[Pigging by Wilfrid: November 2, 2009]
This ought to be a silly review about Russian dolls in Hallowe'en costume, and Russian folklore, and marijuana jokes and all kinds of "oh, those Russians" schtick. I mean, they even play Boney M.
In fact, it sparks some thoughts about what restaurants are for, and how style so often prevails over substance, to which I am not sure I can do sufficient justice. I'll try.
First, a qualification. I hit Mari Vanna, in the old Silver Swan space, on Hallowe'en night. I am sure that many shenanigans were specific to that evening, although as far as I am concerned the good-looking staff could wear those outfits year round. Ahem. But other than some pumpkin-related specials - including shots and a martini - it was the regular Mari Vanna menu. The music, which was extraordinarily mixed - Latin to gypsy to opera to disco - may have been more festive than usual, but the setting invites a lively soundtrack (and the volume was unobjectionable).
So what is this place? A serious Russian restaurant? A cabaret? A Czarist version of Sammy's Roumanian. Not, thank god, the latter. It's a venue geared towards making dinner an entertaining occasion, while fulfilling the basic requirement of serving good good.
Oh, and cocktails. I am quite jaded with the signature cocktail lists found in almost every restaurant - usually lame, themed variations on well-known libations which turn out to be over-sweet, or swamped with soda water, or dull and barely alcoholic. Two takes on the mojito were tried here, each based on infused vodkas and really good. One version introduces fresh tarragon to the mix: the immediate taste is sweet, a hint of apple arrives, then the vodka strolls up and punches you in the throat. A fabulous drink, and I am not easily impressed in that department.
The menu is fairly short. In addition to familiar candidates like malapeque and kumamoto oysters, a crab cake, a steak and some lamb chops, there are Russian classics like borscht and chicken Kiev, and blinis with inexpensive red caviar, as well as a number of Russian dishes completely new to me.
Your server introduces herself as your housekeeper for the evening (and tells you the tale of Mari Vanna, a legendary Russian woman who would invite guests to her beautiful house and cook them wonderful meals, and so on...). I asked about the Olivier salad - nothing to do with Lord Larry, surely? A very traditional Russian dish, was the answer - not unlike potato salad, but also featuring Russian sausage and other good things. Sold.
Moments later, everyone was digging in and analyzing it. Quails eggs, evidently. Cucumber, a little onion, potatoes of course, carrots, plenty of chopped chives. The Russian sausage was kind of neutral - reminded me of a Catalonian butifarra. The light dressing was a sage mayo. Suffice to say, it came together stylishly - cool, crisp, fresh, a potato salad indeed but an elegant one.
The pumpkin bread which arrived before the appetizers is worth a mention: very good.
Beet salad was less diverting, but spruced up nonetheless with chopped walnuts and garlic. I had hesitated much over the entrée question. Someone had already snagged the duck, the stroganoff had a taker, and although I like trout I was inclined toward meat. The steak and lamb seemed the least Russian options, so by a process of elimination I arrived at the chicken Kiev.
This is a dish which used to be served as a novelty in a downbeat and absurdly cheap Soho (London) restaurant called Pollo. It was known as chicken "Surprise" because unwary customers would stab the meat with a knife and get a shot of white hot garlic butter in the mush. I approached with caution...
... and a torrent of garlicky, herby butter gushed safely forth. This was a buttery plate altogether, but in a good way, and the kitchen - which has fresh herbs and knows how to use them - had added interest to the sliced, fried potatoes with tiny sprigs of dill.
The stroganoff came with its own theatrical flourish, the side dish of kasha being presented under the cover of a sort of tea cosy in the form of a doll (see above). There was a story to this too, but my attention wandered (it wasn't a long story). And instructions were issued to mix the kasha with the creamy sauce.
Who hasn't eaten beef stroganoff? But this is as good a version as you need to find. And this, really, is the point I wanted to get to. I spend plenty of time, not to mention money, traipsing to places on the foodie radar. Often enough I have a good time, but equally often one finds dishes of fiendishly trendy conception, not particularly well prepared. I don't want to keep bashing Resto (last week's lead review), although it's fresh in my mind. Too often a touted restaurant fails to live up to its billing - a salt bomb here, a sausage obviously bought from Despaña there; glaringly clashing ingredients; over-wrought dishes; straightforward mistakes a good home cook wouldn't make at home.
Here, on the other hand, were old-school dishes, classics, long familiar, but prepared with skill, precision, and tweaks which enhanced rather than distracted from the final effect. This was food everyone at the table agreed they wanted to eat again, and could eat rather regularly.
The braised duck leg came with no flourishes, but with a silky sauce and a big scoop of mash. By this time, a simple La Mancha red was following the unassuming line of the cooking. Desserts, however, presented some novelty.
The house specialty is smettanik, which arrives looking like a big serving of flan with berries on top. Excavation, however, reveals below the firm custard a stack of little, feathery light pancakes. And some more strawberries.
Plombir translates simply as "ice cream," but this substantial serving of house-made vanilla had a wild variety of different flavor notes, not to mention textures. It sort of had lumps in a good way - sweet creamy lumps which I thought for a moment were chunks of white chocolate (they weren't). With a thick, syrupy peach sauce on the side, this is one to share. High sugar tolerance required for individual consumption.
A neat little pumpkin pie came as a complimentary Hallowe'en dessert. Myself, I tackled a slightly less sweet option, the pirozhkis.
Two big'uns, wrapped up and piping hot. The cheese and raisin provided a respite from the sweet attack of the other desserts; the other, filled with apple, was delicious but threatened tongue burn.
So how to assess it all? A meal it would be hard to improve in its own terms, served in gimmicky but entirely pleasant and affable surroundings (hopefully the photographs indicate the enchanting old tableware and linens in use). Not cheap - with tip and tax included around $100 a head; ample food, cocktails, wine - and the oysters were the price of an entrée. Overall, I left much happier thanafter meals (in a similar price range) at restaurants highly touted by the alleged cognoscenti. Happy or cool - your choice, and actually I do know it isn't such an easy one.
Confession. I absolutely love Boney M. And they did not feature "Rasputin" on the playlist. (If you don't know now you know... Ah, those Russians!)
The Mari Vanna English-language website remains under construction.
