Fauchon, Pierre Hermé, Taillevent, Jean Paul Hévin, Hédiard, Alain Ducasse. This list of restaurants and patisseries may seem like a page from a Paris guide book, but it’s not just the French who enjoy French cuisine. In fact, Tokyo is the city with the largest number of French restaurants outside of Paris. And if its hungry foie gras-craving citizens are any indication, the Japanese might even demand French food more than the French. It is no surprise then that Joël Robuchon has set up shop in Tokyo with over five different locations. And considering he has more restaurants there than France, Japan may even be considered his home base. Don’t forget: this is where L’Atelier started. Surprised by that? I sure was.
Imagine my curiousity (not to mention my appetite) when I learned of Chef Robuchon’s “Château” in Tokyo. While I’m a huge admirer of chef Robuchon, unfortunately I’ve only had the opportunity to visit to his L’Atelier restaurants (granted, I have hit the New York, Paris, and Tokyo locations). Visions of the place that has been called the epitome of French cuisine and elegance in Tokyo began to fill my head. And it seemed like Le Château would be a nice place to take my mother, my guest for the evening, who was visiting me that week. We fasted that morning in anticipation of an evening full of French food and wine. It should be noted, however, that this fasting attempt lasted only until noon (I woke up at 11).
As the taxi pulled up to this “mansion” in the middle of Tokyo’s Yebisu shopping district, I wondered why this building looked startlingly pristine. It actually felt a little out of place — too new, too clean. Had we entered French-world at Epcot Center? It took me a little longer than it would probably take the average person to find the correct door to this palace. There were a lot of doors; but most were either locked or were not real doors. After finding the magic door, a young Japanese woman came running up to me: “Yes, hello, can I help you with something?” Um, yeah, where can I buy lottery tickets around here? What did she think I was here for? Kind of funny. But maybe I just need to learn how to say, “Hi, where is the foie gras, please?” in Japanese. Instead, I explained I had a reservation and we were graciously led up the white marble staircase to our table.
The dining room ranged between subtly tacky and blatantly tacky. The walls were lined with Swarovski crystal and flanked with sheets of champagne tinted glass, as if to protect the small crystals from the curious hands of diners. (They sure would look nice on my iPhone.) It was explained later that the walls represent a champagne glass, with the crystals being the bubbles. I didn’t quite see that, but it was an interesting idea. The dining room was three-quarters full, with only Japanese diners. For those who come to Japan seeking an “authentic experience” take your pick: 5am sushi at Tsukiji market with foreigners, or haute French food with the locals. The atmosphere was as un-stuffy as a meal in Japan can be — be polite and you’ll fit right in. In fact, the over-the-top decor somehow made all the black suits and ties more approachable. It was like the designer had injected a bit of fun into the room by adding a modern twist to the stale eloquence of many traditional haute French restaurants. That said, when I started eating, I became a very serious man.
The iridescent menu quickly caught my attention. I saw many of my favorite L’Atelier dishes; but also some really appealing new ones. I quickly searched for my friend, the tasting menu, and asked if I could substitute some of the courses I’d already had with some new ones. No problem. My mother wasn’t nearly as hungry as I was, which at first scared me because I wasn’t sure if the restaurant would do the tasting menu for only one person. But they happily obliged, with my mother ordering à la carte and me ordering, well, everything else (literally).
The amuse bouche arrived – L’Avocat dans une infusion prise aux herbes et une caillebotte a l’huile d’olive. For those who might have forgotten what they ordered, big letters beneath glass cup spelled out: L’AVOCAT. I looked for a trademark logo somewhere, a “Where’s Waldo?” of culinary condescension. I couldn’t find it… but maybe it was just blocked out by the chef’s bold-faced signature. Marketing aside, the dish had the flavor, aroma, and creaminess of a mouthful of fresh avocado. The only thing it lacked was more salt, something to enhance the subtlety of the buttery fruit and the olive oil.
An impressive bread basket was wheeled over, probably the largest selection of breads I’ve ever seen in a French restaurant. The loaves came in all colors, shapes, and sizes making for a selection that could please any taste. Given the quantity of food I’d just ordered I decided to play it safe with only a piece or two of bread: a mini baguette, milk loaf, walnut raisin, oat, whole wheat, and country to start. My mini-baguette was placed on its own plate with a puddle of olive oil garnished with a single drop of balsamic vinegar.
The next course, Le Caviar Ossiètre, was beautiful. Three small tapas-sized plates each featured Ossetra caviar. The first preparation was a small cylinder of fine couscous topped with caviar and a gold leaf. The couscous provided a subtly flavored starchy vehicle for the salty caviar, much in the same way blinis often do. I would have preferred half the amount of couscous since the caviar’s salting abilities can only go so far.
The second plate was a miniature version of a favorite dish from L’Atelier NY, un petit oeuf mollet et friand. This was the same dish I’d enjoyed before, resized to 30%. At first I suspected that a smaller egg would yield less of the golden yolk, essential to prevent the fried phyllo dough from being too dry. This was not the case. In a quail egg that seemed to contain more yolk than white, the egg and fried dough were in perfect balance. The smoked salmon, something I usually don’t like to see anywhere but on a hot H&H bagel with cream cheese, was more prominent in this dish, but at least it accentuated the brininess of the caviar.
Last was a green asparagus flan topped with a generous dollop of caviar and milk foam. This dish threw me back to the first time I had asparagus and caviar at Taillevent ten years ago. But unlike the first time, this dish was served cold. In this combination of land and sea, the oceanic pearls contrasted against the buttery asparagus custard leaving a rich taste with no greasy mouthfeel. I think this dish would have been a little more interesting with the added dimension of a temperature contrast, but it definitely did not disappoint.
Each of these small plates could have easily stood on its own. The fact that they were all served together on a tray of bread-plate sized dishes reminded me that this was indeed a single course. And a well conceived course as well. The first plate was slightly sweet and chewy, the second crispy and salty, and the third an earthy custard, all tied together with Ossetra caviar. Each dish brought out different flavors of the fish roe, and being that the dishes were one bite three to four bites in size, I kept wanting more. What a fabulous way to begin a meal. It gave me great pleasure, and slight fear, to realize that this was the first of fifteen courses.
The next course can be summarized in two words: Oh god. In a similar trio fashion to the previous course, I was presented with three takes of one common theme: Les Crustacès. The first plate was a lightly cooked lobster tail roasted with lemongrass and served over a vegetable crème. I generally dislike lemongrass outside of Thai cuisine; but because it was roasted as well, it left behind only a subtle fragrance that breathed life into the vegetable crème. The lobster was so well cooked that when sliced it seemed to fade into the green abyss rather than stand out like a rock. The taste of butter was pronounced; but that’s exactly what a lobster tail needs. Delicious.
Even more impressive was the next plate, which for me was the highlight of the night. Before reading the description, be warned: this dish involves coffee. Coffee has a bad rap when it comes outside Colombia a coffee mug. That’s because it’s a terrible ingredient that should be kept outside the kitchen and left in espresso machines. But in this dish the chef used coarsely ground very lightly toasted coffee beans that had a spicing effect more like nutmeg and pepper. I couldn’t believe I was enjoying this. But what’s not to enjoy with generous firm slabs of fresh Hokkaido sea urchin sitting atop a bed of Joël Robuchon mashed potatoes, sprinkled with the aforementioned coffee? The urchin was so fresh that it actually contrasted against the texture of the mashed potatoes. Another spectacular combination of earth and sea.
The third part of this dish was a miniature version of la langoustine truffée a l’étuvée de chou vert that I had in both Tokyo and Paris. It was my favorite dish from the Paris L’Atelier, and to see this as an auxiliary part of a larger dish was even more incredible. The ultra thin pasta shell melted into the succulent langoustine with a single cut of my knife. The fragrance of the truffles brought out the scent of the cabbage. Too bad there was only one.
Again, this was all part of a single dish, all small plates served on one tray. For each component of a single dish to be so successful says a lot about chef Robuchon’s uncanny ability to match textures, flavors, colors, and temperatures together in such interesting ways. By the end of the second course, I knew this was going to be one of the best meals I’d ever had.
La Châtaigne en fin Velouté sur une Royale de Foie Gras avec un Lait Fumé was a slightly modified version of a similar dish from New York. And like this dish, it was satisfying. The nutty warmth of the chestnut velouté combined with the refreshing yet smokey crème fraîche was strong enough of a combination to stand on its own. So the slab of foie gras with shaved black truffle was simply gratuitous, yet much appreciated. The first bite into the lightly cooked duck liver sent a chill down my spine as contrasting elements of temperature, texture, and savoriness swirled together into a harmony of flavor. I opened my eyes and the plate was somehow spotless. Who could’ve done such a thing? Guess the hunger monster struck again.
While not part of the menu tasting, I was given an opportunity to try La Daurade servie avec une crème et huile de citronelle et des poireaux étuvées. The lemongrass oil brought an almost floral flavor to a creamy dish. But, like a basket of potpourri, I thought this would be better smelled than eaten. The flavors were dull, and the strength and fragrance of the lemongrass overpowered the sweet butter and the subtle flavor of the leeks. Aaron may have liked this dish more than I, as he enjoyed it in New York; but this was just not for me.
In a very colorful assortment of poached pear and gorgonzola cheese, Le Gorgonzola en royale avec une vierge de poire et de tomate à la sauge was certainly the most colorful dish of the night. Displayed in a rainbow tinted cocktail glass, the dish certainly caught my eye. And my nose. Despite being burried beneath layers of pear and citrus fruit, the smell of warm gorgonzola cheese percolated through. The slight acidity of the fruit helped to cut through the heavy mouthfeel of the warm cheese. This dish was beautiful both to the eye and the palate.
Unfortunately, I was struck down from cloud nine with the next course. The weakest of the night, L’Avoine startled my palate into defense with what could have been a terrible sign of things to come. Thankfully, this dish was an exception. The cream of oatmeal took on a sticky consistency much like okra seeds, without the flavor of oat coming through. This mire of grain would string down into the bowl with each scoop like a watery goo. Nestled in the oatmeal were cubes of cured ham which added an element of smokiness; but unfortunately, the off-putting texture of the oatmeal distracted me from this and the other subtle flavors of other ingredients coming through. The dish was also particularly thin which made the oatmeal cool off very quickly. I decided to cut my losses. This was the only course where the returned plate had evidence of use.
