Corton wasn’t on our restaurant radar for a long time. I knew it had two Michelin stars, and I’d never heard a bad thing about it, but it took my boyfriend seeing someone else’s review before we figured out that this is exactly our kind of place. “Wacked-out modernist cuisine”, he calls it. Like wd-50 and Momofuku Ko before it, Corton’s Chef Paul Liebrandt is making familiar foods unrecognizable and unrecognizable foods fantastic.
We opted for the nine-course, $155 tasting menu, with wine pairings. Wine pairing isn’t mentioned on the menu, but sommelier Shawn Paul introduced us to some really unusual bottles and knew when to give us more extensive information on a particular grape, so I’m glad we knew to ask. (So was the couple next to us, who immediately requested the pairings, too.)
The amuses came at us fast. Before a menu was even presented to us, these crackers and croquettes arrived on a bed of wild rice; I barely had time to get my white balance in check before Dr. Boyfriend snatched his away. The color was indicative of that spicy turmeric flavor that puts me in the mind of curry, but it was the textures that I really remember. The cracker was thick and airy like a graham cracker, and the croquette was creamy with a liquid center. I probably should’ve stolen my boyfriend’s and made s’mores out of them.
Presented on an invisible layer of plastic wrap, these tiny treats appeared to be floating above their metal dish. I was pretty juiced about the one that looked like a Totino’s Pizza Roll, but it was actually a very, very crisp cracker filled with a buttery cheese sauce. I honestly can’t remember anything about the taste of the financier (nutty?), but I definitely remember its pound cake texture.
Maybe I had my hopes a little too high for an amuse combining one of my very favourite flavors on Earth, corn, with its favourite Southwestern companion, the black bean, in my favourite presentation, the egg cup. I loved the idea of it, but the corn jelly at the bottom of the egg was basically unflavored. The black bean was airy like a mousse and stained our teeth wildly, so we used our champagne like mouthwash. The really enjoyable part was the corn itself, which was slightly chewy and reminded me of the excellent freeze-dried corn in a soup at The Modern.
Even back when I was a major fish-hater, I was eating tuna salad, because, you know, mayo makes everything palatable. Now when I think about myself eating fish out of a can–out of a can, people–it blows my mind that I could’ve been having this instead. Raw tuna is just so beefy. And this piece in particular was just so salty. The grilled lime added brightness, not to mention a little pink-salted ambiance.
I had no idea what chaud-froid was and found this description when I Wikipediaed it: “a meat jelly that includes cream is called a chaud-froid.” Who can resist a good creamed meat jelly, right? Apparently–and excuse me if you already know this–the name means hot-cold in French and refers to meat that’s cooked but then chilled again and glazed with aspic, or meat stock gelatin. Mmmmouth-watering.
This was the most elegant presentation, from the gold leaf to the contrasting colors to the watermelon dashi our server poured into each bowl at the table, melting the clear jelly coating the bottoms. The jelly was acidic like the watermelon but wasn’t itself flavorful. The green orbs were beautiful but puzzling; were they baby watermelons? caper berries? cucumbers? They were crunchy and not sweet, and I would eat them on everything every day. With the chewy razor clams, the crisp vegetables, the gritty melon, and the smooth, rich foie gras, it was a delight for the texturally-inclined. This was one of those dishes where the sum total was much greater than the individual parts.
Our server used a spoon to tap a layer of dried chanterelle mushroom shavings over our plates.
When we saw this blowfish, my boyfriend I gave each other the “whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” look. “Aren’t these things poisonous? Am I really going to eat a fish with its tail still on? What about the bones?” Any trepidation we had was forgotten before we were done chewing the first bite. I love Indian food, and this fish was soaked through with tandori and curry flavors. There were about two bites of meat on the thing, but I ate enough bones to round it out, and those two bites were tasty enough to make the potential for a slow, lingering poison death worth it. The leaf underneath seemed to be soaked with citrus, probably lime, and was a bright accent to the spicy fish. The octopus was just too thin to really make an impression on me, but I loved the creamy gnudi with the chive blossom.
I would never ever order something described as “vegetables, herbs, lettuces”, and yet this was one of my favourite dishes of the night. Hence the joy of the tasting menu. The beet was perfectly earthy, the fennel extra salty, the yuzu a pleasant citrusy surprise. There was a crispy, thin-as-can-be eggplant chip to provide some contrasting texture, along with a “crumble” underneath it all that tasted like spicy buttered breadcrumbs. Even the tomatoes were fresh and unoffensive to me, which is really saying something; I assume it was the wonderful herbs overpowering the acidity I don’t care for.
The way to my heart is through savory ice creams in the middle of a meal. Unfortunately, there was approximately a thimbleful of sweet potato ice cream hidden under all of this lemon foam. I just loved the cold of the ice cream, and the foam ruined it with its room-temperature-ness. The foam, admittedly, was very exciting to a lemon-lover like me, and I was also a fan of the tiny textured cubes of what I think were scallions at the bottom of the dish. There was also a smooth olive puree to add a little bitterness.
If someone could explain to me what a laquet is, I’d appreciate it. Bewilderment was the general feeling surrounding this entire dish, but I’m not complaining. The confusion centered on the following:
1) What the hell is anything on this plate? 2) Why am I not eating black garlic every day of my life? 3) Is that cous-cous inside my tomato?
