Saturday, October 08, 2005

Eating Across New York, Part II (with apologies for the delay)

I meant to write Part Two right away, but then I had a whirlwind week, during which I impulsively decided to head right back out of town, this time to Portland, Oregon. That's what happens when you haven't had more than one day off in a row for two years - you get a little nutty when your schedule opens up. Now I'm home again, and the dryer is spinning with fresh, clean clothes, so I can finally getting my head back into blogging and other important things.

Like that dinner in New York. The one I mentioned in the last post. It turns out that visiting New York the week following Labor Day was an inspired choice, because the city was relatively empty. Relatively meaning that one can find a parking spot in 25 minutes instead of an hour, and that the wait at Serendipity III is 1 1/2 hours instead of 3.

But we felt grateful, we truly did, and sent silent thanks to the hordes of New Yorkers who, we imagined, were swarming the Hamptons, no doubt sipping gin and tonics and immolating their bodies beneath the last rays of summer sun. Grateful because their absence left coveted restaurant seats wide open.

Over lunch on Thursday, a good friend told B & I that we simply must check out B.L.T. Fish. He had dined there for his birthday, he told us, and it remained one of the best meals he had eaten all year. A tour of his Madison Avenue salon left no doubt as to his impeccable taste, and so his endorsement was all we needed to hear. But it was a Thursday night, and our friend expressed grave doubt that we would be able to score a reservation. "You're looking at two, three weeks out," he said, in a mournful tone.

But we were on a roll that week, having scored virtually every reservation we had hoped for AND a parking spot two blocks off of Broadway as we hustled to see The Phantom of the Opera. So we decided to toss the dice once again, and told our cabbie to take us to 17th at 5th. It was about 8:30 when we arrived, and we found ourselves walking into what looked like a fish shack transplanted from Coney Island. B bit his lip. "Interesting," he said. "Not quite what I was imagining, but who knows?"

The predominant colors inside were white & red & navy, a definite nautical feel enhanced by hanging lanterns and a huge, glossy fish - a marlin, perhaps? - mounted on one of the walls. Food was coming out of the kitchen in red plastic baskets lined in wax paper; the walls were hung with chalkboards upon which the latest offerings were scribbled. It looked like an adventure, and the menu was interesting enough, but we couldn't help feeling like were missing something. We remembered grumblings we had heard about another of Laurent Tourndale's places, BLT Steak, and wondered if we had made a mistake.

When our waiter came to ask us if we wanted drinks, B leaned over to him. "Is this... it?" he asked. The waiter grinned. "No," he said, pointing to the ceiling. "There's an upstairs with a more formal restaurant. Totally different menu."

"Can we go up there?" We chorused.

"Hold on," the waiter said. "It's usually packed, but this week is kind of quiet, so... just a sec." He returned in a moment. "We've got a table for you."

We rode up with the hostess in matchbox-sized elevator. When the doors opened, we were released into a long rectangular room with a vaulted ceiling made of glass. It put me in mind of an English conservatory. A table in the middle of the room held an enormous bouquet of flowers and silverware and carafes and things. The kitchen was at the far end, open to view, gleaming white. Bright, sparkling white. We were led to a table with a curved, booth-like seat and a birds-eye view of the kitchen. Color me happy!

Seconds after we sat down, an amuse of salmon terrine with country bread was delivered to our table. The bread was sharp and hard around the edges, a terrible hazard to the soft insides of the mouth, but the terrine was silky smooth with a subtle hint of smokiness. While we sipped our drinks, our server proceeded to explain the concept of the restaurant: the daily selection of whole fish can be ordered by the pound; prices per pound range from $29-35. Offerings range from Dover Sole to Chilean Turbot to a red snapper fried "Cantonese Style," one of the restaurant's signatures. Cuts of other fish (black cod, halibut, salmon) are offered with a choice of tantalizing-sounding sauces like ginger ketchup or tomato-tarragon hollandaise. The sides are served a-la-carte, and are centered around simple preparations of in-season vegetables.