Wild Salmon in a lightly smoked flower and ginger broth made up the next course, Le saumon Sauvage d’Ecosse. The salmon was very lightly cooked revealing the raw firmness of the lean slice of fish. Salmon can be very fatty. But perhaps in the wild, when swimming up waterfalls to escape big-appetite hunters like myself bears, they develop a few muscles. The lean cut, while cooked, still had a slightly buttery mouthfeel while balanced out the slight acidity of the ginger broth. I’m not sure if Robuchon would have served this dish outside of Japan, as the flavors were reminiscent of dobin mushi, a traditional Japanese broth served in Kaiseki meals.
Le Bar cuit sur le peau aux épices avec une sauce venutée was a filet of sea bass crowned with its crispy skin, locking in both flavor and moisture. Again, one of the few cooked fish I’d had this trip. But while this was cooked, the Japanese affinity for raw fish certainly came through: the fish was so soft and slightly undercooked. The only purpose of my knife was to guide more fish through the fruity sauce onto my fork. The sauce sweetened the fish but thankfully the sea salt prevented it from getting too sweet. The result was a complex yin-yang of sweet and savory. This meaty fish served as a delightful segue into the heavier courses to come.
The only meat course of the night was next, Le Bœuf grillé, cristalline au poivre, matsutake en tempura et raifort à la moutarde. Looking at this plate demonstrates how chef Robuchon deftly inspires the imagination of diners by connecting the plate not only to the garden; but to imagination. This perfectly rectangular slice of sirloin is flurried with autumn leaves, fragrant thyme, and colorful flowers. My father, a steak-lover, would have certainly felt emasculated: no baked potato and hunting rifle here. The beautiful pepper-flavored crystal leaning against this ultra-lean slice of meat broke off into crispy, slightly spicy pieces with each bite. Very creative and tasty, indeed.
My mother’s food finally arrived. I taste-tested it (twice) to make sure it contained no harmful ingredients. Safety first, I say. Pumpkin gnocchi with mimolette cheese, a slab of foie gras à la plancha, and shaved black alba truffles. Mimolette is usually recognizable on the cheese cart by its deep orange color. I was surprised to see that the gnocchi here was not that color. But how could something with pumpkin, truffle, and foie gras not be delicious, right? I spoke too soon. The smell was dominated by the cheese and the truffles, aside from the texture, were indetectable. They sure looked pretty, though. These caterpillar-shaped pastas sat in a small pool of what appeared to be pure oil. Definitely not the best course of the night, and I felt guilty that my mother’s single course had been so lackluster.
Living with my host family in Paris, I learned that the French tend to enjoy salads after the main course to ease the transition into the finality of dessert. This was confirmed with the next course, Les Racines Maraîchères mitonnées à l’huile d’Aragan. This light salad of root vegetables helped to cut through any remnants of the flavor of the previous course.
It turns out that my mother was not the only one visiting me from New York this week as Le Yuzu Vert, an old L’Atelier NY standby, came next. This is essentially small shot glass of green yuzu granité with a lemon verbena gelée and a thin layer of cachaça, the national drink of Brazil. It was light, clean, and refreshing — a nearly perfect decrescendo from salty to sweet. This dish was served ice cold which further strengthened its refreshing power. I was now recharged and ready for more.
Still quite hungry I asked to look at the regular dessert menu for possible additions. I’m glad I did, because there it was: Le Sucre. I’d heard that the pastry chef from New York’s L’Atelier had recently moved back to Tokyo. Looks like he moved to Le Château. Once my favorite dessert in New York, Le Sucre was something special, but unfortunately fleeting as it had been unavailable for the past year. What a perfect opportunity to relive the memories. At this point my mother could only shake her head in disapproval of my gluttony. But then it came. It was like seeing an old friend with a new haircut. Le Sucre, despite the repositioning of garnishings, was still clearly identifiable by it’s perfectly symmetrical, shiny little sphere of happiness.
The flawless skin of this jewel was begging to be touched. Mistake. I was also very curious how heavy this sphere was. An even worse mistake. After lifting it about two inches above the plate, plop. The extremely thin shell gave way and the pressure of my fingers started a chain-reaction of fractures which, in less than a second, shattered this beautiful creation into a multicolored rasberry and vanilla pudding. Like a little kid who had an accident, I looked around the room to make sure nobody saw. No such luck. The two waiters and their French-Japanese translator ran into the kitchen to prevent an outburst of laughter. My mother, however, was not so courteous. Oh well.
The pleasant sound of the cheese cart wheeling over could be heard from tables away. At least by me. The cart featured nearly all imported French cheeses. My mother selected a few that appealed to her palate: bleu d’auvergne, comté, and a fresh goat cheese whose name escapes me now.
Then came my dessert, La Châtaigne en soupe parfumée au chum brun avec des billes de chocolat fondant et une glace au lait. I really love chesnut. Just not with chocolate. In fact, I would say that I generally do not enjoy chocolate for dessert unless it comes with peanut butter and crystals of sea salt. After brushing the chocolate to the side, I was very happy. The whole chestnut was topped with a nicely balanced ball of milk ice cream, hands down the best part of this dessert when combined with the chestnut. Slightly salty, texturally diverse, and both hot and cold, this course was wonderfully balanced.
Next came my mother’s dessert, Le Kaki frais avec une glace et une gelée au citron et une feuille de melisse cristallisée. This was perhaps the most interesting of the desserts, a simple case of east meets west. The thick wedge of persimmon dominated this plate keeping the flavor light and fruity. Each bite left behind the trademark of persimmon, a thin film-like residue on the roof of the mouth. The lemon helped to sharpen the acidity of the fruit brightening its flavor and freshening my mouth at the same time. The crystallized lemon balm “leaf” added a textural contrast as little chips of wafer mixed with the lemon foam and made their way into my mouth.
After this epic meal with my mother, I was subjected to maternal interrogation psychoanalysis pertaining to the quantity of food I’d just eaten. “I don’t understand how anybody can eat this much.” “What kind of a person are you?” “Is this how you eat in Paris?” Although the last question prompted a response, thankfully a staff member saved the evening by bringing a rather large tray of macarons and a collection of petits fours. The staff member placed the tray of macarons on the table, which I thought meant that they were all destined for my mother and me. Perhaps this was a cultural understanding, as the woman waited for me to select one or two. I feigned confusion, and the tray was kindly left on the table. Besides, it was getting late and we were the last people in the restaurant. Who else wanted macarons? (Aaron doesn’t count.)
There were eight different colors. I could not let such a diverse selection go to waste. Too full to even inhale the delicious scent of the macarons, my mother glared at me disapprovingly and finished her glass of wine. The highlight among these after-dinner treats was concord grape and mascarpone macaron. Absolute freshness, a slightly crispy ultra-thin shell, soft interior, and a not-too-sweet grape filling meant this cookie was destined for success. We were also given a parting gift of fresh brioche and raisin bread to inhale right then and there save for tomorrow morning’s breakfast. A nice way to end a fantastic meal, if you ask me.
With French food of this quality to bolster the already great Japanese cuisine in the city, it begs the question: why leave Tokyo? Fact is, many Japanese don’t. I was disheartend a few days ago to hear from a Japanese friend that his biggest complaint about New York was the food. While I strongly disagreed with that statement, I could see where he was coming from. Tokyo can reproduce the finest food in the world, even when it is thousands of miles away from the source. So why leave the country when you can go down the street? But therein lies the problem: reproduction. Like a photocopy taken out of context this food, while delicious, lacked the soul and emotion of its source. Its execution was so flawless and streamlined, at times, it appeared robotic. And perhaps that’s Joël Robuchon’s finest talent: perfecting dishes to a level that they can be reproduced at such a high level, at any corner of the globe. That’s certainly no easy task.
In some ways, as Aaron interestingly points out, this menu was like “L’Atelier’s greatest hits,” containing the best dishes from those various locations. This is the commercialized uniqueness that one can find in L’Atelier and now, as I’ve learned, at Le Château. But just because many of these dishes are available elsewhere does not take away from their objective flavor: most of these dishes are still jaw-dropping. It’s a guaranteed meal of consummate skill and flavor. Just be aware that there after having gone to other Joël Robuchon restaurants, there will be noticable similarities. But then again, that isn’t such a bad thing.
No matter the time of day, my appetite, my clothing, or my food preference, L’Atelier always seemed like the right place to go, and I think that’s a really important quality of a favorite restaurant. Considering the amount of times we’ve eaten here, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Aaron and I have tried everything on the Fall 2006, Winter 2006, Spring 2007, and Summer 2007 menus, and even some of executive chef Yosuke Suga’s experimental dishes. Maybe this is why L’Atelier is perhaps our favorite restaurant in Manhattan.
L’Atelier’s location inside the Four Seasons Hotel might suggest a level of stuffiness, but this is quickly eliminated by Joël Robuchon’s unique sushi-bar style seating, which forces complete strangers to talk with, rather than about, each other. This setup also means that the final platings are done directly in front of diners, allowing them to have an increased appreciation of the work that goes into each course, while cleverly hiding the messier kitchen elements behind closed doors. The energy from the adjacent Four Seasons cocktail lounge also flows into the restaurant, setting a lively tone without airs, something that is very much appreciated in contrast to many other haute French restaurants where the only sound is that of cutlery hitting the plate.
Instead of chandeliers, oil paintings, and exquisite gold-leaf molding, L’Atelier’s decoration comes from the food itself, with vases of vibrant orange carrots and green cucumbers sliced daily and put on display. The restaurant uses pervading black undertones to place further emphasis on these vivid colors: the placemats, plates, and countertops all keep one’s focus solely on the food. Even the staff is dressed in black uniforms. Against this black canvas, the halogen spotlights ensure that every detail of every course is highlighted.
Each meal at L’Atelier begins with a basket of miniature baguettes and rolls. The bread is made with a high-gluten flour which creates a slightly elastic interior; the perfect texture, in fact, for returning soup bowls in spotless condition. The crumb is not dense, and the crust is light and crispy — the product of allowing a small amount of dough to naturally expand to size. Be warned, though — it’s very easy to fill up on these rolls, and while delicious, they are just the beginning.
The amuse bouche remained fairly consistent through our visits to L’Atelier, a foie gras parfait with port reduction and parmesan foam. The saltiness of the parmesan contrasted with the sweet port reduction, and both flavors complemented the warm, silky-smooth foie gras mousse. A very rich, and very welcomed, introduction.