Whew. “Wacked-out modernist cuisine” indeed. The turbot was a nicely firm, not-fishy fish. I approve. The black garlic puree was smoky, thick, and sticky; I’m having mind-drools just thinking about it, and I barely even like garlic. The “tomato”, definitely the weirdest part, was a gelatinous tomato-flavored skin encasing what reminded me of cous-cous. Most of this dish left me absolutely befuddled, though. I liked everything, but I would finish a little log of something with a Jell-o texture and just be like, “Welp, I guess that’s that.” I’m not sure why I see this as a positive thing, but I guess I like a challenge to my know-it-all-ness.
These were the side dishes to the turbot, although we’re not sure how they were supposed to be connected to it. The snapper was super fishy and served over a puffy rice cracker. The quail egg tasted neither pickled nor even eggy; it was more like a floral, herbed spherification, which was actually preferable to me.
These little birdie cylinders seemed to be wrapped in fat, but the fat wasn’t melty, and it wasn’t crisp, either. It was certainly much beefier than a chicken dish would’ve been, though, and I took a lot of joy in picking up that bone with my hands and chewing the unctuous meat off with gusto in a two-Michelin-starred restaurant. The disc of plum with the gelatinous top was both a nice flavor pairing and continued the gelatin texture theme. The log of coconut was an airy, savory foam.
On the side was a dish of consomme jelly with a center of brunoised fennel and crispy, crumbly top like the breadcrumbs in previous dishes. It was honestly more weird than delicious, but I really appreciate the work that goes into a consomme.
Dr. Boyfriend and I had a nice Caerphilly at Per Se, so I was maybe a little disappointed to be served the same cheese here, but this turned out to be one of the best dishes of the night and certainly the one we still talk about most. The cheese was funky, the frozen olive oil intensely bitter. The gooseberry was sweet (is that husk edible? ’cause we ate it), and the tomato and basil combination made a marinara sauce in my mouth. But it was that tomato clafoutis that really sealed the deal. I’m under the impression that clafoudis should be sort of like a cheesecake in texture, but this was straight up cakey. It really mellowed the cheese and provided a texture contrast. The truly beautiful presentation wasn’t lost on us, either.
Again, looking at this dish was almost more satisfying that actually eating it. The blueberry tapioca looked like individual black raspberry drupelets (I just learned that word!) but were chewy. It was surprising and delightful–my favourite part of the dish. The fennel was a major flavor player for my boyfriend, but I cared much less about the ice cream than anything else. The rice balls provided crunch, and the base of a shortbread-like cookie made it a heartier dessert. It was really a complete plate, from flavor to texture to leaving me completely satisfied even without chocolate.
But of course there was chocolate. And caramel. And some character written on the plate that we could only assume was Arabic for “you’ve overstayed your welcome”. This was a spongey chocolate cake, a chocolate disc that was really way too firm to be cut without ruining the rest of the dish, caramel that reminded me of the best ones from my childhood, and an intense vanilla flavor that we both loved. This was salty almost to the point of being savory, but there were plenty more sweets to follow.
Our server came around with a tiered acrylic box full of truffles, chocolates, and French macarons. We have a history of feeling awkward and not wanting to appear gluttonous when the petit fours arrive, but this time I sucked it up and asked for one of everything. Well, I actually asked, “May I have one of everything? Is that too much?”, as if our server was actually going to say, “Hey, fatty, take it down a notch and just get two or three like a normal person.”
There was a caramel, a raspberry, and a mint chocolate, a Pimms and a Mai Tai macaron, a truffle . . . and some others. They were all wonderful, and I was glad I got one of each, because I could’ve eaten twice as many.
I know pate de fruits are easy to make, but that doesn’t keep me from loving them unconditionally. They look so unassuming, but they always punch you in the face with flavor. These were grapefruit . . . and something else. Sorry, but I was really too fixated on the fact that the girl in the silver lamé dress at the neighboring table had left hers behind to commit the second flavor to memory.
I have to admit that I’m a little torn about this rating. On one hand, I have very, very little to complain about. There were a few dishes with components that were throwaways, but there were more dishes where every single ingredient seemed to matter. I really missed the pork and the beef, but there was a salad that I actually took joy in eating, and there was so much creativity all around that I probably didn’t even appreciate it all.
On the other hand, I didn’t quite feel the overwhelmed sensation I usually do at my five-donut restaurants. The desserts were absolutely spot-on as far as delivering me exactly the quality and quantity I needed, but I don’t remember many moments in the savory courses where my boyfriend had to quiet me because I was embarrassing him with all of my exclamations like he usually does. Maybe that’s a side effect of the creativity, though; if there’s not a pile of potatoes and butter, my vocal cords don’t emit the requisite yummy sounds.
It also may have something to do with the fact that the space doesn’t feel as luxurious as your Crafts and your Asiates. Nor as cool as your wd-50s and your Momofuku Kos. It’s somewhere in the middle, with an interesting flower-textured wall and an overall cave-like feel but a patch on the seat next to you and no maître d’ to greet you at the door so that you’re left feeling totally awkward as you just stop a random server to help you find your table. It’s perfect for the diner who feels intimidated by the plushness of Daniel but doesn’t want to sit at a counter and listen to indie rock while he eats, either.
I don’t mean to say anything negative, though. I think most of the food is great, the rest of it exceptional, and all of it wildly imaginative.
