Portrait Of The Clocktower

[Pigging by Wilfrid:  September 9, 2015]

Or "What James Atherton Knew"? I just feel Henry James would have been at home here, in a restaurant which is a confused but ultimately successful mash-up (James's favorite compound noun) between British food in a stately home setting, and '70s New York chic in rooms Gilbert Osmond would have recognized and appreciated.

 

And if all that is too much nonsense and allusion, let me assure that the cooking here is rather good. But who's it for?

To my surprise, I was reminded a little of Beautique. People--some of them headed to or from the bar--would pause lengthily in the dining room, to chat, to be seen. Models, DJs, I don't know. The international cool set who don't eat. And at tables near me, hotel guests who were there to eat but not really to dine. Salad, and a main to share. These lovely rooms must cater to a range of tastes.  (At one point, my server told me "You're doing it right tonight, sir"--meaning, I suspect, that I had successfully ordered a full meal with wine.)

Yes, it's a hotel restaurant, located in an Ian Schrager gem, the New York Edition. The hotel, in turn, is located in Madison Square's historic Metropolitan Life Insurance clocktower building; and the restaurant is in a set of  soberly paneled rooms supposedly used by the company's chairman when the building was first constructed (that seems to come from a press release; good luck finding any more information).

In 19th century New York, the interior of a corporate executive suite tried to look as much like the interior of a British stately home as possible. Given the British provenance of chef Jason Atherton (Michelin-starred at London's Pollen Street Social), one might expect the theme to be carried through with some fox hunting pictures, or at least faded photographs of ancient cricket teams. Instead, the photos on the walls--and they are legion--represent and incongruous tribute to American celebrity. Andy Warhol, Diana Ross, Burt Reynolds. (I think Burt Reynolds, anyway). And the musical soundtrack is as incongruous as you'd expect.

Just as you were thinking this is a funky, buzzy, DJ sort of place after all, you notice the staff are uniformed, severely drilled, and liable to call you "Monsieur" when pouring the champagne, which I'd chosen almost regretfully, having for once been genuinely amused by the names of the house cocktails. Who wouldn't want to order the chicken brothers, straight up?

Although I've heard mixed opinions on the bread, I found it delightful. A warm, fresh, springy, tangy loaf, and plenty of it, and an unctuous (yes, that word) buttermilk-whipped butter to drench it with. A hunk of this with the Robert Moncuit Blanc des Blancs is very soothing.

 

I'd also heard some reservations about the use of uni in the dressed crab dish. This time, they were right. But let's be clear about dressed crab--simply, the crab meat removed from the shell, combined in a restrained way with a few garnishes, then replaced. It's a superb dish made with good, fresh crab, and a dish which makes you think that crab is often a better choice than lobster. Cromer, Norfolk supplies the best crabs for this, of course, but this critter was a peekytoe from Maine, and very acceptable.

 

It was sharply dressed, and decorated also with apple batons for crunch. The final touch were some small pieces of uni, breaded and fried like small pieces of sweetbread. It didn't truly work, the texture of the uni being lost and flavor overwhelmed.  Nothing unpleasant about the nuggets; they just seemed otiose (unctuous, otiose; we are on a roll). But as dressed crab, a very good dish.

A simple Duroche burgundy raised the curtain on the meat courses, and I did think the pour was a little mean (it's untasted in the photo). I had to try the pigeon pie, even though it's surely farmed squab rather than a wood pigeon shot on the wing. Well, what else is it going to be?

I shouldn't and won't give Gabriel Kreuther credit for putting game and foie in a pie, and Atherton probably derived this from some quite different source; but New York dining veterans are bound to think of Atelier (neophytes will think of The Modern), and GK's squab croustillante, the bird wrapped in cabbage, layered with foie, the whole presented in a golden pastry dome.

Same deal here, and it's a spectacular dish whoever makes it. No cabbage, but a more classic mushroom duxelle surrounding the meats, and a silky reduction of pigeon liver jus poured over it.

Moving onto the Bordeaux ($21 the glass), I finished with duck à l'orange, and I did think the chef could have let his hair down and made the dish more...well, orangey. That doesn't necessarily mean sweet: bitter orange is well deployed here. This was Long Island duckling, only just tender enough (so difficult when duck is cooked medium rare), with a blush sauce, all in a dramatic presentation. But I have trouble finding much fault in any dish which combines duck with turnips.

Service was friendly throughout, but there were occasional awkwardnesses. When it came to the cheese, I had to explain that no, the hard triangle was not Affidelice au Chablis. The latter, of course, was the pungent goo in the little saucer. The triangle turned out to be Pennsylvanian Savah Schaff, a nutty sheep's milk cheese I hadn't eaten before. The ash-streaked soft cheese was Sofia from Indiana, and it was excellent. A glass of Tokaj, please.

 

I know Pete Wells sometimes has problems finding his way into restaurants (as his predecessor Frank Bruni sometimes struggled to find restrooms), so I congratulate him here. Declining the steep spiral staircase route from the lobby, I was directed down some stairs to a bank of elevators, where I didn't immediately realize you pre-programmed the floor, and boarded one going...elsewhere.

The place is worth finding though.  I don't know whether it's the concessions to somewhat casual dining--the burger, the steaks (with "chips)--or the wanderings of hotel guests looking for the bar or each other, or even the photos of pop stars; but it doesn't quite...quite...feel like the serious high-end restaurant which it almost succeeds in being.

But you know, it's very good. And with Rebelle, Chevalier, Gabriel Kreuther, are we living through another belle epoque?