I once read that the number of pleats in a chef’s toque represent the number of ways a good chef can cook an egg. If that’s the case, someone deserves a huge crease for L’Oeuf de Poule, a stunning dish that we tasted the first night at L’Atelier. A chicken egg was first slow-poached, then flash-fried inside a golden nest of crispy strips of brik pastry. Surrounded by crème fraîche and tiny bits of smoked salmon, then lavishly topped with a mound of Osetra caviar, this presentation was nothing short of spectacular. I am always in awe of the egg, a self-contained nutritionally perfect ingredient that serves as the foundation for an infinite number of recipes. With this dish, Robuchon pays homage to this divine ingredient, luxuriously salting it with caviar and diversifying its texture by adding crispy bits of fried batter. Aside from the absolutely beautiful presentation, the well-rounded flavor was both fundamentally satisfying and intellectually stimulating. The incredibly generous portion of caviar ensured its distribution lasted through each bite, which was delicious even after the egg was already just a happy memory. With an astonishing $98 price tag a la carte, both the cost and the flavor of this dish are over the top.
Having at least one egg dish in every meal at L’Atelier always seemed like the right thing to do. And with the familiar comfort of eggs and toast in the morning, L’Oeuf coque sans coque was a great example of why. The preparation could not have been simpler. A soft poached egg placed atop a spicy eggplant stew redolent of cumin. Surrounding bits of crispy croûtons and a thin triangle of toasted bread lent a nice crunch that contrasted the oozing egg yolk. A light buttery foam on top of the egg added yet another texture, bringing a light airiness that the dish would have otherwise lacked. I would be happy to wake up to this any day.
Another tribute to the egg is L’Oeuf cocette, a soft-boiled egg topped with a lightly foamed mushroom cream, vibrant green parsley puree, and a few sautéed chanterelles. There’s something inherently homey and satisfying about eggs, remarkably even when served in a martini glass in the Four Seasons Hotel. The first dip of one’s spoon into the glass sends the rich yellow yolk oozing throughout the rest of the ingredients. The mushroom cream added earthiness without weight and the beautiful green parsley puree added necessary brightness with both its color and its herbal flavor. A simple piece of grilled bread, perhaps, to dip into this rich concoction would have been added a nice touch.
Next one might want to move on to some soup, and if it’s warm out, there are few more refreshing options than La Tomate en gazpacho aux petits crôutons dorés et amandes fraîches, L’Atelier’s take on the Spanish classic. A small bowl of chilled tomato soup, resting on a bed of ice, and studded with fresh almonds and miniature croûtons. This soup was a bit Frenchified, perhaps, as it was a bit creamier than your typical gazpacho. Yet that textural change made the soup more interesting, I thought. There were also streaks of aged balsamic which added a little bit of tartness to a few special bites. Aaron was not quite so taken with this dish, but I found it to be a winner.
If it’s cold out, the options are even better. The late autumn menu brought La Châtaigne, a chestnut velouté with celery foam and foie gras. This is my single favorite dish from L’Atelier (and, apparently, Aaron’s). It’s also the single most delicious dish I’ve ever had in the US. Chestnut and foie gras: what a brilliant combination. The warmth of the nutty velouté with the creamy foie gras was nothing short of enlightening. The addition of celery foam added a textural element that bridged the gap between liquid and solid; and even more importantly, brought a hint of vegetal bitterness to tame the sweetness of the chestnut. The ratio of foie to velouté was immaculate, ensuring that each bite had some of each. In every regard, a truly stunning dish.
Le Potiron en velouté au lard fumé et croûtons dorées was another fabulous soup blending the warmth of autumn in the form of pumpkin, with the everlasting satisfaction of smoked bacon. A beautiful study in contrast, just thinking about this dish makes me hungry. Each element contributed its unique texture to this complex soup, keeping it from ever becoming monotonous. Every bite had a different blend of crunchy, creamy, and smooth with the croûtons, crème fraîche, and velvety pumpkin broth. The smokiness of the bacon both complemented and tamed the sweetness of the pumpkin. Some croûtons remained crunchy while those toward the bottom softened up. There was no need, even, to submerge bread in this soup. At least, not until the very end, when I sent my bowl back sparkling white.
There were times I wasn’t quite sure if soup or pasta might make a more fitting early course. In such instances, I went for Les Ravioles, which offered the best of both worlds. A captivating preparation, withtiny foie gras ravioli floating in a warm, rich chicken broth with spiced crème fraîche. Somehow, each bite managed to consist of both pasta and bouillon, making this very enjoyable to the very last spoonful. The texture of the ravioli was also very interesting, as there was a delightful popping sensation in my mouth with each bite. These satisfyingly intense bursts of flavor were not unlike eating larger fish roe, only instead of that salty brine you got the unmistakable fatty goodness of foie gras. The dollop of crème fraîche made some spoonfuls of the broth slightly richer, and its cool temperature added a very pleasing contrast to the warm soup while adding a bright top-note of flavor.
Seeing its beautiful plating going on at the bar, it was impossible not to want to try Le Caviar Osciètre, a generous spoonful of Osetra caviar atop a roll of capellini very lightly dressed with tomato sauce. Pretty to look at, no doubt, but this is a dish that ultimately left both Aaron and I unfulfilled. I think the biggest problem in this dish was the lack of textural contrast — the tender capellini (generally unworthy of being called “pasta” anyway, according to Aaron) and moist caviar proved to be a monotonous combination. And as for flavor, the capellini didn’t have much at all, with its tomato dressing too bland to be lifted even by the briny caviar.
Disappointed with that pasta dish, Aaron thought Les Spaghettis might do the trick instead.L’Atelier’s rendition of spaghetti alla carbonara was something he had read about as an off-the-menu specialty from the Paris location. The dish was served traditionally: just pancetta, egg, black pepper, parmigiano-reggiano cheese, and spaghetti. The small cubes of pancetta were rendered just until translucent without being overly crispy — exactly the right point. The rich yellow-orange color was evidence that only egg yolks we stirred in at the last moment. In the hands of lesser cooks, this sometimes leads to small coagulated bits of egg rather than a creamy sauce, but that was not the case here. Aaron found this dish to be over-priced, at $40 for the two small half-portions. But other than that, his only knock against the dish was that there only a smattering of black pepper, an essential ingredient in this Italian classic.
Instead of such rich beginnings, sometimes I just wanted to start a meal with something cool, clean, and light. Perhaps even something raw. In such instances, Le Thon Rouge is a nice choice. A simple plate of lean tuna sashimi garnished with sun-dried tomato oil and a light sprinkle of fleur de sel. It’s hard to critique this dish since its primary ingredients are so simple and so good, and I’m always impressed by the humility of a chef who can take a step back and let nature sing on its own (*cough* Kinch). This tuna was impeccably fresh, and the coarse fleur de sel added a nice crunch with each tender piece of fish. The tomato oil added richness and a complex sweetness, rounding out the cool, salty combination of tuna and fleur de sel. We saw this dish many several times during the course of our visits, most often as a complimentary treat from the kitchen. But I probably wouldn’t specifically order this dish again. Not because it wasn’t delicious (it was); but because I think there are more interesting dishes to sample, and stomach space is finite (or so people tell me). Besides, if all I’m after is fresh raw fish, there are plenty of delicious Japanese restaurants in New York.
Another cool appetizer was the surprisingly lackluster Le Homard, paper-thin turnip slices encasing chunks of lobster meat bound together with a sweet-and-sour emulsion and a bit of rosemary. These lobster “ravioli” were often presented as a trio, but the single one seen below was sent out as a “gift from the chef” one evening. Surrounded by cracked pink peppercorn, the aroma became almost floral, complementing but not contrasting the natural sweetness of the lobster meat and the turnip. In the end, though, this combination was perhaps a bit too sweet. I guess it turns out that even haute versions of lobster salad are not much more appealing to me than traditional ones.
A similar presentation with equally unsuccessful results was Le Crabe. A very light way to begin a meal, with large chunks of blue crab sandwiched between two slices of avocado, topped by crisp sticks of tart green apple and drizzled with almond oil. The combination of crab and avocado is tried and true… and boring. The strongest praise Aaron could offer for this dish was to call it “inoffensive,” and I tend to agree. Yes, the crab was tender, the avocado creamy, and the green apple crispy, but one can only stand so much of the sweet-tart combination of the three. Nothing explicitly wrong with this dish, yet it was far from riveting.
The very first dish I tried at L’Atelier was L’Oursin, sea urchin in a lobster gelée topped with cauliflower cream. Before even receiving this course, I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the plating in process — each drop of green parsley mayonnaise placed with surgical precision, perfectly matching in size and spacing, in a ring atop the bed of cauliflower cream. Unfortunately, this dish offered more style than substance as the extremely delicate flavor of the sea urchin was overwhelmed by the excessive amount of lobster gelée. Aaron was disappointed as well, pointing out that the temperature of the dish was a bit too cold, which kept some of the more subtle flavors from emerging.
Another light dish is La Langoustineen carpaccio, only this one is not fried, or even cooked for that matter. Thin slices of raw langoustine were lightly garnished with roasted poppy seeds, chives, and edible flowers. Thinly sliced langoustine “carpaccio” is one of the most interesting edible textures, feeling somewhere between solid and liquid — I am never sure if I should use a fork or spoon. Its tender texture is, however, not accompanied by a fatty mouthfeel, but is actually rather lean with a clean finish. The flavor was somewhat in-between a lobster tail and a shrimp, with an incredible softness. A scattering of poppy seeds added a textural crunch. The chives added an herbal freshness and a slight bite. I’m not too sure what the other elements did because aside from color differentiation, they weren’t very noticeable. Despite its simplicity, this was a magical dish.
Another interesting preparation with that same ingredient was La Langoustineen papillote croustillante, a single langoustine wrapped in paper-thin brik pastry with a single basil leaf visible inside. Served alongside this was a dab of vibrant green basil pesto. What first struck me as incredible with this dish was the apparent lack of oil. This langoustine was deep-fried; yet it neither felt, looked, or tasted the least bit greasy. Second, the crust was strikingly thin. The first dish that comes to my mind for comparison is shrimp tempura, where the batter often becomes distracting due to its thickness. But here, the brik adds nothing but a fine crisp layer contrasting against the tenderness of the langoustine. Perhaps the biggest evidence of the crust’s thickness is its shatter effect, where the first bite literally showers tiny fragments of the coating onto the plate, much like the first bite of a fine croissant. A friend reports that the wrapper is now rice paper instead of brik dough, so it will be interesting to see what effect this has on the texture the next time we stop in for this treat.