But there were only two of us, which made ordering something of a challenge.While we deliberated between many appealing choices, a boy in an apron came to the table with a small wooden tray. "Cheddar-chive biscuits," he smiled, and pointed to a small white crock. "With unsalted butter and pure maple syrup." This was unexpected, after the salmon, but who would decline a fresh biscuit? We dug into the knob of butter with our knives and spread it, and the syrup, inside warm bites of flour and cheese. A funny thing, those biscuits. I have enjoyed incredibly complicated treats from kitchens all over the place, but nothing has ever seemed so right as those hot biscuits. Sometimes the best surprise is utterly simple. As we stuffed our mouths, we noticed a tiny little card printed on brown paper propped on the tray; I opened it to find the biscuit recipe inside. Insert a gusty sigh of contentment.

To start, we chose sardines grilled with bacon and bits of tomato and herbs. The sardines were pleasingly fishy, with the sweet acidity of the tomatoes as a perfect foil. The grilled octopus salad with bergamot oil was another inventive pairing, but then I'm a huge fan of Earl Grey, so I couldn't be anything but thrilled.

Our main course was rolled to the table on a cart, looking for all the world like an enormous mound of salt. The server expertly whacked at it with the side of an enormous silver spoon, and it began to split into chunks, revealing the delicate color of the New Zealand Pink Snapper inside. She slid the fish onto a separate tray, and then carefully de-boned it, all the while maintaining utter calm and cool under our gaze.

The fish, oh. It was tender and moist, with silky-sweet flesh that slid across the tongue. The flavors of pink peppercorn and star anise that were blended with the salt crust were ever-so subtle. We alternated bites of the fish with forkfulls of English peas and spoons of artichoke gratin. The gratin was a bit milky, but everything else was so perfect that we didn't much care. When we finally allowed our plates to be cleared away, we shared a grilled summer peach accented with vanilla bean ice cream.

Not a single item was stacked or friseed or julienned. It was the kind of meal that you might find in the countryside of France or Italy: straightforward preparations of ingredients served in simple containers without fuss. Like magic, they seem to transcend technique to become magnificent versions of themselves: glorious sardines, octopus, snapper, peas, artichokes and peaches, independent of a certain reduction or seasoning blend to make them taste anything other than what they are. And that was what made the meal so special; without seeming to try, it surpassed so many more complicated renditions of other meals that we have shared.

And of course, the atmosphere and the service added immeasurably to the experience. It is no small thing to have a fine-tuned staff, as I well know. The right server-diner chemistry is a combination of luck and mood and timing, and so it is truly remarkable that we felt like every single person we encountered that night, from server to sommelier to every other individual who visited our table, was warm and engaging and fabulous. Seriously, this almost never happens. But it did on that random Thursday in New York.

Which is why we felt, as we spilled back into the empty street, like two very lucky individuals. I was conscious of the biscuit recipe tucked inside my handbag, and of the man by my side who, whenever he notices that I am excited by a menu, closes his and says: "You choose. Order whatever looks good to you, and I'll be more than happy to share it with you."

For that, and for so much more, I have many reasons to celebrate.


At 10:07 PM, Anonymous Brett said...

Now I know where I'm going next time I'm in NYC. Sardines with bacon, salt-crusted whole fish, artichoke gratin. But what I really want to know is when are we going to be getting that biscuit recipe?

At 9:48 AM, Blogger Greg said...

Welcome back to Novato. New York sounds like fun.

At 10:51 AM, Blogger cookiecrumb said...

See, Jennifer, people have been checking in, awaiting your return! (Brett, you're a crack-up. Do you smell posts with sardines in them?)

At 10:18 PM, Blogger Catherine said...

a) welcome back!
b) when are you gonna post the recipe?
c) lucky, lucky woman. he's a good man.

At 1:55 PM, Blogger Joy said...

Well, you *did* move to Novato for the man:).

Welcome back!

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