The Modern Is Classical

[Pigging by Wilfrid: March 16, 2016]

It feels like The Modern underwent a chef change only recently.  But no, it was in 2014 that Gabriel Kreuther closed his almost decade-long run (I caught up with him at his new restaurant last summer).

So this is a belated dive into what chef Abram Bissell is doing at MoMA's upscale canteen--and it turned out to be surprising classical.  More Poussin than Pollock (and I don't mean the chicken).

There's almost a disconnect, in fact, between the food and the setting. The dining room, if you don't know, is barely screened from the still-popular and buzzy bar room: it's a long rectangle, windows on one side looking out, honestly, on not much (good luck seeing the scultpures in the sculpture garden). Seats are black and plush, tablecloths are white, and the floral decoration is spare, austere and white too.  It would be a fine setting for food of the edgy, Asian, urchin broth in a small brown teapot variety.

But Bissell, a Meyer veteran via EMP and NoMad, puts on the full Escoffier.  So you might as well start--your server will suggest it--with a flute of champage. Pink, for me, to get some color on the table.

Wait, is that the bread service?  One little croissant with no butter? In fact, it's not.  What turns out to be a deliciously crispy croissant is a smart accompaniment to the trout duo which arrives as a complimentary amuse. A double egg extravaganza first: a chicken's, topped with some trout's, nestled in a warm, buttery nage.  This is practically an appetizer in itself, but it's joined by some chilled fresh trout wrapper in crunchy puff pastry (echoing the croissant), and topped with the trout roe again. This is some clever orchestration.

When the bread service proper arrives, it's unusually good.  Two varieties on offer: a dark roll infused wiht beef stock and onion--the bread form of onion soup, as my server remarked--and, even better, a little, hot sphere of crisp smokiness.  I was amazed when I pulled it apart; the first impression was a sort of barbecue roll. The secret, I was told, is a little Old Bay seasoning in the top of the roll.  I praised it enough to be rewarded with a second.

The basic entrance ticket for dinner here is $138 for three courses or $158 for four (there's a $188 tasting menu too).  Note first that those three and four course options include dessert (so that's $138 for starter, main and what the British call "pudding"). Note too that there are a number of supplements.  Reasonably so for a black truffle tortellini which overwhelmed the room with its musky aroma.  Less agreeably for cheese (which leaves the diner working out just how much he's paying for the cheese plate).  But more positively, note also that this was the flagship of Danny Meyer's no tipping policy, so all you're adding on is tax.

Opting for four courses, I decided this looked like a foie gras kind of place. Faced with a choice between seared foie with a pear glaze, and a chilled foie tart, I concluded that the former threatened to be overly sweet.  I was happy with the choice: essentially a torchon on a pastry base, the winter citrus garnish corrected by some nice, sharp pickled onions.

The first main event, a superb dish described on the menu as a potage.  And rightly so.  This is Waverley Root stuff, a traditional potage being much closer to a stew than a soup (and traditionally leaning towards pork, cabbage, beans and similar). This was a roasted lobster potage, the liquid reminiscent in flavor of a rich bisque, but heavily reduced, almost to a thick sauce consistency.  Little pickled garlics and tiny potato pieces were the complement. The lobster itself was 80 percent great: I liked the flavor--one end was oddly chewy, but at least it wasn't the full-on undercooked lobster chew so common in otherwise good New York restaurants. Tail meat, in case you can't see it under the garnishes.

The very long wine list will lead you into the upper reaches of Bordeaux and Burgundy, but there are a few moderate regional French wines if you dig (and the pdf is online to aid advance research).  I wanted a Burgundy with the lamb.

Billed as slow roasted lamb saddle, I was puzzled to be asked how I wanted it cooked.  I was told they can bring it to "different temperatures" before serving.  Why not?  I left it to the kitchen.  Something foolish in me always expects slow roastd meats to be falling apart at the touch of a fork, tenderized by a long spell in a gentle oven.  This was really just roast lamb, trimmed to shape and less fatty than one might like.  Medium rare, mildly flavored, framed by an intensely reduced jus.

I don't recall lamb accompanied with apples (pork, of course, and even beef in Belgium).  The effect was slightly curious, but not unpleasant.  An apple coulis was at least more elegant than the rather clunky puntarelle leaves which finished the plate.

So I spent the extra ($15, I think) on cheese, and got to make selections from the generous trolley.

Minnesota Good Thunder was a new one to me, stinky and looking not unlike a Pont l’Evêque.  Manchester goat was firm and sharp; Greensward, so runny it was served on a spoon--Vacherin-style, fragrant from a bark wrap. The blue, Chiriboga, has a nice back story: made by an Ecuadorian man and a Bavarian woman--but it didn't seem to be very disinguished.

I contemplated the bill over an old Calvados, which certainly didn't shrink it.  With the cheese supplement, $173. Plus tax.  What and how much you drink will tell you how much over $200 per head you'll spend.  You can spend a lot over $200 a head, believe me.  But it's good gear.