[Pigging by Wilfrid: August 4, 2008]
An obvious disadvantage of being quick to review new openings is that few restaurants hit the ground running. In the case of Bar Boulud, the wine list was still being pulled together and I found some portions bizarrely small when I reviewed it in January barely a fortnight after it began serving the public.
Of course it's crazy to review a restaurant so fast. And of course it's pointless - unless you have the comfort of a print media gig - reviewing a restaurant after every blog in town has crawled all over it. In any case, I was curious to re-assess Daniel Boulud's Lincoln Center pâté and wine joint with half-a-year under its belt.
Seek though it may to be casual and relaxed, Bar Boulud is still packed nightly and you need to plan well in advance to drop in for a bite. I showed up, reservation in hand, and was no more surprised than I ever am at Mesa Grill to learn they were running well behind and no table was open. In addition to the bar/counter along the left side of the long room, there's a circular communal table right in the back. I shrugged my shoulders and accepted a seat there.
It's a niftily designed round table, hollow in the middle so that a sever can preside conveniently over all diners. Wine glasses are suspended encouragingly in a wire rack, about chest level if you were standing. The list by the glass still strikes me as short for a specialist wine venture, but there are half as well as full pours.
Contrary to other reviewers, I found the pâtés and terrines I sampled - with the exception of the game pie - consistently bland and unders-seasoned. I hadn't, however, tried the pâté grand-mère, or indeed grand-père, which had been singled out for especial praise: Count Frankula of the Times found the latter " pure joy to eat". How could I resist?
Well, I have a problem with the menu description: a coarse country pâté. Really? I have been eating coarse pâtés in France for thirty years. In general, they are moist slabs of coarsely chopped meat, full of the flavors of spice and liquor, quite spreadable. Here, no. The pâté is a solid rectangle of cold pork, traced with a little foie gras, supposedly flavored with port. You cut it with your knife and eat a chunk; if anything, it's like potted meat, if that means anything to you. I am convinced D'Artagnan offers a more luscious product.
I moved on to a second appetizer, because I particularly wanted to try the pork rillons, which had been described in mouthwatering detail in the July Wine Spectator.
Pork belly is everywhere, of course, but the Bar Boulud kitchen boasts a three-stage preparation process. Not only is the belly predictably braised in a flavorful stock; it is first brined in a salt-sugar-water mix for an extended time; finally, and enticingly, it is deep fried.
Light it isn't. It's good; but it wasn't until I took a bite that I made the obvious connection. "These," I told my server, "are upscale chicharrones." And so they were, although the Latino approach tends to favor faster pre-cooking and thus a chewier, jaw-testing end product. Bar Boulud adds the flavor note of fresh-cracked black pepper. A successful dish.
I moved confidently to a main course, remembering how mean the portions had been back in January. Of course, following the pâté and rillons, I now received a very substantial and rich portion of meat.
This was the boeuf aux carrottes, a classic of the cuisine bourgeoise. The Bouludian touch of refinement was to present the carrots three ways, in their normal form, as a mousse, and shaved on top - alongside a pearl onion. The beef was flatiron steak braised almost to a jelly and imbued with a rich reduction.
The dish would stand a better chance with someone who had started with a salad; but I did feel it was balanced a little heavily towards rich winey meat, and would have been more easily taken with a some mashed potato or pasta (of course, you're welcome to order sides, but they look quite rich too - pommes Lyonnaise, spring pea and bacon fricassée).
I left with the impression of a restaurant finding its stride - a stride soon to be lengthened by an expansion into the Chase Bank premises next door. I am still mystified by the spell its ordinary charcuterie has cast on my fellow citizens. When this is published I shall be in Europe, and I'll be recalibrating my paté-buds to make sure I'm right.