It’s funny how you can ride by a restaurant on the bus every day and not notice it until its chef is a contestant on a reality TV show. Or sad, maybe. But that was the case with Hearth, which I must have seen at least 365 times but didn’t actually see until Chef Marco Canora performed spectacularly on the Food Network’s Next Iron Chef. Another of the Tom-Colicchio-trained, it’s no surprise that his food seems honest and that his ingredients speak for themselves.
Hearth is casual without being unimpressive. The waitstaff is in t-shirts and visible tattoos, but the exposed brick, polished wood, and candlelight match the mid-priced menu. We tried the seven-course tasting menu, which is full of the fresh, bright ingredients of the season and is one of the more-affordable tastings in town at $76 per person.
Cool and starchy, with a floating topper of slightly-hardened yogurt and pea skin to add some texture. The natural sweetness of the pea, one of my favourite flavors in nature, contrasted the sourness of the yogurt.
It’s all of my favourite ingredients in one bowl! And then a whole lot of tomato, my least-favourite ingredient ever. But I’m an adult, and I ate the skin and an eighth of an inch off of every single one of those tomatoes before making Dr. Boyfriend switch bowls with me. Aside from the tomatoes, which even I will admit were perfectly ripe, this was summer in a bowl and made me sad for the mushy, mealy produce that’s going to be showing up in stores in the coming winter months. It was simple, fresh, acidic from the sherry dressing, hearty thanks to the beans, and crunchy from the celery. Of course I’m more preferential toward land animals, but the use of the tuna felt like a very deliberate choice to keep the salad light.
This items isn’t on the menu, which doesn’t surprise me, since the repetition of the beans in consecutive courses didn’t seem well thought out. Careless or not, I really loved this dish, and I say this as someone who would’ve been absolutely freaked to find edible suction cups on my plate a year ago. I always think that octopus is going to be rubbery and hard, and I always find it tender and just the right amount of chewy. It doesn’t hurt that this is grilled; I’m a sucker for charred flavor, and the grilled taste permeated the very manageable chunks of meat. The radicchio added a pleasant bitterness, and the oregano made everything a little more familiar for a landlubber like me.
Eating good pasta always reminds me that I want to eat more good pasta. The pappardelle at Babbo completely changed my expectations, and although this wasn’t life-altering, it was very nice. The little baskets of pasta were the perfect chewiness, and the ricotta added just the right amount of dry, crumbly texture. The basil-laden tomato sauce was still chunky and bright, so I could’ve really used some heavy meat in place of the eggplant to add a smokiness or some richer flavors. It felt a little too simple to me for a restaurant dish, not one you’d use to impress on your tasting menu.
Not to bring up another food I’m squeamish about, but up until very recently, I didn’t like cucumbers; they’re one of those half-sweet, half-savory foods, like tomatoes, that my tastebuds didn’t respond well to. But in this dish, the cucumbers were the best part! Their brightness matched the briny flavor and the freshness of the roe. This was my first time having freekeh after seeing it in an episode of “Chopped“, and I wasn’t disappointed; it added such a chewy texture and such a familiarity. The salmon made the freekeh less heavy, and the freekeh made the salmon heartier. The scapes in the freekeh reminded me of scallions, and we liked what we believe were pea shoots on top, but I unfortunately missed the mint.
I’ve had a lot of crispy-skinned pork in my life, and the most interesting thing about this pork was that it wasn’t crispy-skinned. Instead, the “skin” tasted like it had been caramelized, and its sweetness was a nice compliment to the cooked onion. The pork was extra-salty, and the housemade bacon was extra-firm–both pluses in my book. The gnudi of Swiss chard was . . . well, it was too healthy for my taste. I did like it, and I did think that the chard was a nice accompaniment to the pork, but I want my gnudi to be cheesy and bad for me!
This was easily the most interesting course of the night, and I’m ashamed to say that, as a hardcore tomato-hater. It’s not my fault, though. The tomatoes were sunk into a syrup so sweet and herbaceous it was like eating a Bloody Mary ice cream float. The saving grace was that there was the perfect amount of syrup in the bowl for me to take in multiple spoonfuls after each bite to mask any raw tomato flavor. With the yogurt sorbet providing a sourness, the dish became the perfect bridge between the savory and sweet courses.
I was a little preoccupied with my raspberry liqueur from the Finger Lakes and the fact that the people next to us were getting extra courses that I was dying to see, but the standout in this dessert was the chewy, sugar-dusted top of the financier. I loved how the lemon verbena ice cream was like lemon for grown-ups: bright and herby and not at all sour.
Hearth is serving solid rustic Italian-inspired food. The weirdest part about my visit is that the dishes I thought would be exceptional were really just fine–the pork, the pasta–while the dishes I thought I’d have to quietly shove into my napkin–the octopus, the tomato and ice cream–turned out to be my favourites. Although I think the individual dishes may be too simple for their price tags, the tasting menu was a great value, and I would certainly return for it.
The first time my boyfriend and I dined at Eleven Madison Park, I gave the tasting menu a four-star rating. I went in with the expectation that it might be the best meal I’d ever have and came out feeling underwhelmed. The food we had was five-star, but it was the food we didn’t have that left an impression on me. I felt like we hadn’t been served any of the most interesting dishes on the menu, and in all of the moments where we could have been made to feel special, we were reminded that we weren’t. Still, I thought it was a better-than-average experience overall and was happy to have been to the restaurant once.