Neither of us were thrilled with La Coquille Saint-Jacques, a single scallop served in its shell with seaweed butter. In fact, I would say this is one of the weakest dishes we’ve ever had at L’Atelier. With such a minimalist presentation, there is no room for error. Unfortunately, every time I’ve stubbornly ordered this dish, I found the scallop to also be overcooked — hard and firm. Practically floating in (admittedly very good) Échiré butter, it almost seemed more about the butter than about the scallop (“Wait… the butter dish is already on the counter,” Aaron quipped when this was first set before us). The natural sweetness of both the butter and the scallop were unfortunately masked by the dried seaweed used to season on the scallop. This contrast, in most cases much appreciated, was overwhelming here.
I never thought to combine scallops and truffles, or really any kind of shellfish and truffle; but as it turns out this combination works really nicely, particularly because the muted flavor of scallops are highlighted by the fragrance of the truffle — rather than competing, these two ingredients actually enhance one another. But for me, it was the milky foam that really brought La Saint Jacques en mousse together, since I don’t think truffles simply grated directly on scallops would have done much more than serve as a distraction. This addition also created a scope of texture, starting from the gentle airy foam as you work your way to the slightly chewy scallop, and finishing with the crunchy accompaniments, all being accentuated with the scent of truffle. While I’m not the biggest proponent of table-side service; for truffles, the fresh shaving can really allow one to fully appreciate the aroma. But even without that extra flourish, this was fantastic.
The boundary between pet and edible dinner guest always seemed to confuse me, particularly because I would eat just about anything. Rabbit? Okay. Cute little suckling pig? Why not. (Don’t start this conversation with Aaron unless you want horse or dog brought up…) But frog?! I thought about the moral implications for a second minute, then my carnivorous stomach made up my mind for me and I ordered Les Cuisses de Grenouille. Too often, frog legs are unnecessarily greasy and messy to eat. But as haute French chefs are wont to do, the chefs at L’Atelier, well, frenched the bones. The resulting meat lollipop encourages the use of hands (though Aaron generally needs no such encouragement) without leaving the fingers greasy afterwards. The crispiness of the batter nicely complimented the slight chewiness of the meat, without it feeling excessively oily. The parsley coulis added some vivid color to the plate, but did nothing to save this dish from ultimately being quite boring. And honestly, those three Lilliputian frog legs look pretty pathetic all by themselves on the plate. There are certainly better options on the menu.
Getting into the main fish courses, part of our very first meal included Le Bar, a sea bass filet with crispy baby leeks, tomato, and a lemongrass foam. I did not much care for this dish as I found the lemongrass foam to be a bit too strong. Also, the fried baby leeks on top were a bit dry, adding too stark a textural contrast to the warm and moist fish. Third, and perhaps most importantly, the portioning of the fish was significant enough that it actually caused palate fatigue after about the third bite. I should point out, though, that Aaron disagreed with me on this one. He found the natural sweetness of both the tomato and the leek to work well with the aroma from the lemongrass, and he was not so overwhelmed by the foam as I was. Not my favorite dish, I admit, but far from a failure.
On a more recent trip to L’Atelier, I sampled L’Amadai cuit en écailles et servi sur une nage bulbe de lys, a tender filet of amadai (sea bream), served skin-side up, whose flesh gently parted with just the slightest press of the fork. The crevices within the filet, combined with its absorbent texture, drew in the lily bulb broth making the texture of the fish moist, juicy, and redolent of lily bulb. This dish’s Japanese-inspired simplicity and lightness made it a refreshing break after other richer courses. But that being said, this dish didn’t particularly move me; and while the quality of ingredients was high and the technique exemplary, he’d probably hold off on ordering this to save room for other things.
Aaron long believes that smoked salmon has no place at the dinner table. It’s one and only companion should be a New York bagel (and maybe a schmear of cream cheese). But one night, having either run out of other options on the menu, or seeking to expose the unfortunate circumstances of his birth outside the Tri-State Area, he opted to order Le Saumon Mi-Fume, the lightly smoked salmon. Laid on top of a buttery potato cake, the fish was tender and moist, if surprisingly a bit muted in flavor. The watercress brightened it up nicely, though, as did the minuscule condiments that came alongside — a sweet onion jam, black olive paste, and a single sun-dried tomato. The fried ribbons of potato were a nice idea, but ultimately ineffective in adding a crunchy textural element to the dish.
Aaron has tried on a few occasions to imprint the leaf of an herb on a piece of pasta, each time without much success. It’s certainly not easy; at least, that was the first thought that ran through his head when he was presented with La Morue – fraiche en imprime d’herbes dans une nage aux aromates, a thin sheet of parsley leaf-imprinted pasta laid across the top of generous piece of cod. All of this was placed in the center of an aromatic broth. Since the fish was skinless, the sheet of pasta acted as a chewy component both making the dish more texturally interesting, and keeping the tender fish intact. It also locked in much of the moisture and heat, as the fish kept its temperature for a while. Soup, pasta, and fish course all in one, this was a pretty enjoyable dish.
Another tasty presentation reminiscent of both ocean and land was Le Calamar, a salad of squid cooked a la plancha with violet artichokes, chorizo, and tomato water. Adding a nice top note was a generous distribution of piment d’Espelette, the spicy Basque pepper. With all the graceful knife strokes of a veteran sushi chef, the chef carefully scored the calamari with his knife prior to cooking, so that it puffed up and fanned out as it cooked. The effect on the texture was wonderful, with the firm, almost crunchy (but not tough) calamari cooked to just the right point. The slight smoky and spicy chorizo added richness, and the lightly dressed arugula salad on top of it all provided a bit of additional acid in addition to the naturally peppery flavor of the greens. While Aaron quite enjoyed this dish, I found the arugula in particular to be superfluous. Probably not something I would order again (though Aaron would).
After a while, it seemed like we’d run out of new options on the dinner menu. When that happened, we simply asked to take a look at the lunch menu! One dish that caught me eye there was La Pintade, or guinea fowl. This dish certainly seemed more on the Spanish side rather than the French side of Basque cuisine. The bird was very moist, with the breast resting underneath the confit leg. Pimientos padrones were placed on top, the sometimes-spicy-sometimes-mild peppers that are damn good when just fried in olive oil and sprinkled with coarse sea salt.On the very top were crisp slivers of jamon serrano, and there were also bits of roasted tomato throughout. And definitely plenty of piment d’espelette — a favorite seasoning of L’Atelier. The overall combination of ingredients was quite tasty. My only complaint was that there wasn’t enough sauce to go around for the cous cous, leaving much of it dry. Other than that, this was a nice dish.
A solid choice that never seemed to leave the menu was La Caille, caramelized quail stuffed with foie gras mousse, served with potato purée covered with shaved black truffle, and a small green salad dressed with a simple vinaigrette. Though this is a dish whose richness may first strike the diner as one-dimensional, it is actually quite indicative of Joël Robuchon’s attention to balance on the plate. It has the complex sweet and salty, with the caramelized quail meat playing against the rich foie gras stuffed inside it. The hot and the cool, with the quail and the buttery puréed potatoes brightened up the tart green salad. Likewise, both texture and aroma are given equal attention, with the buttery smooth puréed potatoes elevated by the unmistakable earthy aroma of truffles. No single element threatens to dominate over another, and the resulting harmony is the stuff dreams are made of.
Le Ris de Veau was a nothing more than a simple preparation of sweetbreads, but a good one. The fresh laurel leaf didn’t really accomplish much; but, the sweetbreads were cooked very well: crisp on the outside and buttery smooth on the inside. It’s easy to tell when one has started with a good product and it has been cooked correctly, when there’s none of the fatty or oily mouthfeel that poorly prepared sweetbread dishes often have.This is still very rich and meaty, but maintains a clean finish. But the dish was certainly not perfect. I mean… stuffed lettuce leaf? C’mon now.As much as chefs try to turn lettuce leaves into something special, it is rarely successful.That said, with the main ingredient being cooked impeccably well, it is hard to find much fault with this dish.
After viewing the very cool Annotated Dish write up in New York Magazine, and running out of new things to try, I decided to give Le Foie Grasfumée, the layered combination of smoked foie gras and eel terrine, a try. Once was enough. The dish reads very well and sounds like a combination that would work; but it didn’t. In fact, this was one of the biggest disappointments Aaron has had at L’Atelier. The glazed eel is so sweet that it completely overwhelms the foie gras. The creamy texture of the foie gras is prevented from coming through by the drastically different, almost stringy texture of the eel. The white on the plate is actually whipped cream — what was that doing there? There was also a bit of sansyo pepper to perk things up a bit, and some chives mainly for color variation; but the real problem was the conflict between the eel and smoked foie. Aaron points out, though, that people whose palates we trust (our friend Ulterior Epicure, for example) disagree with him regarding this dish, so perhaps it is worth revisiting.
One time that Aaron stopped by without me, he enjoyed a few items I have still yet to see on the menu myself. Figures… the one time I couldn’t go. The first dish was Le Foie Gras de canard une symphonie soyeuse sous une fine gelée à la feuille d’or, a thin layer of veal stock gelée on top of a very creamy foie gras mousse. This combination was covered with shaved white truffle and edible gold leaf. The truffles gave a rich and interesting aroma to this dish that otherwise would have had essentially none. The gold leaf was, obviously, superfluous, but that minor quibble this dish as a whole was wonderful.
It is always a nice to see something as rich and creamy as foie gras prepared in a way that highlights, without distracting, the ingredient’s natural flavors. When I first saw Le Foie Gras chaud de canard au gratin de pamplemousse, I hesitated at the thought of mixing grapefruit, or any other kind of citrus for that matter, with something so delicate as foie gras. But since we had already had everything else on the menu out of curiosity, I went for it. I was pleasantly shocked. Somehow, the bitter acidity was muted — but not completely — in a way that actually cut through the fatty mouthfeel leaving behind a crisp, lean, but still creamy flavor. The sauce was left thin which allowed for maximum absorption in the liver, despite making the plating a bit runny — a sign that flavor, in this dish, was not to be sacrificed at the expense of presentation. The saltiness of the foie gras engagingly complemented the fruitiness of the grapefruit, a beautiful twist of different flavors that mixed together in harmony.
