Bouley

I visited the New York super-restaurant Bouley for lunch today. I don't put much stock in the Zagat's guide, but to give some perspective on the matter, that book has it tied for the top restaurant in the city. Obviously, my view is that dinner there is probably better, but there's something to be gained from observing lunch. For one thing, I was able to realize that the room on the right hand side, with its white ceiling and larger windows, is much preferable to where we were sitting, on the left - if at all possible, considering the general somberness of the dark maroon space, opt for the former side. Why ought you not see your food?

As for the meal, it began promisingly with a novel amuse bouche (called here a Chef's canape for one reason or another) of a clam topped with a sort of tomato coulis and a cold horseradish tinged cream. I have certain problems with the texture of the last two when combined with each other, but as a taste, the dish was quite striking. I also felt that the clam was entirely overshadowed by the other ingredients - what I wouldn't have given for a larger piece of beef tartare topped with the carefully balanced bite of the horseradish sauce.

I chose the lesser of the two tasting menus, which began with some pan fried soft shell crabs served atop grapefruit. I love soft shells, though I would be just as happy leaving their squishy centers to the hungry denizens of the sea. The chefs at Bouley, understanding this, had cleverly isolated the delicous extremities of the unprotected crustacean, leaving only the crunchy sweetness of its claws and arms to be shovelled delicately into my waiting mouth. Though I normally don't talk much about the physical plant of restaurants, I should note here that the restaurant erred in presenting a fish knife with the soft shell crab. I haven't the slightest idea what the proper etiquette is, but even the tenderest soft shell still has a leathery skin, that eventually hardens into the thorny armour that protects them from the depridations of fish, if not man. A sharper, more aggressive knife would have been more appropriate.

The crab was followed, after a slightly worrisome gap, by a Maine cod served atop a bed of wild oysters and organic peas. The dish was largely a low - key one, and I'm not sure entirely worthy of a place like Bouley. I will say, though, that I much admire a chef who can stop cooking fish at the very moment when it reaches translucence, before the fish begins to flake, and remembers to present it quivering atop its accompaniment. That's how fish should be served - at a consistency much more reminiscent of gelatin than of cotton. As another free tidbit, the kitchen presented two delicate plates of mashed potatoes - made with waxy fingerling potatoes rather than their more usual starchy compatriots. I would say that the dish was striking, but I haven't yet made up my mind whether I was pleased or not by a richness that verged so close to pureed butter that even our table of four champion eaters couldn't finish the two small plates. Yes, mashed potatoes should be rich - but this rich? I'm not sure.

The highlight of the meal, I would say, was Bouley's magnificent palate cleanser that followed the cod, a truly great combination of apricot and champagne puree, all topped with a sparkling buttermilk sorbet. The sorbet was clever on so many different levels - the low tones of the wine underlying everything, the astonishing use of buttermilk, which of course has little inherent fat, to make a sorbet, which normally has no milk. I can only say that I was terribly impressed. After the sorbet, we were treated to a well-executed but somewhat standard warm Valrhona chocolate cake, served with three ice creams of varying excellence, and several serviceable petit fours, including a somewhat surprising sesame biscuit of terrifying butteriness, all with a cup of excellent coffee. All in all, I saw tinges of what could be the best restaurant in New York, but I feel as though the real strength of Bouley's legendary cuisine is left for the evening. One day, I hope, I'll find out.