[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 29, 2008]
I go back a long way with this Upper East Side drop-in spot (as Daniel would have it); in a sense, to the very beginning.
It has been a bumpy ride since 2005.
I arrived in New York to live at just about the time Daniel Boulud, the star chef who had cut loose from Le Cirque to open his own bijou dining room somehow connected to the Surrey Hotel, had opted for a more palatial canvas. With whatever attendant irony, he shifted Restaurant Daniel itself out of the premises he'd outgrown and into the spectacular Mayfair Hotel premises which had contained the original Le Cirque.
Restaurant Daniel became Café Boulud - conceived as a neighborhood bistro, but from day one a dining club for the local knickerbockers. No complaint here - I dined here with joy for years on executive chef Andrew Carmellini's brilliantly upscaled version of cuisine bourgeoise. The saucisse en brioche alone was worthy of A.J. Liebling's attention. Any preparation of oxtail recued La Grenouille to an over-priced florist shop. And the flexibility of the menu permitted impressionable diners to launch into Asian-accented or even vegetarian renditions of Carmellini's cuisine.
Where is he now? Well, he ain't at A Voce no more. (Note: okay, I went and looked, and it seems he's hoping to open at the old Tasting Room space on Elizabeth Street.)
I did eat one meal here during Bertrand Chemel's interregnum - as sous chef to Carmellini, he stepped up to the helm the kitchen on Carmellini's departure. It just happened that I had a stinking head cold on that occasion, and decided I was in no condition to review anything. But now we have Gavin Kaysen, who seems to have stepped up to the executive chef position here from an internship at Daniel - he'd previously headed the kitchen at San Diego golf resort.
The menu maintains its four panels: traditional French cuisine, world cuisine, market cuisine, and something roughly resembling vegetarian choices. Indeed, little seems to have changed since the Carmellini heyday except - on this occasion - an absence of charcuterie. Not being a slavish fan os salads, or much of a soup dragon, I actually struggled to find an appealing appetizer. Raw kampachi is on every menu in town, but I'd rather eat it in a sushi restaurant. I ordered a corn velouté, which was at least seasonal, and a creamy corn soup is just what it was.
Similarly, seared foie with a sweet dressing, once a special occasion dish, is something any fancy hotel kitchen now sends automatically. Nothing wrong with the rendition here, although - with a honey-peach sauce and pain perdu the dish tipped heavily in the sweet direction. Our server suggested a glass of Sauternes; we backed nervously toward a Monbazillac. It certainly matched the dish, increasing my sense that it was, in fact, dessert.
I have a longstanding prejudice against dishes centered around a rectangle of white fish - so I didn't order it. I did taste it, however.
The halibut was steamed. I look for something crispy in the surface of a fish, but obviously one would look in vain here. It was delicate, a bit woolly - I thought; a bit overcooked - I thought. Some mushrooms, a pea-based smear of sauce, I think. But the dish was never aimed at me.
I chose the lamb pie from the summer-seasonal menu. Lamb loin en croute, I should say. It arrived with a tasty bean cassoulet in a separate pot. The lamb was served in a crispy pastry wrapper, with some greens - spinach, I think - and a mushroom duxelle.
Pleasant it was, but déjà vu: how similar in conception and appearance to Gabriel Kreuther's signature squab-foie en croute introduced at Atelier and now served at The Modern. Not that Kreuther invented this kind of layered meat pastry - but it's less than a revelation in Kaysen's hands.
I went back to corn for dessert, a cold cornbread stuffed with milk chocolate mousse, and a corn ice cream.
That was fine, as was the pain de gênes with an amaretto ice cream. I was also hugely pleased to find, on the high-priced wine list, the rich, funky red from Mas Cal Demoura - garnacha- based, stinky, smooth, and at $75 altogether more fun than some three-figure bottles from the cellar.
I have the fondest memories of this restaurant, and I don't willingly play the Jeremiah - I do seek to have a great meal when I'm dropping two or three hundred dollars. And this wasn't bad. What I failed to see were the fireworks diners are entitled to expect in this bracket - and which some recent fawning press claimed to perceive.
Rinky-dink website right here.