Among the meat options, Le Chevreuil, a filet of venison with caramelized quince, was perhaps the heartiest. What a nice combination. Aaron always says how annoying it is that venison is always paired with the same old black/blue/huckleberry sauce. Frankly, it’s trite. Pairing it instead with caramelized quince was refreshingly original, and added just the right level of sweetness. The venison was cooked rare as venison should be. Aaron is a sucker for a well-executed aigre-doux (fancy French words for sweet-and-sour) preparation (don’t get me started on the Italian cipollini in agrodolce), and so I thought the mignonette worked very nicely in this case. Overall, quite a solid dish.
It’s pretty rare to hear someone mention a foie gras and beef burger without bringing up Daniel’s db burger. See, I just did it, too. But L’Atelier has a foie gras and beef burger on their menu as well, and it is pretty unique. Le Burger is arguably more about the foie gras than the beef. It’s incredibly juicy, making one wonder whether it’s the foie gras or the ground chuck that is more responsible for the stream of juices that will inevitably run down your hand. Aaron and I both dislike bell peppers very much, and frankly their addition in this dish seemed out of place. But the small brioche buns are very nice, soft and slightly sweet. The dish also comes with a small cup of crinkle cut french fries and house-made ketchup with a very sweet and distinct flavor which comes from the addition of ginseng. Aaron and I didn’t particularly like the sweet ketchup; but our friend did proclaim it the best thing since kosher Coke.
Sometimes, though, the bun, the peppers, and the other condiments just get in the way. Sometimes I just want Le Boeuf. Basically about eight ounces of pure raw meat, L’Atelier’s exquisite beef tartare is the best I’ve ever had (… in the US, I should add, lest we forget the buttuta al coltello I had in Italy). In an effort to minimize palate fatigue, we’ve found L’Atelier to be generally consistent with the portioning; but this dish is nearly two to three times the size of any other dish on the menu. It is definitely intense, and definitely not for vegetarians. The dish comes with just the right amount of condiments — mustard, cornichons, red onion, and parsley — which highlight the natural flavor of the beef without distracting. The texture of the meat was very nice, too, neither too coarse nor too finely ground. Yes, there were crinkle-cut french fries, and yes, they were tasty; but really. who cares about stupid french fries when the meat is that good? It should probably be noted that this dish’s $39 price is a little steep for what it is; but certainly justifiable given the generous portion.
For those who actually like their meet cooked, one surprisingly fantastic option was L’Onglet, the humble cut of hanger steak presented with shallot confit, grilled piquillo peppers and roasted fingerling potatoes. The meat was juicy and tender, and when topped with the sweet caramelized shallots and surrounded by an intensely meaty jus, the more complex salty-sweet flavor was quite enjoyable. The roasted potatoes and grilled peppers added a Basque flair to the dish, and topped with a few coarse grains of fleur de sel, they were quite flavorful. A fully satisfying main course, and a nice change of pace from the smaller tapas-style portions that permeate the majority of the menu.
While perhaps leaner than a slab of foie gras, kobe beef is nonetheless renowned for its intensely marbelized texture. We’ve sampled two variations of this Japanese-style beef at L’Atelier, one served with grilled piquillo peppers and the other with wild lettuce. I found the latter less appealing, as the raw lettuce served more as a useless garnish than something to complement the steak. The contrast between raw and cooked was just too stark for the lettuce to work with this dish. That being said, he was asked how I wanted the meat cooked, without any haughty mentions of how “chef recommends” that he get it — a small sign that the restaurant was thankfully willing to cater to the preferences of its clients. His request for rare was fulfilled, the marbelization shining through with each slice. (Truth be told, for something this fatty, Aaron and I swear by medium-rare, allowing a bit of the intramuscular fat to be rendered.) Unless shared among two people, this course became a bit tiresome, since it was, after all, simply a steak. While the quality of meat was indeed high, this seemed more applicable for a steak house and a little out of context with the creativity of some of the restaurant’s other dishes.
It would seem based on what we’ve shown so far that vegetables may be lacking in a meal at L’Atelier. Quite the contrary — there are a few vegetable dishes that might act either as an early course or perhaps a side dish with the more substantial main courses. One such dish that seemed like a refreshing start to a meal was L’Avocat en velouté sur un fondant acidulé de légumes, a vegetarian dish not unlike gazpacho. As you can see in the photo, its presentation that is perhaps more interesting from the side. The dominant flavor in the thick, slightly gelatinous translucent base is undoubtedly tomato, though other vegetables round it out. The avocado crème layer lends some depth to the initial acidity of the vegetable base, a result that works. Texturally, we found this dish rather dull and would have liked to see perhaps some crisp vegetables to add for greater contrast. It was certainly pretty, though.
A lovely vegetable dish was called, fittingly, Les Legumes, small sautéed mushrooms atop a crumbly tart crust with feta cheese, drizzled with maple syrup, and covered with crisp slivers of zucchini and yellow summer squash. Though I didn’t have a chance to try this particular dish, Aaron recalls it being a lovely combination of sweet, salty, and savory. The feta and maple, in particular, was a brilliant combination of salty and sweet, and along with the mushrooms, added lovely depth and complexity to the bright taste of the barely-cooked zucchini and squash.
All this talk about how wonderful L’Atelier is, and we haven’t even mentioned Robuchon’s famous mashed potatoes yet. Fortunately, many of the more substantial main courses often come with these as a small side dish, so you’re bound to encounter them sooner or later. One small bite of these intensely buttery, unbelievably smooth potatoes, and there will be little need for anything else. In my experience, these addictive spuds have even been known to cause cases of culinary beer goggles, rendering the rest of the meal irrelevant, so enjoy at your own risk. But a meal at L’Atelier is simply not complete without a little cast-iron ramekin of these potatoes.
Dessert at L’Atelier usually began with a palate cleanser titled Le Yuzu Vert, a small shot glass of green yuzu granité with a lemon verbena gelée and a thin layer of cachaça, which is the national drink of Brazil. The tartness of the cachaça was moderated by the slightly herbal gelée, making the mouth-feel very fresh rather than bitter and tongue-cringing. This dish was served ice cold which further amplified its refreshing power. A larger portion of this would be overkill; but as a segue into the sweeter end of the meal, this dish does a fine job.
On later visits, this was replaced by coconut ravioli with lemon-mascarpone mousse. A delightfully successful result of spherification, the coconut “ravioli” bridged the gap between liquid and solid. An ultra-thin film gave way to the creamy center, making for a burst of coconut flavor on the tongue. This delicious “ravioli” stayed afloat in a pleasantly tart lemon gelée, and beneath that was a luxurious mousse of lemon and mascarpone. Truly a stunning transition to dessert, it both cleansed and reinvigorated the palate for the treats still to come.
Less successful, though, was the most recent pre-dessert Aaron sampled: almond panna cotta with strawberry-tomato confit, and strawberry foam. What sounded like a tasty combination on paper was surprisingly bland and ultimately lackluster. The texture was not the problem; there was a nice progression from custard-like to light and airy. It was the overly muted flavors. Neither almond, strawberry, or tomato were really able to stand up and get noticed. Definitely not one of his favorites.
Now how can we even begin to talk about Le Sucre? It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what makes this sugar sphere filled with raspberry mousse so special, since there’s so much to it. Is it the perfectly spherical shape? The beautiful color? The spectrum of textures and temperatures? The sweet flavor of the airy mousse tamed by the gelée? The gentle cracking sensation from the first bite? Actually, it’s all of the above. This is certainly an exceptional dessert. The paper-thin sugar piece is blown into a perfect sphere in a process very similar to glass blowing. The thin sphere is then filled with a duo of ethereal fraises des bois and mascarpone mousse, set off-centered on a clear glass bowl, and garnished with a tart raspberry and blackberry coulis, pistachio dust, Kirsch gelée and vanilla ice cream. The precision of this sphere is almost alarming — a perfectly round sphere, this is no oblate spheroid or any nonsense like that. The balance of the flavor is also impressive, with the sweetness of the mousse filling contrasting very nicely with the slightly salty pistachio dust.
Texturally, this dish is, in all honesty, brilliant. With the first shatter of the shell, tiny crispy pieces of sugar are let loose into the mousse, creating a lovely textural equilibrium — each bite is just as interesting as the previous. A later incarnation of the same dish included saffron mousse and pomegranite curd — an equally stunning combination. And aside from the flavor and texture, this dish is absolutely gorgeous. Just look at it! We do hope to see its production with our own eyes one day, but until then this beautiful creation will remain somewhat of a mystery. It should be noted that Le Sucre has since been taken off the L’Atelier dessert menu, perhaps somewhat due to seasonality; but we do hope that it comes back shortly. It’s a masterpiece. [Update 5/17/08 -- my friend the Ulterior Epicure found out the dessert has since emigrated to the Tokyo branch along with the pastry chef responsible for its creation]
While Le Sucre the most interesting dessert we’ve ever had, there are still some others that need to be mentioned. Le Baba, for instance, includes a large piece of yeast cake soaked in rum, set atop diced pineapple infused with fresh thyme, and topped with caramel ice cream and a luscious sabayon. The strong hit of the booze and the herbal note of the fresh thyme kept this dish from being overly sweet. The baba, as always, acted as a delicious sponge as it soaked up the flavors of the other components. Certainly a very tasty combination and a nice change of pace for those who may are looking for a good non-chocolate option.
Also quite nice was La Poire, an almond soufflé served outside the ramekin with poached pear and bitter almond ice cream. Granted, the fact that the soufflé was served outside of a ceramic dish should have no effect on flavor; but it certainly had an effect on temperature as this cooled down very quickly, especially with the adjacent ice cream. Additionally, one of my favorite parts of a soufflé in general is the crispy layer on the sides and bottoms where the batter sticks to the ceramic. This did not have that. That being said, this had a memorable almond flavor, and pairing it with poached pears, slightly bitter almond ice cream, and toasted almonds was a very tasty combination.
Not quite so nice was a dessert simply entitled Le Soufflé, a caramel souffléthat came resting in a shallow pool of chocolate soup and bitter orange ice cream. We each took the first bite — confusion. Then a second bite — disappointment. There was no third bite. This was absolutely horrible. The ice cream was utterly tasteless. The caramel had been burnt, lending an exaggerated bitterness to the soufflé that was not to be tamed by the other accompaniments. The chocolate soup was like an insipid, clumpy, unstirred serving of Swiss Miss. Just a terrible dessert all-around. This remains the one and only thing we’ve ever sent back at L’Atelier.
