[Pigging by Wilfrid: July 14, 2008]
Scott Bryan manned the barricades at Veritas from its 1999 opening (when my entire dinner was comped, after the first-week service had misdirected their first attempt at it to a neighboring table) until he departed last year.
After a brief interregnum, during which Ed Cotton maintained the tradition of straightforward but polished American cooking to accompany the near-matchless wine list, a new régime's in town. Il s'appelle Grégory Pugin.
Pugin arrives at Veritas immediately from a two year spell commanding the modernist deck of the open kitchen at Robuchon's Four Seasons Atelier. I hadn't seen him close-up before. At L'Atelier, he was a remote figure at the rear of a perfectly turned out brigade, muttering terse commands which the rank and file would answer with a unison bark of "Oui, chef!" I had a fond memory, of course, of his tête de veau, which I'd nominated my best NYC dish of 2007.
To have such a talent, out of the trained Robuchon stable, bring his own menu to an established kitchen, strikes me as an important event; I pleaded with myself to allow him a few months to settle in - then I got curious and hungry.
The menu has changed dramatically. Indeed, diners at the table next to me were vocally pining for Bryan's more mainstream - and American - dishes. They were, however, drinking cocktails through dinner instead of wine.
Pugin brings to the party some different ways with langoustine - a highlight of the Robuchon menu - a Basquaise piperade, lobster in a vin jaune sauce, poached rather than seared foie gras, and even duck à l'Orange: a cuisine several steps removed from that of Bryan.
The tasting menu seemed a good way to tour the highlights. It began with a duo of chilled gazpacho and lobster salad, the latter served in the usual Chinese soup spoon - capery, and with a nice bitter touch from, I think, some baby turnip.
The foie dish was a revelation - an over-used term, but appropriate here. For what seems like years, chefs all over town have been searing slices of foie, more or less competently, and adding a sweet-tart, usually fruit-based garnish. The predictable alternative has been the chilled torchon, garnished likewise. Chef Pugin poaches the foie, but serves it in firm slices. An Asian spice mix imbues it with flavor and gives the edges of the slices a dark tinge. In didactic style, the garnish on the plate includes a set of the dried spices used in the poaching liquid: vanilla, several cardamon pods, a piece of cinnamon bark, and a star anise. Woe betide the diner who crunches down on any of these.
With an onion marmalade and the most delicate micro-green salad, this is an excellent break with the old régime - and if nothing else here appeals, I recommend stopping by the bar for this creation and a glass of wine.
The roast langoustine, a brace of them, were as good as I'd hoped, sweet and earthy. They were topped with a dollop of osetra, and the pearl theme was repeated in the very French touch of vegetables meticulously rendered as tiny pearls. The background was a trellis of thin strips of leek: as formally composed a dish as you'll find anywhere in this town outside Adour.
The frog's leg dish left me puzzled. The chubby little thighs were impeccably crisped. Chanterelles were trimmed to their delicate caps. The watercress sauce I hated. But, caution: it may be just me. I remember a similar sauce lapping escargots at Fleur de Sel. I hated that too. I find this sauce unbearably bitter, reminiscent of wheatgrass. I passed the comment back to the kitchen - politely framed, of course - but I wonder if my palate is simply averse to the stuff.
I am more convinced that execution was awry with the seared halibut. I was relieved to find the fish creamy and flaky as I dug into the dish, because the crisped surface was painfully salty. The little chanterelles showed up again, alongside an artichoke barigoule which didn't do much for me either.
Those mushrooms made a final curtain call in the meat course, squab stuffed with foie. A good idea, but tricky in practice, because the foie has a tendency to melt away.
Cutting through the breast, I found the cavity where the foie had been - but to be honest, most of it had floated out and pleasantly mingled with the meaty reduction. The breast was roast, the leg braised and glazed with something sweet. The squab itself was dandy. Another complaint about the potatoes Anna, which I just thought were greasy.
Let's be clear at this point. We are in the earliest days of Pugin's reign, and his kitchen can surely overcome these small failings. This is imaginative cooking, falling only narrowly short of the execution it deserves.
The pre-dessert is a charming platter of sweet bites, the winner being the little pillows of cream-filled choux pastry. I loved the dessert proper, so-called strawberry trifle. Trifle strikes me as very British - a sweet fruit dessert always featuring a sponge-cake base and custard.
Here, the custard element was ice-creamed, the sponge base small and light, and the strawberries joined by a number of their fresh berry friends. A refreshing finish.
I am unwilling to divulge the extent of my immersion in the wine-list, but this remains an expensive restaurant in any case. The degustation is heartily priced at $155. A comparable menu at Restaurant Daniel costs $175, but Jean Georges is actually slightly cheaper. This is, then, a very bold re-invention of a New York veteran, and it's one of the most exciting developments of the summer.
One to watch. Despite the annoying cocktail piano music, Veritas offers more information here.
Correction: An earlier version of this article suggested former chef Scott Bryan had recently taken a position at Lever House. In fact, he was associated with that restaurant briefly, earlier this year.