Restaurant Daniel

Restaurant Daniel's position in the New York restaurant stratosphere is somewhat like its chocolate coulant's position in the world of desserts.  A most delicious thing, but in the end, just a molten chocolate cake. 

I'll explain.  We ended up dining at Daniel tonight for nuptial related reasons.  It was the last of the four great French or New American 4-star restaurants in New York I hadn't visited in the last few years.  Each of Per Se, Le Bernardin, and Jean Georges had endured my presence fairly recently, actually, and I've listed them in order of their excellence (the fifth 4 star restaurant is Masa - the greatest sushi restaurant in North America, which is beyond even my tolerance for spending money on food).  

Daniel  cannot match Le Bernardin's pristine magnificence, the surgical beauty of fish stripped of artifice.  Nor is Daniel really a peer of Per Se.  Thomas Keller's east coast flagship serves better food, with better service.  As one egulleter put it, at Per Se it feels like the waiters think they're lucky to serve you.   And Jean-Georges? Well, I don't really like Jean-Georges, but everyone else does, and I accept that Vongerichten has a certain genius about him, whatever I think of his signature and yet god-forsaken foie gras brulee.   Daniel, to me, is perched in an uncomfortable place between the aspirant three star restaurants (the new Corton, and Eleven Madison Park, and perhaps Momofuku Ko, though the last will never have the service to justify a place among all these big boys) and its three 4-star colleagues.  

I realize this is all angels on the heads of pins level granularity, especially in our economic end times.  But what else can I say, for example, of our loup de mer?  A fantastically flavorful dish, anointed with a sauce of the greatest subtlety (a reduced Syrah and BUTTER jus, emphasis on the butter), but topped with a chewy, puzzling, fish skin the servers insisted was meant to be eaten. I get the impression that Le Bernardin's Eric Ripert would rather have worn the skin as a hat than serve such a thing.  Or raviolis with a little too much salt, a too crunchy roll, a truly delicious potato croquette that nonetheless appeared to have emerged from one of the used Time-Life "Frou-Frou Cookery and other methods to lord it over your friends " volumes from the 1970's that I have somewhere on my shelves.  Those dishes which truly were flawless, like Daniel's signature duo of aged beef, (a combination of the most unctuous short rib possible and seared sirloin) and the chocolate coulant I mentioned above (imagine the best molten chocolate cake possible, filled with a sort of caramel) or the poached pineapple (Hawaii on a plate) are from the past.  We live in a world where Chili's serves molten chocolate cake.  As unfair as it is, because molten chocolate cakes are tasty indeed, Daniel just has to move on. 

Am I unhappy?  No, to some extent because I didn't pay tonight (for long and boring reasons).  But also because most of the food really is very good, and one can sort of sink into a happy complacency at Daniel, surrounded by people who look and sound like Henry Kissinger nibbling happily at white asparagus brought up in some sort of silver trivet, awash oneself in wine, chomping through extraordinary madeleines with coffee later, and helped out in a sozzled stagger into the Park Avenue dimness of a cold New York April night.  But in the end, one can't help but feel that Boulud could push his kitchen more. 

And he doesn't.