Fortunately, other choices offered fabulous consolation. They say the first step to recovery is to admit the problem, and I will be the first to tell you: I have a chestnut addiction. So when I saw Le Marron on the menu, I knew it would one day be mine. This dish consists of chestnuts with liquid chocolate-filled croquettes, dates, and a chestnut soup. The chocolate croquettes were incredible — self-contained bursts of cocoa flavor that literally exploded in your mouth. The warm chestnut soup was delicious on its own, with a rich chocolate sauce lining the outside edge of it, allowing a bittersweet harmony in each spoonful. When I had this, the condensed milk ice cream was literally flavorless; but Aaron ensures him that this was a fluke, as every time he’s had it (and there were many), the sweetness of the ice cream brightened up and carried the rich flavors of the chestnut and chocolate wonderfully. The chopped dates were also a great addition. Aside from Le Sucre, this was by far Aaron’s favorite dessert, and one of his favorite dishes at L’Atelier, period.
Not usually something either of us would order, a surprisingly good choice was Le Chocolat Noir, a molten chocolate cake topped with a chocolate tuile, vanilla ice cream, and served with coffee mousse and whipped cream. My first though: why the coffee?! Nobody likes the coffee jelly beans; why would anyone like the coffee mousse? I need not have worried, though, as the flavor of the mousse was very gentle and by no means offensive. My favorite part of this dish was definitely the semi-liquid chocolate in the center of the chocolate cake. The center didn’t quite ooze out; but, it hung out just around the cooked/undercooked line. It wasn’t too sweet, either, which was really appreciated.
On my latest visit, I sampled Le Sensation Chocolat crèmeaux au chocolat guanaja, sorbet de cacao au biscuit oreo, ground oreo shell encrusting a thick chocolate mousse and covered with a ring of guanaja chocolate. With each bite, the crunchy bits of oreo weaved their way into the creamy mousse, making each spoonful interesting. The dish was actually served at room temperature, so when I cracked the ring chocolate, it actually melted rather than got in the way. This might be the darkest colored dessert I’ve ever had; nearly perfectly black. Yet as I ate it, he couldn’t help but think of Jell-o chocolate pudding. Not such a bad thing, I suppose, but considering the apparent complexity of this dish, I doubt that’s the first association the pastry chef would like to come to mind.
A cool and refreshing alternative to the chocolate options was Le Pamplemousse, chilled grapefruit segments with an olive-scented gelée and and mint sorbet. Definitely on the lighter side of desserts, just in the vicinity of ordering sorbet or fresh fruit, to which my response is always “Get a real dessert!” This dish lets the bitter flavor of the grapefruit come through a bit too strongly, which I never particularly enjoy, so I probably would not get this a second time. That being said, the mint increased the cool-winter-breeze effect of this dish. Afterwards, I felt like my mouth took an ice cold shower. The olive-scented gelée was barely detectable, overwhelmed by the grapefruit’s acidity.
On another visit Aaron sampled Le Riz, a milky rice pudding served with caramelized apple and rosemary ice cream. This had very good potential. Unfortunately the portion was microscopic, with two tasteless strips of puff pastry making up the majority of the dish’s volume. The sweet and herbal combination of caramelized apple and rosemary was a delicious one, and the rice pudding itself (an entire teaspoon’s worth, no less) was very tasty. Ultimately, though, the portioning left this dish a little out of balance in his opinion.
Being a slight hypocrite (see two paragraphs up), one night I just felt like having ice cream and sorbet. Les Glaces et Sorbets du Jour offered just that. There were perfect quenelles of mint and vanilla ice cream, as well as mango and grapefruit sorbet, resting on a bed of fresh blueberries and a few coarse chunks of vanilla bean gelée. The best of the bunch was probably the creamy mint flavor, with a refreshing herbal aftertaste. A thin tuile stuck in the top provided a nice textural contrast, and while essentially flavorless, a light foam atop the ice cream did make for a pretty presentation.
Another simple dessert that was nonetheless quite satisfying was Les Tartes Tradition, a selection of miniature tarts. The five flavors included: lemon; dark chocolate; apple; milk chocolate & salted peanut; and cinnamon. Aaron found the best of the bunch to be the milk chocolate & salted peanut tart. The texture of the chocolate portion was not unlike that of a Tootsie Roll, and this rested on layer of crunchy and salty peanut brittle. Great contrast of both flavor and texture. The other tarts were very enjoyable as well, offering a whole spectrum of tastes: sweet caramelized apple, pleasantly tart citrus, rich bittersweet chocolate, and spicy cinnamon. With the tarts sized the way they are, this might also make a nice round of petit fours if shared among two people. (Or so I would think. Aaron never really wanted to share…)
Occasionally the gods would smile upon us in the form of a plate of cannelés at the end of a meal. These wonderful little treats from Bordeaux are as tasty as they are beautiful. Essentially small cork-sized, rum-soaked pieces of brioche, they get a wonderfully caramelized exterior from the copper pans in which they are traditionally cooked. A crisp, slightly chewy outside gives way to the boozy sponge-like inside. L’Atelier’s version is certainly commendable, if not quite in the same league as Petrossian Bakery on 7th Ave. near 58th Street.
Lastly, absolutely no L’Atelier experience is complete without a small plate of macarons. I’m pretty sure there has never been a time when I haven’t asked for five or six more rounds a few extra of these wonderful French delicacies. Flavors we’ve encountered have included raspberry-mascarpone, chocolate, and lemon, each of which I consider to be the freshest and best tasting macarons available in Manhattan. Period. Aaron agrees — there is no better place to enjoy our favorite French pastry. There are three important characteristics that I always consider, all of which L’Atelier gets right nearly every time. First is clearly the flavor. When dealing with certain varieties like citrus or chocolate, it’s really easy for macarons to become cloying. There is a fine line between sweet and too sweet; and in my experience, especially with lemon and raspberry, I find them almost always too sweet. Not at L’Atelier. Second is the texture — one of the most divine sensations is the first bite into a macaron where your teeth gently sink through meringue without any pressure. When a macaron has been sitting around for a while, the point where the crème touches the meringue become a bit soggy and get chewy — I believe there should be no chewiness in a good macaron. Again, never a problem here — always fresh at L’Atelier. Third, is the meringue to crème ratio — too much of either one kills the gentle macaron, and often violates the first and/or second rules as well. I think that the ideal height of the ganache layer is around a fourth of the total height of the cookie. L’Atelier always get this right, too! Every time, these treats are such a satisfying way to cap off a meal. This makes L’Atelier a nice post-dinner destination for a second or third dessert, coffee, and a few tasty cookies.
One of the many elements that makes this restaurant so strong is the portioning. Most tapas-sized portions are just enough to share; but, not nearly enough to cause palate fatigue. It’s also the perfect size for ordering several dishes or, at times, just one or two and a light drink. While the dishes clearly reflect the organized passion of chefs Robuchon and Suga, the experience is customizable such that it literally molded to our cravings every single time.
A first-time visitor to New York might be overwhelmed by the weight of his Michelin guide. Actually, this culinary capitol is no less intimidating for its food-passionate residents. But we can say fairly strongly that if we had the chance to visit only one restaurant in this special city, it would be L’Atelier. This “workshop” has consistently provided, plate after plate, dishes that have reminded us why we love food so much. We can only hope that you have the opportunity to indulge here in the near future … just don’t forget your appetite.
Once I learned that L’Atelier Tokyo was the original, my suspicions of Japanese influence on the concept of this restaurant were officially confirmed. At first I wondered if the preparations would be adopted to better match the Japanese palate; but, then I realized that here in Tokyo, these dishes were at home. With its floor to ceiling windows and bright workshop lighting passing over the second floor of the shiny new Roppongi Hills shopping center, L’Atelier glows as a culinary oasis beckoning hungry mall diners to venture in. Unfortunately, reservations are required. But fortuantely, L’Atelier has an adjacent bakery where disheartened customers without reservations can take home macarons, french breads, confiture, and a newly found smile. At least that’s what I did my first time. But fortune favors the persistent, and the following Christmas I returned with a reservation. While many of the dishes I had already sampled, I was glad that I waited.
I expected to be seated amongst other foreigners as I was in Paris; but surprisingly, in all the times I’ve eaten here, I’ve never heard any language spoken other than Japanese. There are a handful of hightop tables adjacent to the bar, all of which seem to be second choice to a front-row seat at the counter, where diners get a first-hand view of the intricate plating each dish involves. Many of the dishes were similar to New York and Paris; but there were a handful of new dishes, all of which I was determined to try.
Service started with shavings of cured ham, the source of which was hanging above Paris’s counter but hidden here in Tokyo. Bridging the gap between source and plate is not nearly so important here as it is in Paris; more important is refinement, and hanging pigs in a gourmet restaurant would materlize as crude and uncivilized. But after a few bites, my mind stopped thinking about Japanese cultural nuances and focused on the smokey and salty strips of dried meat that nicely brought out the sweetness of of my Chablis. I do think that salty is the way to begin any meal, as sweet too early can prevent the sweet subtleties of savory courses from naturally progressing.
Next came an individual basket of bread, a collection of five different rolls, the freshness of which was startling. Even the miniature baguette, an item whose freshness quickly deteriorates after baking, was rife with moisture. It was a little excessive to give me a basket of ten rolls, particularly because I ate all of them. But no worries; there was still plenty of room left for the evening.
The amuse bouche was a shot glass filled with a red pepper velouté topped with a tomato foam. I didn’t care much for this: I found the texture repetitious and unchanging, with the flavor of cooked red pepper, something I despise, dominating every bite. It was interesting how the red pepper’s sweetness was synchronized with that of the tomato’s without any acidity; but ultimately, this was a flavor I just didn’t like.
My first dish ever at L’Atelier Tokyo was Le Haricot Coco en fin velouté au fumet de truffe et lard fumé, a bright white bean velouté with smoked lardons and shaved black truffle. Though perhaps a bit crude, the smokiness of pig fat with the earthy aroma of black truffle is a beautiful combination for the nose, one that is both complex and soul-satisfying at the same time. The texture of this soup was creamy with a slight grain from the beans, with the light foamy layer floating on the top acting as a link between the velvety soup and the weightless truffles hovering on top. The foam also kept the texture of the truffles as it held them above the broth, preventing them from going soft. The taste of this dish was the weakest part, though, as the velouté tasted more like milk than anything else — it was undersalted and underflavored. Too bad; this had potential.