Well, the day after my review went up, the head maitre d’ called my boyfriend for my phone number and then called me to discuss what I’d said and to invite us back for a second try. Of course I said I couldn’t accept such an extravagant offer, but she said they had a better idea of what we were expecting this time and took it personally that they didn’t impress us the first go around. I accepted but felt awful about it. I didn’t want to be seen as an ingrate, and I had these horrible thoughts that I might be viewed as someone who wrote a negative review just to get the restaurant to react. I was excited about returning to EMP, but I was so nervous that it would be the most awkward dinner of my life.
In fact, it was the very opposite of that and one of the finest meals we’ve ever had. It was almost as if the restaurant was trying to embarrass me for that first review.
“Cheez-Its!” we whispered to each other when we ate these. Just as good as the first time, they were the perfect little cheesy, crispy, pillowy, warm bread bites.
Regular readers will know that despite working on it for a couple of years now, tomatoes are the one major mindblock I have leftover from childhood. Regular readers will also know that one of my favourite things in the world is eating an ingredient I expect to be disgusted by and finding it transformed into something delicious.
Not only was this tea herbal and lemony, but the tomato flavor was so delicate that I found myself actually enjoying it. The presentation with the bouquet of thyme that we seeped in the broth couldn’t have been lovelier.
Complimenting the tea was the accompanying Parmesan crisp, which mirrored the tea’s subtlety with translucent brittleness. There was an undercurrent of spice to the lavash to match the tomato’s brightness.
Claude Genet, Brut, Blanc de Blancs, Grand Cru, Chouilly, Cote des Blancs, Champagne, France
Getting to taste this a second time gave me a much greater appreciation for the little lemon spheres encrusting the fish. And for the texture of the dish, which ranged from liquid lemon to pleasantly fibrous fish to crisp, light rice cracker. This was such a complete bite.
We had quite a bit of trouble figuring out how to eat this the first time, and either they remembered that from my review or remembered to give us a little fork this time that we were supposed to have had the first time. Whether it was because I got to taste more of the scallop this time thanks to the fork or because our sommelier had read our minds and decided to do some more interesting pairings that included sake, I liked this even better the second time, too. It was so refreshing, and I appreciated the way the gelatinous citrus piece mirrored the texture of the scallop.
Dewazakura, Oka, Ginjo, Yamagata Prefecture, Japan
Don’t get tired of me saying this, but I thought the beet lollipops were better the second time, too. They were a little crunchier, the texture of the shell a little more pronounced to juxtapose the creamy cheese interior.
These little orbs of semolina-coated cheese are the sort of things you could pop into your mouth by the handful if you’re not careful. I forced myself to dip them one by one into the tartar-sauce-tasting vinaigrette, though, just to be able to savor each one with a sip of the wine. I’m not sure we would’ve liked this particular glass on its own, but it couldn’t have been more perfectly paired to bring out the natural flavors of the cheese.
Yves Martin, Chavignol, Sancerre, Loire Valley, France 2010
So, so buttery and with extra-chunky chunks of crab. Our wonderful server, Kevin, tried to convince us that it’s perfectly possible to fetch all of the broth out of the special locally-sourced bowls with the little spoons they provide, but we still failed miserably on our second attempt. I still loved this.
Weingut Alfred Merkelbach, Urzinger Wurzgarten, Riesling Spatlese, Mosel, Germany 2009
Last time, I complained that though this was one of the prettiest presentations I’d ever seen, I couldn’t taste a lot of the individual ingredients. This time, I tasted everything, including the subtle potato. The wine was especially helpful in bringing out the flavor of the caviar, which was entirely lacking for me in my first tasting.
Still inexplicably one of my favourite of the amuses. For some reason, that smoky sturgeon and chive oil just hits me in the right spot, and I love the creaminess of the sabayon.
Gaia, Thalassitis, Assyrtico, Santorini, Cyclades, Greece 2010
A very apropos presentation for such a warm, flaky, buttery bread.
Of course the very first appetizer would blow me away. We had seen this on the lounge menu while waiting for our table to open up and were interested (were they listening in on our conversation?), but the actual plate was miles more impressive than any description.
The pistachio puree was thick and grainy, the caramelized pistachios sweet and crunchy. The smooth pate of rabbit was complimented by the pistachio crisp, and the bright cherries and onions made sure the very rich dish didn’t feel heavy.
It’s the little things that matter to me most, you know, and I just couldn’t help but love this single leaf, placed so deliberately at the plate’s edge.
But most exciting was that what we thought was a pistachio-encrusted cherry was actually a hollow sphere of pistachio crumbs with a viscous cherry center. It was the kind of thing you’d see at wd~50, and none of the effect was wasted on us.
Gustave Lorentz, Altenberg de Bergheim, Grand Cru, Alsace, France 2004
Our server, Kevin, was a master of drama. He walks over with a shallow bowl of hot rocks draped in seaweed and other ocean accoutrements, a kettle perched atop them. He pours water over the rocks, and they begin to steam. The smell of the beach wafts toward us and envelops the table as I furiously try to capture everything on camera. Kevin folds his hands behind his back and walks silently away, leaving us flabbergasted and overwhelmed. “What is all this? What do we do with it?” Just as the initial excitement wears off, Kevin returns to explain the course and to pour a bowl of clam velouté from the kettle for each of us.
Like clam chowder but perfectly smooth, extra thick, and ready to form a skin on its surface any time I left it alone for a second.
