[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 14, 2009]
Gordon Ramsay's Maze, occupying a curious limbo between his New York flagship dining room and the bar of the London Hotel, continues to puzzle as much as please me.
I spoke very highly of the place two years ago, and it remained a good midtown lunch standby for me.
Even so, there seemed sometimes to be a reluctance to serve. One would arrive to confront a sea of empty tables, only to be asked "Do you have a reservation?" Once, with my young daughter in tow, there was an attempt to give me a table in the adjacent bar, even though Maze itself had almost no customers (I demurred and was given a decent table). And despite its proximity to the theater district, good luck eating there after a show (11pm closing is rigidly enforced).
Something about Maze is willfully resistant to being user-friendly: almost as if to say, if nobody is going to pay attention to Gordon Ramsay at the London, we're not going to pay any attention back.
(Green and white asparagus salad, poached quail's egg, Parmesan ice cream)
So I wasn't a bit surprised, slipping into the place after an early reception at MOMA, to be setting the heads shaking when I admitted I hadn't called ahead. This time, to be fair, Maze was pretty busy (if not full). Perhaps, it was suggested, I might sit at the bar?
At this point, I should explain that Maze shares a large space with the London Hotel's bar. It's as if there is an invisible line down the center of the room - to one side, formal, French-trained service and medium-swanky ambience, to the other, American bartending and waitressing with drab banquettes and menus in little plastic binders. Although Maze's food comes from the Ramsay kitchen, I have always assumed that the London bar food does not, and that the staff are separately employed. But these are esoteric issues, and I stand ready to be corrected.
In any case, I looked gloomy enough at the prospect of drawing up a stool among the loud English bar-drinkers to be offered, instead, a table in the bar area directly facing Maze. I took it, and it was fine, although there was something relentlessly absurd about the hushed formal service (smart place setting, attendance of a sommelier) I received, while all around me were chugging beers and waggling iGadgets.
Another curious thing. I was invited, even strongly encouraged, to peruse the London bar menu, and told I could order from that, or from Maze's menu, or mix it up between them. I wondered again if it didn't, after all, all come from the same kitchen; and I was momentarily tempted to put in an order for fish and chips. But...
Small plates are largely the deal, as is almost inevitable these days, although a short list of "market specials" (beef, duck, a pork chop) are priced as if larger, and I am told they are. From that list, I was tempted by the squash risotto, but didn't in fact want a bucket of it. My server immediately suggested a half portion. That allowed me to start with an asparagus salad which was sufficient reminder of why I battle my way back to this place. There was a sparkling freshness, a neatness in execution and plating, a complexity of flavors about it, all serving to confirm that this is food from a top kitchen at a moderate price. Thirteen dollars in this case for a dish which would not be out of place on a $150 tasting menu.
The risotto, a plentiful half-portion, was first rate too. Cubes of tender squash studded the saffrony rice, the micro-green garnish was very pretty, and giving the dish a hearty kick, a tangle of fresh, pungent, shredded sage leaves in the center - to eat around or mix with the rice to taste.
The terrine of tête de veau had me confused again. There was the crispy sweetbread, as advertised. But what was that tiny cube of headcheese on the right? Was that the terrine? Half a bite?
In fact, exploration revealed that the terrine came two ways. As that neat breaded chunk, but also carpeting the plate itself, beneath the dish's other components. I could have done with a thicker slice.
The final dish was the least successful, I felt. Roast fluke - and proudly roasted "on the bone," what's more, which meant some fiddly mouthfuls. Peas, bacon and smoked garlic were hearty partners, but the heavy, rich fumet which blanketed the fish overwhelmed it, made it seem weary of life in a way. I certainly wasn't hungry after it (so no pudding).
A half bottle of Sancerre was the liquid part of the meal. That is, if you ignore the glass of champagne. And if you, you find the check to be $100 and change for a filling four courses of - for the most part - highly professional cooking.
