcoming on a snowy evening, and even in the absence of the white stuff I decided it has been chill enough recently to seek comfort there. The carte is thankfully stocked with dishes which are new to me, and I took a tour down each side of the six course tasting ($89, which may be pricey, but outbids three courses at $76).
As it happens, one trail through the tasting was much more enjoyable than the other.
Nice amuse: a hot, crisp buñuelo de bacalao.
A quail and foie terrine (I see duck on the web-site menu, but I am fairly sure it was quail) was a pretty arrangment of smooth slices. For the second course, the menu challenges diners to opt for frogs or snails - still a bold move in New York.
The snails were good - falling short of very good only because I reserve that for the delicious black monsters Craft has sourced over the last couple of years. These were smaller, petit gris, and very cleverly deployed to fleck a firm cake of polenta. To remind you that polenta, in turn, can be cheesy, a sharp Parmesan crisp rocked across the top of the cake, which was moated (moat as a verb, I don't care) by a red wine sauce. Good conception and execution, and I'd happily eat it again.
The fish course on each side of the tasting menu made less of an impression on me, as is often the case, and it might say as much about my tastes as about the hesitant approach to fish in upscale New York restaurants. Scallops were firm and sweet, as they so often are, but the monkfish preparation was forgettable (and, I'm afraid, forgotten).
Rabbit was imaginatively prepared though; served as a sage-accented roulade over a thin potato gratin.
The other route down the tasting began with Maine lobster - somewhat chewy, but I've had chewy lobster in two expensive Manhattan restaurants this month, and I am beginning to wonder if the creatures are spending more time at the gym. The main balancing flavor was Asian pear. No more than okay.
The crispy frog legs which followed came aboard a green sauce, which immediately made me nervous. I just don't like bright green sauces (my problem) and it triggered the memory of the bitter goo in which snails had once bathed here.
No problem: it was a parsley sauce, strongly garlicky, and the little drumsticks were excellent - notably chubby, and like the bacalao amuse, notably crisp.
Following the monkfish, the meat course was also somewhat disappointing. Simply a rectangle of rare venison, served over a truffle-tinged sauce intended to be silky, but actually bordering on gloopy. A strange, slightly thick mouthfeel. A little foie gras raviolo showed up with it.
Anice cheese plate included Pleasant Ridge Reserve from Wisconsin and a startling smoked chevre - called "Up In Smoke" - from River's Edge farm, Oregon.
A discussion with the sommelier led to the recommendation of a 2003 Nuits-St-Georges from Pierre Minot - the Vieilles-Vignes - which opened pleasantly over the course of one dinner. I think - and I emphasize think - chef Renaud was to be seen peeking out of the kitchen. I don't know how often he cooks here now.
The conclusion is that you can eat well at this comfortable little spot. You do, however, run a risk of eating expensively but without great satisfaction. With decent wine, it's hard to spend less than $150 a head. I have rooted for this restaurant, but eight years on there's much competition in the upper-mid range. The kitchen needs to hit more reliably if Fleur de Sel is to make it back onto my regular rotation.
Read more about the flower of salt at the web-site.