I love corn. I love chorizo. I love cake. And I love them all together. For me, both of these bites were a tasty union between land and sea. I’ve previously declaimed clams, but these were perfectly delicious–light but meaty and well-accented with all the brininess of the caviar.
The melon preparation was my favourite, and of course it’s the one I forgot to take a photo of in my hurry to suck down a bunch of clam. With honeydew and watermelon, it was a light compliment to the natural fresh flavor of the bivalve. The lobster croquette was akin to eating lobster French fries. Need I say more?
South Hampton, Saison Deluxe, South Hampton, Long Island
When this was placed in front of us, my boyfriend and I called it a cheap shot at winning our love. It’s gnocchi, which is already the most delicious thing on Earth, topped with the hugest slices of black truffle, which is the most delicious thing on Earth made out of fungus. It was almost criminally unfair.
Naturally, it was heavenly. The kind of dish where you have to hold your head upright while you chew to keep it from lolling around and drooling all over the linens. The gnocchi were big, cherry-tomato-sized fluffs, the truffle was dirt-y and rich, with the little crunch you get from a fresh sliver of radish, and together, they were the most effortlessly luxurious dish possible. If they had sprinkled a little caviar on top, my little farmgirl heart might have exploded.
Monastero Soure Cistercensi, Coenobium, Lazio, Italy 2009
Another tomato on the plate, and another preparation I enjoyed. This one was sweet and cooked almost to the point of turning into a sauce, nicely juxtaposing the bitterness of the tarragon and fennel. As with our first dinner at EMP, the scallop was seared so perfectly, and its tenderness was a welcome companion to the crunch of the fennel.
Hirsch, Lamm, Gruner Veltliner, Kamptal, Austria 2003
Hidden underneath this pile of summer squash and lobster oil was a large, lovely lobster tail piece. The zucchini made for perfectly-cooked pasta, and the overall effect was a much lighter take on lasagna.
Yes, please.
Thierry Germain, Domaine des Roches Neuves, l’Insolite, Saumer, Loire Valley, France 2008
This was execution by tasting menu, and although Dr. Boyfriend succumbed to the drink pairings during the lobster, I felt like I was still going strong well into the night. This picture would prove otherwise. Don’t let my terrible photography skills make you think any less of this suckling pig, though, because it was beautiful.
The pistachio crumble with the apricot jus was like eating candy, the top layer of the pork was so crunchy while the bottom could have been cooked for hours, and the cocktail flavors mirrored the caramelization of the pork.
Repossesion Cocktail: Reposado Tequila, Amontillao Sherry, Mezcal, Apricot Liqueur, Cane Syrup, Lemon
In the middle of this course, my boyfriend said, “You gave them four out of five stars, and they invited us back to humiliate you.” That’s how good this was.
Our server came to the table and presented us with an entire duck, crisped brown and stuffed with a bouquet of lavender. He then took it back to the kitchen and returned with this tiny sliver of duck that made me picture the entire kitchen staff devouring the rest of the carcass and laughing maniacally at their good fortune.
Tiny portion or not, this duck was incredible. The skin was herbal and crusty, overwhelming salty in the very best way. The flavors of the duck paired so well with both the apricot and blueberry. A side of duck leg on a creamy potato mousseline came served in a separate bowl and must have contained an entire pound of butter. Again, I’m not complaining.
Whatever they’re charging for this thing, it’s worth it.
Marcel Juge, Cornas, Rhone Valley, France 2006
At this point, we were escorted to the kitchen, and while I thought this might be the most uncomfortable part of the evening since I had specifically whined about not being offered a kitchen tour in my first review and forced the restaurant into it the second time around, our tour guide (Megan, I think) made it wonderful.
While we watched food being plated all around us, one of the staff came to make us a liquid nitrogen cocktail. Here are our raspberry ice domes floating in midair:
And here’s the finished product, melting within moments:
There was a time in my life where I thought meringue was kind of dumb. When you’re the kind of girl who could eat a steak for every meal and follow it up with a chocolate bar of 90% cacao, fluffy, airy foods don’t really cut the mustard. This was different, though, because this dessert was all about texture. There was the smooth sorbet against the stiff iceberg-like meringue pieces, the crunchy crumble against the ripe berries. The berries were so tart, the meringue so sweet.
Georg Mosbacher, Forster Ungeheuer, Riesling, Auslese, Pfalz, Germany 2007
On first glance, this dessert was too similar to the first one. Same textures, same presentation, same lack of chocolate. Upon first bite, though, I was so glad they’d served us both. The cherry sorbet was borderline cough syrup, and I loved it. The pile of caramelized nuts seemed to never end, and I loved that, too. The pistachio and the one beautiful poached cherry harkened back to the first of our main courses, the rabbit rillette, creating a perfect circle.
Istvan Svepsy, 6 Puttonyos, Tokaji, Hungary 1996
The tiny treats at the end were the same as those of our first visit, save an extra spoonful of an anise-flavored hyssop dessert. Once again, we were barely able to touch the cognac at all, which I think the staff who pulled the table out for us every time we had to use the restroom were glad for.
From the menus they sent us home with to the many Rieslings they served us after we mentioned that we love them to the way they changed the tablecloth for us while we were in the kitchen to keep us from having to look at the lobster broth we’d splashed all over it earlier, nothing about this dinner could have been better. Except, of course, if it had been served to us on our first visit.