Another dish I didn’t particularly like was Le filet de boeuf granité avec une pomme purée truffée, which essentially is a fancy name for beef surrounded by soggy breadcrumbs. The texture of this couldn’t help but remind me of fried and breaded beef. It was not a pretty thought. There was no textural coherency between the granité and the steak, and with a swipe of the fork, I was able to scrape off all the offending topping. The breadcrumbs were also astoundingly salty, making this steak really unenjoyable. The truffled potatoes, however, were outstanding as always, the earthy flavor of the truffle adding an earthy fragrance to an ingredient that normally lacks much scent. The potatoes stole the show for this dish, and my plate was sent back rather lopsided.
The last dish of those I did not like was Le Saint-Pierre cuit à la marinière aux fines herbes, something I disliked in Paris as well but was curious how different it would taste here. Of all the dishes that varied between L’Atelier locations, this was one that did not. It was nearly identical to le saint-pierre in Paris, and it was equally disappointing.
Now that those three dishes are out of the way, the rest of the dishes were very impressive. Le thon onctueux et épice d’un velouté de brocolis was new; I hadn’t seen it on the menu in Paris or New York. This dish had a surprisingly interesting texture, with the bottom of the glass containing a light and airy tuna purée, supporting an even lighter broccoli velouté. These two layers were garnished with smoked tuna and small heads of broccoli. The dish was certainly balanced texturally, but regarding flavor, it seemed a little one-sided: fishy. The salty fish flavor dominated the broccoli, as if I were eating vegetables out of a bowl previously used for a fish course. Though, as I looked around the counter, I saw other diners enjoying this dish, making me wonder if this savory fishy dish was created particularly for the Japanese palate. While it worked here, I’m not sure it would have done well elsewhere, perhaps explaining why it was only on the Tokyo menu.
As for the next dish, Le Foie Gras de Canard sauté aux figues et une glace verjuté, this dish was nothing short of beautiful. I certainly know what I think when I see fig and foie gras on the menu: boring. But note that there was no fig compote or other variant of fig, just the pure fruit sautéed so as to preserve their original texture, adding a chewy contrast to the buttery foie. The figs were much more savory than I had expected: no additional sugar was added. This indicated a clear desire to keep the flavors as close to nature as possible, something which worked nicely to differentiate this dish from other fig and foie variants. Ironically, this dish’s originality came from its connection to nature. Delicious.
Citrus, particularly grapefruit, and meat is a combination I pretty much never enjoy. I find that the cutting acidity of the fruit sidetracks my palate from the comforting saltiness of the steak. I ordered Le Canard Challandais rôti avec des endives glacées aux sucs d’orange mainly because it was a new item for me; but, also because I was curious to see how chef Robuchon saw these two ingredients working together. Frankly, I started laughing to myself while eating this — the hilarity of how well these three ingredients: the bitter endive, the acidic orange, and the savory steak worked together. It was like a high school chemistry experiment: the endive with orange was too bitter by itself; but somehow, when mixed with the steak, the bitterness became undetectable and, in fact, highlighted the latent sweetness embedded in the rare duck. Not only was this delicious, it was fascinating! I’m pretty sure this can be explained scientifically; but for me, it was magic.
Next came my five favorite words: “a gift from the kitchen.” And a special gift it was; normally this was a full course on the menu: La Langoustine en papillote croustillante au basilic, L’Atelier’s version of langoustine tempura. I wondered if La Langoustine would change as, after all, this tempura-like dish was to be served to some tough critics. But confidently, this Robuchon special was identical to that served at the other locations, a testament to this dish’s universal tastiness. The first thing that struck me was the lack of oil in the langoustine’s brik pastry crust. Most of the moisture came from the succulence of the moist crustacean. While the tail was removed from the shell a new dough-based crust was given, adding a delicate crunch that also helped to lock in humidity. Although not technically tempura, this could easily compete against langoustine tempura found in the most famous of Tokyo’s tempura houses. Delicious.
Another new dish was Le Paillard de Volaille relevé de citron et tomates confites avec des artichauts à la plancha, a thin slice of grilled chicken breast covered with artichoke, sun dried tomatoes, rocket, parmesan shavings, and black truffle shavings. While there was nothing particularly bad about this dish — except perhaps that the chicken was dry — there was nothing special either. Why was this dish even on the menu? This seemed almost like spa cuisine. The truffle shavings were frankly uncalled for; I couldn’t even taste or smell them. Sitting on top this chicken breast was a giant nest of superfluous ingredients, all of which seemed to tangle together so that I could brush it off to the side, eat the chicken, parmesan, and truffle, and cut my losses.
La Saint-Jacques au beurre d’algues acidulés was something that I didn’t enjoy in New York, but enjoyed more here. Unlike in New York, this rendition served two scallops instead of one, and with about two-thirds less butter. This was no butter bath, so to speak. The scallops were also slightly undercooked, something essential, so that the texture remained soft and absorbant rather than firm and chewy. The spicing seemed a bit arbitrary; but this dish was so driven by the flavor of the natural ingredients, so long as the textures weren’t off, it’s hard for this not to be enjoyable.
By this point, my sister was in awe at the quantity of food I ate. “I’ve never seen someone eat like this,” she exclaimed. Thankfully Aaron wasn’t with us this night … she might have passed out. But responsibly sensing a hint of fullness, I ordered three additional courses that were slightly lighter. I started with the well-known L’Oursin dans une délicate gelée recouverte d’une onctueuse crème de chou-fleur, a martini glass filled with a sea urchin gelée and covered with a cauliflower crème. The cauliflower crème was bordered with equally sized and perfectly round dots of basil oil. I ate this dish while watching the basil oil being set, drop by drop, under the spotlight in front of me feeling slightly guilty that it took me only a few bites to undo all the pain-staking minutes that went into making all these drops perfectly sized and aligned. But while the presentation was highly styled and certainly artistic, the flavor was simple and fresh, the cool gelée encapuslating the oceanic flavor of the urchin and the crème preventing that flavor from tasting hollow. The urchin was firm and held its shape, despite being in a gelée, a clear indication of its freshness. But while the urchin was firm, the dish overall was texturally monotonous — everything was soft. A slight crunch, as nori typically has when uni sushi is served, would have gone a long way. Nevertheless, this was very flavorful.
Next was a dish I’d enjoyed in New York, and was happy to find that it was delicious here as well. La Caille au foie gras caramélisée avec une pomme purée truffée is two pieces of caramelized squab with Robuchon mashed potatoes topped with black truffle shavings. Aside from the incredibly tasty potatoes, which is essentially butter with essence of potato, the squab held its own very nicely. The lightly caramelized skin gave a honey flavor to the succulent meat which seemed to go really nicely with the more salty potatoes. This sensation was heightened by the aroma of trufle. What a nice dish.
Noticing that my sister had stopped eating over an hour ago, I declined another look at the menu and decided this would be my last course … well, savory course. Next came Le Homard rôti puis accompagné d’une fricassé de champignons au vin jaune d’Arbois, half a roasted lobster with a wild mushroom fricassé. Delicious; but, boring. The stringy texture of the dry roasted lobster soaked up the yellow wine into its small crevasses, making each salty bite slighty sweeter. Something about this dish seemed a little sloppy to me — perhaps the fact that there were three different sauces mixing, but not complimenting, each other. I appreciated this dish as I love lobster; but ultimately, this is not something I would order again.
Time to cleanse my palate, or to warm up for dessert, depending on your point of view. I was handed a small shot glass with raspberries and blueberries suspended in a lime gelée and topped with a lime and basil ice cream. I really like basil when it’s turned sweet: it has a fresh flavor not too far off from mint. The acidity of the lime was a little too strong, however, making my tongue cringe in bitterness preventing it from feeling refreshed from the basil.
My first dessert was a Pomme en feuillantine croustillante avec une glace d’une pomme au four, several thin layers of pastry sandwiching poached apple and crème fraîche, with a side of apple ice cream accented with dried apple chips. This dessert was wonderful. The sweetness of the apple was tempered by hints of salt and the milky crème. It was texturally balanced as well, as each bite of soft apple, crème, or ice cream, had crispy pastry and dried slices of apple. The apple inside the pastry layers was also lukewarm, and as we all know, warm apple and ice cream is quite delicious. Mmm.
But last of the desserts was also my favorite, an updated rendition of my favorite dessert Le Sucre, which for some reason has been taken off all the L’Atelier menus. This dessert was Les Fruits Rouges en soupe avec une gelée de framboise et une fin tube de glace mascarpone, a thin crispy sugar cylinder filled with mascarpone ice cream, served on a bed of strawberries and red currants with a raspberry gelée. With the first crack of the tube, tiny crispy bits of sugar were released into the soft ice cream, making this dish not only beautiful and delicious; but balanced as well. The natural sweetness of the fruit was brought out by the slightly sweet gelée, yet made more rich and subtle by the creaminess from the mascarpone ice cream. Very delicious.
I was happy to see that the Tokyo branch of my favorite international restaurant brand had remained impressive from location to location. Though this may have been the original location, it seems like most of the inventive dishes were still happening in Paris and from there, trickling their way onto the international menus. Yet the consistently delicious fare at L’Atelier knows no geographical bounds — one can expect a well-executed meal at any location worldwide. I look forward to returning the next time I’m in Tokyo since it seems like the handful of dishes that make this location unique can all be tasted in one seating are original and, from my experience, certainly worth trying.
After becoming enamored with L’Atelier, New York, I knew it was only a matter of time before visiting Joël Robuchon’s Paris location. At first I was concerned that the menus would be too similar. And they were similar; but as it turns out, L’Atelier had quite a few different dishes and, of the dishes that were repeats, there were slight modifications. One of the courses I sampled during my last visit, La Langoustine, is currently my favorite dish in Paris. But while there were extreme highs, there were also quite a few lows, making my overall experience here positive; but, not quite so impressive as chef Suga’s work in New York.
Unlike in New York, L’Atelier Paris has no table seating: only two different rooms each with a large counter surrounding an open-air kitchen shared between each room. It’s actually a relatively small dining space and, were there tables, seating would be very limited. The atmosphere is dark with focused spot-lights, each illuminating the hanging charcuterie, the brightly colored vegetables, and of course, the food in front of diners. Like a workshop indeed, the halogen spots ensure that every detail of the intricately decorated food is highlighted, turning the food into art on display with each and every bite.
