[Pigging by Wilfrid: July 22, 2013]
Why The Elm, asked the New York Times. Are the elm trees nearby? "I don't know," said Paul Liebrandt. "I've never looked."
That's the characteristic tone of this skilled English chef, who plays the restaurant publicity game like he really doesn't care, cooks like a dream, and is currently doing the latter in a Williamsburg hotel at bragain basement prices.
If you eat only one restaurant meal in New York before Labor Day, eat it here.
And a dominating presence it is. He's tall, very tall--and surveys the room with a piercing gaze. The seats at the kitchen counter aren't open yet, but one wonders how diners will resist his stare.
The Elm is in the King & Grove, a glassy young hotel--complete with rooftop pool--across the street from noisy, grungy McCarren Park. The restaurant does have a separate entrance, and down a dizzying flight of stairs, you'll find (thankfully air-conditioned) peace. Six days after opening, not all tables were full, and there was room at the spacious bar. The staff seemed to be, settling in; and they needed to, as the demand is for them to offer serious, fine dining service. No Billyburg casual here (and an experienced Corton manager was overseeing the operation).
The menu is very concise: four entrants in each of four sections, "raw," "sea," "land" and "to share." The sharing section should not be overlooked. Nor should the fact that Liebrandt seems to have sourced some of the ingredients you'll have seen on the expensive tastings at Corton to embellish the dishes here.
A medallion of foie gras was top drawer, crowned with a spiky strawberry gelée, itself fragrant with ginger and gentle spices. The pickled strawberry garnish set one of the themes for the meal. Wherever he's getting them from, he's getting superb strawberries.
More candidly raw, the cutely named "veggies" (which reminds me of boiled cabbage and carrots) was an exquisitely presented bouquet of tiny summer produce, interleaved with baby lettuce, and served over a tuna-green olive crème. That's the touch which elevates it beyond being a very good salad: it was like eating a chilled vitello tonnato, but with tender slices of vegetables replacing the veal.
Refreshing, but with that added depth of flavor. And in case it seemed too wholesome, it came with decadent bread.
Prosciutto bread enhanced with a slippery wrap of prosciutto. Where's the rest of the loaf? This followed the initial bread service--warm rye baguettes and unsalted butter.
It will not surprise New York-based readers to learn that this was a blistering hot night. I've cooked cassoulets in July, but even I was not in the mood for short ribs or pork belly (although the latter--with baby squid and tomatillo--maybe next time).
So it was turbot for two, in a big pan. Not only snow-white flakes of fine fish but, joy of joys, those little cannons of turbot belly which had made me so happy at Corton back in February:
...the star of the plate was the tiny morsel which looks like a piece of smoked eel. This was turbot belly, as springily delicate as fish maw, and stridently flavorful. If I put anything nicer in my mouth this year, I'll be lucky.
Twice! (It was described as the fin here, but if it's truly a different cut, it's equally unctuous.)
Just to make the dish more interestingly complex, we were invited to serve the turbot to ourselves over a dish of nicely al dente summer beans nestled in a lemongrass broth. The scoop on the side, which looked worryingly like wheatgrass, was--I think--some kind of basil mulch. A bit too green.
But who cares about a green daub when you're diving into proteins last seen on an almost $200 tasting menu. The price of this dish, for two people, is $58. Let me be clear: that's $29 each, or about what you might pay for steak frites at an unremarkable backstreet bistro these days.
Cheese service was one of the high points of the evening, a server appearing seemingly out of nowhere bearing a jet-black slate with several pale Vermontbonne Bonnes Bouches arranged across it like so many headlights.
Yes, we'd share a piece of cheese before dessert. Confident to offer just one cheese, but it's a good choice to complement a multi-faceted dinner--creamy, but not cloying.
I don't recall Liebrandt ever indulging in English whims on his menus before, but after the downbeat "veggies," here comes the snooty "Eton Mess," named for the country's most exclusive public (which means private) school. Fruit and cream in a light, puffy case, dominated by those terrific strawberries, here unpickled, sweet, and gleaming fresh.
The kitchen sent out a complimentary dessert. I was overloading at this point, but it was chocolatey.
And then lovely, bacony little financières to finsih, with a crisp little rasher balanced on them. These delights cost...? Well, the check for food alone, including tax, was around $60 a head. Seriously.
The wine-list is similarly accessible, packed with bottles in the forties and fifties. Look with care, because there are some vintages in there. With our sights on the turbot, we called up a $55 Lopez de Heredia Gravonia, 2001--classically oaky white Rioja, blossoming into sweet, sherry-like nuttiness as the evening lengthened. There are older, red LdeH's worth searching out too.
I emerged rubbing my eyes. Could Paul Liebrandt really be cooking in a open kitchen, in a relatively (only relatively) casual hotel restaurant? Could he be cooking at his best, with super ingredients, at these prices? The answer to those two questions is "Yes." Go right now, because the answer to the next question--"How long can this go on?"--has yet to be determined.
(I just do not believe he's doing room service, although the restaurant is.)
Here's the website.
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