Our menu was so perfect, so overwhelmingly excessive, that I was almost inclined to add a 6th donut to my ratings system just for this meal, but I know not everyone’s getting an experience like this one. I guess the key is to go in and asked to be impressed. It’s clear that the kitchen at Eleven Madison Park is capable of putting out the most incredible food; they just need to be asked to.
Thanks to EMP for the best time possible. We are now officially fans and repeat customers.
Eleven Madison Park bowled me over as soon as I walked in the door. A pleasant young woman greeted us, and when my boyfriend told her his name for the reservation, she said hello to him and then turned to me. “And you must be Katie,” she said. “I was especially excited to meet you because you’re from Ohio.” We chatted with her a bit about how we respectively ended up in NYC after growing up there, and then she passed us to a hostess to be shown our seats.
I began setting the white balance on my camera, remarking on the looming windows on each wall, musing about the trees native to Madison Square Park. “Listen, before you go on, let’s not gloss over the fact that the restaurant knew who you were,” my boyfriend said. “Oh, don’t even think that was lost on me,” I replied, “but let’s talk about it later; we’re probably being watched.”
And thus began our four-hour tasting menu at EMP. Bear in mind that the restaurant had been on my list basically since the start of this fine-dining blogging adventure lo those many (two) years ago. And that I was only being taken to it because I finally agreed to go to the doctor for the first time in seventeen years. My expectations were high not only because I’d given up so much dignity by agreeing to pee in a cup but also because EMP is the kind of place that shows up in every post on Chowhound; people recommend it out of nowhere when posters are inquiring about entirely unrelated restaurants.
As with most things you build up too much in your mind, in the end, I felt cheated. The more I thought about the meal in the hours and days afterward, the angrier I got. But we’ll start in the beginning, when I was still impressed.
The menu doesn’t contain any descriptions, just a word or two highlighting the main ingredient. They were words like lobster, foie gras, octopus, chevre. When we told our server we would be doing the tasting menu, she asked us if we had any allergies and if we were open to offal and organ meats. We eagerly said we were up for anything.
The highly-anticipated cheese poufs arrived and were just as cheddary and salty as we wanted them to be. They were fluffy on the inside and crusty on the outside with such a zing that my boyfriend said he was convinced they just stuck some Cheez-Its in a food processor to make the flour.
The cool, refreshing mint was such the perfect partner for the sweet pea that it only made sense for the whole shebang to be topped with buttermilk “snow” that had the actual texture of your favourite ski slope. The crunchy tuile was extra salty, and the fresh chai blossoms and freeze-dried peas balancing on it added neat texture elements.
I know seafood on a healthy rice cake doesn’t quite seem like my bag, but even I couldn’t resist the firm flesh of the fish and its citrus and floral notes.
Let me start by saying that we had no idea how to eat this thing. It makes more sense to slurp it off the rounded end, which is the same shape as your mouth, but the scallop was all at the sharp end, and the gelatinous yuzu dome over it meant that it couldn’t move anywhere. So we kind of tongued it off the closest edge and hoped no one was watching.
It was very acidic and bright, with orange and dill flavors and even a bit of fennel crunchiness to counteract the Jell-o-ness of the yuzu.
Clearly this is the cutest cheese to ever exist. The croquettes were creamy, warm, and just slightly goat-funky, and they had the tiniest bit of texture from the semolina. The zippy watercress and chive vinaigrette they were served with (one for each of us!) reminded me so much of tartar sauce, which I believe is the most underrated condiment.
It’s goat cheese, covered in red wine, rolled in beet powder, and stuck on a stick. It’s entirely novelty, and that is why we loved it. It was soft and creamy but held its shape enough that I could make three bites out of it. I could’ve used twice the beet flavor, but the sweet goatiness of the cheese complimented the natural sweetness of the beet.
With big crab chunks, little uni chunks, and the crunch from even littler brunoised apple chunks, this was an uni soup for people like me who only sort of want to taste its iron flavor. I loved finding the scallion slivers at the bottom of the bowl and wished I’d thought to mix it up sooner; the bowl was cute but didn’t allow for the last few slurps to be extracted because of its curved lip. We briefly considered other means of getting at it but figured we’d better play it cool after the earlier scallop incident.
Eggs as serving vessels never gets less interesting for me, and these were the most perfectly-cut ones we’ve seen. Too bad the kitchen’s spending all of its time on those and none of its time making sure both eggs are evenly filled, because Dr. Boyfriend got the more-full of the two, and I was jealous. The texture was like a very thin pudding, and the color reflected the flavor, which was pure butter. The smoky sturgeon bits and chive oil nestled in the bottom made the dish rich on one end and bright on the other. I loved it.
Citrusy, salty, and so perfectly cooked it was dying to be mashed, this little potato was one of the prettiest things we were served, if not the most flavorful. The sturgeon roe completely disappeared for me, and I didn’t get any chive, either. Ten points for presentation, though.
We were wildly impressed that it took this long to get to the bread (an hour, by the timestamps on my photos); bringing it in the middle of the meal like this made it seem like a course of its own, and certainly it was deserving of one. The bread was flaky, hot, and airy. The butters had remarkably different tastes which can both be summed up in the word savory.