I started my most recent visit with my favorite dish from the New York menu, La Châtaigne en velouté léger au fumet de céleri et lard fumé, a light chestnut velouté with smoked lardons, essence of celery, and a slab of seared foie gras. Aside from the shredded lettuce, which had no place in this dish other than for color variety, this was strikingly similar to La Châtaigne in New York, only with a more smoky flavor from the crisp bacon. I found the smokiness to be a little too strong, which distracted from the nuttiness of the soup and the richness of the foie. The texture was beautiful, the creamy velouté complementing the buttery foie gras, with the seared edges of the liver adding a crispy edge for textural differentiation. The consistency of the soup was kept thin for a velouté, which allowed for the foie to better stand out. The slightly foamed surface only heightened the texture of the velouté by increasing the viscosity without making the broth heavier. I still prefer the New York version due to its decreased smokiness; but, this was excellent.
Next up was a second favorite from New York, L’Oeufde poule friand au caviar Osciètre d’Iran, a chicken egg topped with strips of phyllo dough, a dollop of osetra caviar, placed on top of a smoked salmon crème with garnishes of dill. With the first cut, the warm yolk oozed out moistening the phyllo and mixing beautifully with the crème to create a gamut of golden delight. The phyllo was a little oily; but this was forgotten once eaten in conjunction with the yolk and crème, two elements that cut down on the greasiness. The brine of the caviar also helped, adding an oceanic salt to this otherwise saltless dish. This dish was balanced in nearly every way, from the coolness of the caviar against the warm yolk, to the crunchy phyllo against the salmon crème.
There were, however, three courses that didn’t particularly interest me. The first was Le Crabe Royale aux fines tamalles de raves épicées, which was way too heavy on the crème making it seem like a picnic-style crab salad with mayonnaise. The sliced radish crown added a crisp and clean bite to the creamy crab salad; but this wasn’t enough to remove the cold gummy mouthfeel. Aside from a single visible chunk of crab with red and white stripes, it was difficult to visually discern the exact components of the salad — everything mixed together in sort of a white glop. I wouldn’t get this dish again; it was the low point of my experiences here.
A second disappointing dish, though a bit more interesting than the crab salad, was La Morue fraîche en imprimé d’herbes aux sucs de légumes et basilic, cod-fish with a vegetable extraction and fresh basil. My biggest problem with this dish was the gelatinous texture of the soup which absorbed the textures of the vegetables into a dull sappy potage. The consistency of the broth was also thick enough that it could not complement the fish’s texture, thus adding no additional moisture. I did, however, like the thin strip of pasta hanging loosely over the fish as a second skin, locking in the moisture of the filet and adding a playful surface chew on the first bite.
Last on the no-go list was something I actually sent back to the kitchen, a hard and lifeless rack of suckling pig, Le Cochon de Lait en côtelettes à la marjolaine avec jeunes oignons au jus. The texture of this meat was firm and dry, two things I did not expect to encounter. Perhaps if this was my first course for the night I wouldn’t have sent it back; but, since it followed La Langoustine, my favorite dish of the evening, I was utterly disappointed. Aside from the delicious dollop of Joël Robuchon butter-mashed potatoes, which were mouthwateringly satisfying, the raw green vegetables were misplaced, creating too striking of a textural contrast. I would have liked to see some more young onion jus, and perhaps a more rare cut of meat next time. But the kitchen gladly took this back, and offered me a replacement, for which I chose a second tasting of La Langoustine, the luscious crustacean filled ravioli which, as of now, is my favorite dish in Paris.
Alas, La Langoustine en ravioli truffé à l’étuvée de chou vert, two large langoustine tails enveloped in a thin strip of ravioli and sauced with a truffle crème. The juicy and soft texture of the langoustine melded with the resilient sheet of pasta, creating a chewiness that soon gave way to the rightfully undercooked shellfish center. The velvety crème filled every crevice of the lightly stringy langoustine, coating each bite with the earthy essence of truffle. The truffle crème locked in the moisture of the ravioli, which in turn kept the langoustine moist and supple. This was a sensational dish, so much so, that I ordered a second in exchange for the lackluster suckling pig that followed it. Mmm.
After seeing my ecstatic facial expressions from devouring tasting the ravioli, the waiter went to speak with the kitchen and came back with an off-menu surprise: potato gnocchi with black truffle shavings, parmesan, and radish leaves. Not sure where the radish leaves fit in here; but, this was a very pleasant follow-up to the langoustine ravioli. The mild flavor of the gnocchi made them the perfect vehicle for the earthy, aromatic truffles. The thin parmesan shavings added the salt for this dish, gently melting over the gnocchi while leaving the truffle in tact.
The first time I visited L’Atelier Paris, I went with my mother and sister, two people who have very different tastes and preferences when it comes to food. Fortunately for me, however, it forced me to try dishes I would have otherwise never ordered. Take Les Spaghettis à notre façon, for example; a small bowl of spaghetti with a home made marinara sauce and whole olives. I never would have ordered this; but my sister, a pasta fanatic, put this as most desired dish for the evening. Another benefit of having a little sister is to take advantage of her little appetite, another socially acceptable excuse to try to get closer to the nirvana-like state that most call, being full. Les Spaghettis was fairly straight forward, though perhaps under-salted: a handful of spaghetti prepared the way god intendedal dente. Though not exactly a French dish, and perhaps the preparation was not so complex as some of the other items on the menu, this was a refreshing break from the heavy crème-laden sauces of French cuisine, albeit there was quite a bit of oil in the sauce.
My mother also ordered something I would look past, La Sardine en filet, façon escabèche aux épices, small spiced sardines to be eaten, bones and all. These five whole fish were served with a side of an herbal mayonaise, reminiscent of summertime fried fish and tartar sauce. The saltiness of the small fish were tempered by the thick mayonaise. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this dish; but given the choice, I would have liked to see a preparation more exemplary of Joël Robuchon and his technique. This dish seemed very ordinary. To be truthful, I’m not sure why it was even on the menu.
My mother also ordered Le Foie Gras frais de canard cuit au torchon, foie gras pâté briefly torched on the surface to add a smoky essence while preserving the natural foie flavor. This was served with toasted brioche, a vehicle for taming the buttery richness of the liver. This was a lot of liver; I couldn’t believe it was served with a single brioche — a ratio that implies a mound of foie should be applied to each fragment of bread. Unyielding to culinary pressure, I asked for 2 more slices so I could have some my mother would enjoy the textural contrast more. That being said, I did not like the flavor of this foie pâté — the smokiness completely distracted from the flavor of the liver, as did the spiciness of the pepper sprinkled on top.
Now for my course, which stole the show that evening, La Morille sur un lit de macaronis au foie gras, sot-l’y-laisse et jus de volaille, morel mushrooms, fowl, and foie gras seated on a bed of macaroni and sauced with fowl jus. Oh god. Well to begin, look at the incredible diversity of all-star ingredients combined in a very original way. Morels and foie gras? Mmm. Foie gras and fowl? Mmm. Fowl and morels? Mmm. Macaroni and fowl jus? I think it’s clear that these ingredients just work wonderfully together, particularly with texture: the buttery foie against the firm fowl, the slightly crispy morels accentuating the al dente macaroni. The volaille jus was the only salted element on the plate, adding a creamy finish making every bite simply explode with flavor. And with all that, the presentation was beautiful.
The last course that evening for me was Le Saint-Pierre en filet avec ses vévettes mitonnées aux piments doux et chorizo, whole scallops served with sweet pepper and chorizo. This dish was somewhat confusing as I could not tell whether it was a salad, in which case the chorizo and rationing of scallops seemed off, or if it was a more hearty dish, in which case the raw greens held it back. The scallops were also slightly overcooked, which left them dry and flavorless, particularly since there was no saucing. I found myself pushing the rocket to the side, as well as the chorizo, eating only the scallops. This was a little disappointing.
The first time I visited L’Atelier my family requested to skip dessert, so I had to make up for it the second time with three. The first was Le Caramel glacé au Nougat et Poire fondante, caramel and nougat gelato with a black pepper fondante. The fondante, in particular, sounded interesting to me. Fortunately, the taste of pepper was unidentifiable; if it weren’t for the menu telling me, I would have never guessed pepper. The texture of the gelato was slightly sticky so that as it began to melt, it held its shape. It wasn’t very sweet, and a little more sugar would have gone a long way.
The second of the three desserts was a new addition to the menu, Le Multivitaminé ganache au chocolat jivara, a Jivara chocolate ganache covered with verbena leaf crème and red fruits. Perhaps in French, multivitamin means high caloric intake; because I certainly could not see the nutritional value in this. This seemed more like a thick chocolate pudding, garnished with red and brown chocolate circles. The flavor was muted, not identifiably chocolate nor anything else for that matter. It left my palate disappointed, and my iron count low.
And last, Le pot de crème vanille et chocolat, two pot de crème served with a chocolate biscuit, caramel mousse, and a thin caramel crown. The vanilla and chocolate pot de crèmes were pretty boring; both of which, like Le Multivitaminé, had muted flavors. These were also texturally boring with nothing to break up the monotony of the pudding consistency. The biscuit, on the other hand, was the best part of this dish, as it was more interesting. Sitting atop the slightly salty chocolate biscuit was a sweet vanilla crème, the flavors of which, when combined with the crispy caramel roof, left my mouth tingling. It was also pretty to look at, much more so than two opaque white cups.
It was interesting for me to see how this “chain” would turn out in a different country, particularly when it comes to finding the balance between Joël Robuchon’s international technique and the local culinary team’s own style. Ultimately, there were two extreme highs, la langoustine and la morille and two excellent dishes, la châtaigne and l’oeuf, the rest fell slightly north of average. All of the desserts that I tried were disappointing.
What was interesting was that all the dishes I felt were the strongest were listed on the tasting menu, suggesting that the restaurant is well-aware of its culinary strong points and the other dishes exist to please the wide array of diner palates, such as those of my mother and sister. I appreciate that very much, as finding the balance between a chef’s vision and a diner’s taste is an ever-going challenge in humility and creativity for any chef. I look forward to returning when the menu changes this spring.
Vanilla with fresh strawberries and cinnamon toast crunch. Nice treat on a hot day
6 hours ago
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Testing out a new design on http://www.alifewortheating.com. It's still a little bit buggy but hopefully by the end of the week all the problems will be worked out. Let me know what you find. Trying to get everything ready for the upcoming reservation at El Bulli. Can't wait
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