[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 7, 2011]
So at last to Millésime, a traditional, table-clothed French fish restaurant and surely right up my street. Although, to be honest, I tend to eat fish on holiday, near the sea, and not so much otherwise.
Sadly, I didn't find that I'd been missing much. A very curious place.
It's worth taking a look at the photo which adorned its January review in the New York Times. Anyone looking at that before visiting (as I did) will have their expectations dumbfounded. Yes, it's on the second floor of a hotel on that mediocre hotel-heavy strip of Madison Avenue. But smart and pretty and buzzing with customers it isn't. At least, it wasn't when I visited - a weekend evening (and no, not on the holiday weekend).
It's actually a drab and depressing space. The paneled walls and tiled floor came with the hotel and are not in a great state of repair. The fire sprinklers jutting from the walls are more striking than the chandeliers. Banquettes are plasticky and so are the diner-like fold-in menus. Is Laurent Manrique really in the kitchen? Only half a dozen or so people were in the restaurant.
The same could not be said of the lobby, immediately down the open stairs. That was throbbing. Club night. Thump, thump, thump. Somehow, noise coming from elsewhere in the building is even more annoying than a soundtrack produced by the restaurant itself. This video doesn't really do it justice, but you must remember that this is noise level when the restaurant is all but empty; the sounds are coming from downstairs.
Does the food and service make this ambience worthwhile? No, not really. There's a raw bar behind the bar bar, if you see what I mean, which sent me out perfectly decent bivalves. Little necks were firm and briny. The east coast oysters from Sunken Meadow in Cape Cod were actually what Sam Sifton would call "terrific." A faint and charming aftertaste of apple, maybe cucumber. The miyagis were almost a caricature of Pacific oysters, so creamy you could pop one in your coffee.
There was nothing luxe about the condiments. A sharp vinaigrette, a bottle (yes) of Tabasco and a horse-radish-spiked cocktail sauce which helped me get through the miyagis.
As for the rest of the menu, there's not much that's appealing beyond some of the appetizers. I had looked at it online before visiting and noticed some plats du jour, but I placed my hopes in some there being additional specials, a fish of the day perhaps. They did offer bouillabaisse as the Friday plat on the online menu. When I arrived, it had become Provencal fish stew. They now advertise something unappealingly described as coq au vin de la mer. No coq, poissons instead, but a red wine broth; the French might call it a matelote?
So what did I have? Fish. And your choices each and every night: salmon, tuna, cod, snapper, all filets or steaks. They are not, apparently, out to challenge you. No skate. No monkfish, except in the "cassoulet" on Thursday. No eel, certainly. Eliminating salmon and tuna (does anyone order grilled tuna steaks any more?) I arrived at cod. Rightly so, as I surveyed the grey-ish tube of tuna meat served to the table next to me.
Somewhat local I suppose (Casco). You can have your fish "grillé ou plancha." I had to ask about that. Suffice to say that the kitchen grills on a ridged grill leaving those cute stripes, but planchas on a flat griddle; the latter allows them to cover the fish in breadcrumbs of some kind. I think the waiter said panko. Grilled cod for me, then.
It was okay, except that it was somewhat too salty and one end of it was undercooked - glassy. Cod, unlike tuna, is not better served raw. The mousseline of potatoes was impeccable. The best thing on the table, the sauce. Again, the choices are laid out for you: lemon, sauce vierge or a beurre blanc with Jurançon wine and ginger. I had that one; it was lovely. The ginger was, thanks goodness, a background note. (The best taste of the evening was the butter with red wine and shallots.)
The menu offered "crème Catalane" for dessert, not hesitating to translate it as "crème brûlée." It was the latter: crema Catalana is generally unburned. Standard.
I steered towards cava for safety during the meal. When it came to the flan, I had a little debate with my server about whether Muscadet is a dessert wine. He was very nice about it (he was nice all evening) resting his case on the fact that he had found it in the dessert wine section of the fridge. "Better move it then," I suggested. He tasted it and agreed with me.
I don't know what hopes investors place in a restaurant of this kind which, to attract attention in this distracted and faddish city, must at least do what it does very well indeed. This is simple food, and easily topples into being average. Keith McNally could make a place of this kind work.
Oh, don't be surprised to spend $80 to $100 a head as usual. Here's the Website.
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