I know salad is objectively awful, but if you’re going to serve me a salad, it should look like this. The baby lettuces were so perfectly dressed as to seem like they weren’t dressed at all; the greens were tender and had the sheen of olive oil on them, but their natural flavor and freshness wasn’t overpowered. The almond and onion combination was perfection, the créme fraiche was subtle in a way I didn’t think possible, and the dish was small enough that I could enjoy it but then quickly put it aside in favor of some meat.
Scallops are quickly becoming one of the ingredients I most look forward to seeing on a menu, which is absolutely insane if you consider my staunch anti-seafood position of only two years ago. This one was salty, buttery, and just slightly pink in the center to juxtapose the perfectly-seared outer edge. The little disc of black garlic, so common in my Persian boyfriend’s house growing up, bridged the sweetness of the fennel and shrimp and the sourness of the potatoes.
This dish made me feel like an adult. Not only did it used all parts of the chard, but I was required to cut the leaves so as to not look like an idiot trying to stuff the whole things in my mouth. Only adults eat things like that. I loved the smoky, crunchy, salty bacon and the fried chard, but overall, the dish was way too vinegary for me. I know the roots are supposed to be more delicious than the leaves, but I thought them too bitter, and adding the vinegar to that just made me wrinkle my nose to the sourness.
As soon as Dr. Boyfriend got up to use the restroom during this course, a server came right over with a domed silver serving dish cover. I can’t remember that ever happening at another restaurant and was pleased that EMP cares so much about the integrity of their food, even if I didn’t like that particular plate.
Unsurprisingly amidst this pathetic display of non-meaty dishes, the pork was one of the highlights of the night for me. The bing cherries weren’t actually that flavorful on their own, but when combined with a bite of pork rack, their natural sweetness just exploded. The skin on the belly couldn’t have been crispier and was like eating a piece of toffee. The pickled mustard seed added a bit of sourness, and the jus, which was broken with the Italian bacon Guanciale, or jowl meat, was extra rich and porky.
It’s unusual for anything to outshine beef in a dish for me, but I thought the best part of this was actually the green beans, which were firm and snappy, like they’d just come out of the garden. The white beans were a perfectly creamy compliment. The sweetbreads were crisp and sticky, like chicken nuggets dipped in barbeque sauce. (“Nature’s chicken nuggets”, Dr. Boyfriend called them.) The beef was just okay. After the noticeably-different Wagyu at Asiate the week before, it was going to take a lot to impress me.
I’d had one egg cream prior to this. An egg cream, despite it’s slightly scary name, is just chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer. It originated in Brooklyn, and I guess I tried one in my early days in NYC in an attempt to assimilate myself but quickly decided I’d rather just accept that I don’t belong here. This egg cream was way better than that one, which just tasted like watered-down chocolate milk. It used a dash of olive oil and a lot of vanilla and had three inches of foam on top (that had disappeared by the time I snapped this photo, but as you know, beauty is fleeting, especially in egg creams).
Very few upscale restaurant desserts actually satisfy me. I give good marks to the ones that try really hard, and I usually judge them based on how they compare to each other versus how they compare to my own expectations. But this was a dessert that actually impressed me and fulfilled me and everything else. I’ve actually referred to it as “perfect” since eating it, but seeing as it lacked peanut butter, I’ll refrain from calling it that here.
Even still, it was a phenomenal dessert. Served with warmed silverware, it was the thinnest chocolate wafer cannelloni surrounding the smoothest chocolate mousse over a sticky caramel, with crunchy espresso bits and vanilla ice cream with a sour yogurt topping. I loved it. Unfortunately, Dr. Boyfriend neither cares for coffee-flavored foods nor bitter chocolate, so it was a near-total miss for him. And that wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except that it was the only dessert we were served.
We were given a bottle of cognac and told to have as much as we wanted with these petit fours. There was a cookie with strawberry and broccoli, an apricot and chocolate pate de fruits with an overwhelming rosemary essence, an Earl Grey French macaron that was overwhelmed by the intensity of the liquor, and a chamomile and lemon cookie.
Here’s the thing: the food was excellent. It was five-donut food. Anyone who can make me “mmm” for sturgeon is doing something right. In terms of value, though, EMP was a major disappointment. The meal was $195 each, which is very similar to what you’ll pay at Per Se, Daniel, or Momofuku Ko. At all of those restaurants, though, you feel special. Per Se overloaded us with so many desserts we were literally stuffing hard candy into Dr. Boyfriend’s suit jacket pocket at the end just to not waste so much of it. Daniel fed us almost every kind of protein I can think of, served us our favourite kind of cheese, and brought us extra madeleines without being asked when we allowed ours to get cold. Both of those restaurants offered us tours of the kitchen as if it was promised on the menu, and Momofuku Ko seats you at a counter right in front of your chef. Even much less expensive restaurants like Tocqueville and wd~50 have made us feel like kings.
We don’t really care what you’re charging us, but make us feel like we’re getting a deal at whatever your price point. It’s not just that EMP served us both the same dessert and that one of us didn’t even like it, although in my experience, that’s almost unimagineable for a tasting menu. It’s not just that our server barely spoke to us nor that we weren’t given the kitchen tour nor that we weren’t offered a copy of our menu and wine pairings, although those are certainly all things other restaurants are doing better.
When I think about the one thing that really, really gets my goat, it’s the sheer unimpressiveness of the ingredients we were served. Two of our main courses were vegetables. One of those was an assortment of lettuces. And this was on a menu full of things like foie gras, lobster, and octopus. When my boyfriend is shelling out $195 for me and the restaurant knows I’m from Ohio, I expect to see one ingredient I didn’t grow up eating there. Where was my freaky shellfish?! For heaven’s sake, where was the cheese-with-an-unpronounceable-name course?! Why did our server ask us if we were okay with eating offal, and why didn’t someone tell us we would be served the most boring things on the menu if we didn’t speak up?!
I know other diners’ experiences have been better, but it’s clear to me why this is a one-Michelin-star kind of joint.
I think at this point, I can comfortably call Tocqueville my favourite restaurant in New York. Sure, I really look forward to the over-the-top creativity at Momofuku Ko and wd-50, and I love the decadence of Daniel and Per Se, but Tocqueville is both serving up interesting food and dishing out the kind of lavish service that makes you feel like you’re dropping a whole paycheck on the meal, when it’s really just $55 for the food and $30 for the wine pairings.
My boyfriend and I have had Tocqueville’s tasting menu, hunter’s menu, Restaurant Week menu, and lunch prix-fixe, but up until last weekend, we’d never had their pride and joy, the Greenmarket Menu.
Being situated a mere block from the Union Square Greenmarket gives Tocqueville access to the freshest and finest in organic and all-natural ingredients, and while I have to admit that I’m usually a little more interested in crazy techniques that leave ingredients unrecognizable, the quality of everything that went into these dishes was evident.
A perfect little bite of tender salmon, crunchy acidic fruit, and herbs to add freshness and subtract fishiness. Grassy scallion puree not even necessary but appreciated.
The predominant flavor in this dish was lemon. Under the beets, to the side of the beets, on top of the beets in little chunks. I was in heaven. “Salt-roasted” might make you think of parched throats and peanuts, but despite being cooked in probably pounds of the white stuff, the beets were perfectly moist, full of their natural flavor, and still with that youthful vegetable tooth. The bite of the arugula and walnuts paired well with the mineral aspects of the wine and also added a nice crunch to the dish.
2010 Moulin de Gassac Rose Languedoc-Rousillon France (B)
This wasn’t actually on the Greenmarket Menu but was a little treat provided by the excellent server we’ve had the past three times at Tocqueville. And let me tell you, it was a genius move, because I would order this thing again and again. And I usually think soup is dumb! The peas made for such a sweet base, and then the tarragon puree on the bottom of the plate balanced that with its herby bite. The texture was like melted ice cream, and I mean that in the best way. The fresh, crunchy peas added a crispiness, and the creamy panna cotta was a texture somewhere in the middle that brought everything together. I know the panna cotta was made from cheese, but it tasted like the sweetest cream to us.
I feel like I shouldn’t review this at all and should just let you look at the picture. Can you imagine anything more perfect? You have the chicken breast, cut in the famous airline fashion. You have the thigh, battered and crispier than you’ve ever seen it. You have succotash with chunks of thick-cut bacon. And hidden in the back, you have a white foam that tastes like–wait for it–Marshmallow Fluff. This has the potential to be the best dish ever, am I right?
Well, okay, there were a couple of things I’d do differently. The meat of the chicken was perfectly–perfectly–tender and juicy and flavorful in ways chicken isn’t even supposed to be. But the skin should have been crispier. And unfortunately, the salt was basically nonexistent when not mixed with the sauce in the succotash. Next time, I’ll have the guts to ask for some seasoning, because otherwise, this dish was unforgettable.
The peas were so plump, the corn so crisp. And that Marshmallow Fluff foam! The new chef told us it’s actually corn milk with star anise, garlic, and thyme, but that’s pretty clearly a lie, as it was totally MARSHMALLOW FLUFF. And delicious. That may have been the best part for me, but a close runner up was the fried chicken thigh. It was like eating chicken surrounded by a biscuit. The crispiest, most flavorful biscuit. The fact that it had no bone was also a major plus. Overall, this was one of the most soul-satisfying dishes I’ve ever had.
2002 Nebbiolo Limpido ! Cascina Ebreo Piedmont Italy (B)
I’m never disappointed by the way Tocqueville serves their cheese. This Vivace was stinky, rich, chewy, and spreadable, making it the perfect companion to the sweet rhubarb and honey (with comb!) and perfect for liberally covering the crusty raisin bread.
This was just about the prettiest fruit you ever saw; the berries were so perfectly fresh and ripe. The icy strawberry granita was a refreshing contrast to the rich mousse, and even the little buds added a nice crunchy texture. Obviously, and as usual, I wanted more. A lot more.
2006 Gruner Veltliner Eiswein Anton Bauer Wagram Austria (S)
Luckily, my boyfriend is a wimp and was too full to eat any of the petit fours. I felt like whoever made this plate had read my mind (or at least my blog), because a) there were French macarons, and b) the macarons were vanilla and lemon. They couldn’t have been more perfect! Interestingly, the macarons were full not of the usual gel-like filling but with more of a creamy, frosting-like filling. Delightful!
At the end of the meal, when I asked for a copy of the Greenmarket Menu, our wonderful server presented two of them to us, wrapped in pretty gold ribbon. It wasn’t the sort of thing I expected, but I should have known to expect it from Tocqueville. I turned to my boyfriend and asked, “Why do we ever bother going anywhere else?”
5 donuts: transcendent experiences
4 donuts: extremely awesome meals
3 donuts: good-ass eats
2 donuts: food I could have made
1 donuts: dinners not fit for the dogs
