The SO and I went on a date tonight. Our usual routine is to stay in the neighborhood or drive to one of two fun and delicious pizza joints. But tonight, we decided to try a new bistro a short walk away.
My SO was skeptical from the start. An answering machined asked us to leave our name and number to confirm reservations 24 hours later. The SO felt this was pretentious and unimpressed web reviews seemed to confirm his reservations, even if the restaurant didn’t call back until this afternoon to offer us a table at 7pm.
I am a restaurant veteran and I don’t mean by having survived a multitude of poor eating experiences. I have weathered many apocalyptic restaurant openings of my own that for years afterwards, when people realized I owned this or that restaurant, a glazed look would appear on their face and they would murmur, as if still in shock, “I was there when you opened.”
They never had to say more. I was there too, and it wasn’t pretty. From the forgotten orders for tables of 6, to the salads big enough to serve 6 (but meant only as an appetizer), to cigarette butts “found” in the Caesar salad, to the anniversary celebration gone, very, very awry what with orders delivered to other tables, entrees if and when they ever arrived, arriving all wrong…well, you get the picture. It’s a miracle the place finally thrived and lasted 8 years, falling prey to the last, big, recession. So I have compassion for those brave hearts who follow their dream into a money pit, I mean, restaurant., especially in a time of economic misery like this one.
We’ll call the restaurant Le Petit Chou. It used to be a Thai place on a busy street, along a block that has no fewer that three other restaurants, across from a very affluent residential area. It’s pretty too, in what I call New Cosy style: big front windows, dark wood wainscotting, white tableclothes underneath brown paper, raised semi-circular banquettes opposite the long front bar, enabling the fortunate few who are seated there to pass muster on the rest of us plebes who have to walk to the back where there is a fire going in the hearth beneath a sky lit ceiling. Here the banquettes are backed with big velour pillows making you feel like you’re either sick or about to have breakfast in bed. On each table there is a small lamp, similar to the ones you see on the tables in Sam’s cafe in Casablanca. The art and memorabilia on the wall include the portrait of a dog as a young dog, an old British flag, and other unmemorable memorabilia. Edith Piaf warbles overhead. Maybe the designer/owner is a Frit: part French, part Brit or s/he’s trying to placate the Canadian solitudes. Either way, you’re not really sure what the menu will bring.
Still, the staff are young, wearing mostly sleeveless black slinky things on this freezing, snowbound night. They toss their hair, put their hands in the back pockets of their white jeans as they sashay to the kitchen. They seem to be enjoying themselves as much behind the bar as the folks sitting at the bar. Oh, look, that server is plumping up her hair from underneath and then pouring a glass of wine!
Our server is polite and dressed in street clothes. She might as well have been a guest paying off a bill from a prior night because a salad, two glasses of wine, a burger and some salmon came to $79 without tip.
But she wasn’t. We asked if there were any specials. “Not tonight,” was the reply. She promptly deposited a deep, little cup of balsamic vinegar and oil on the table with slices of bread. Hmm, a nice Italian touch except the bowl was too small and deep to be able to get at the vinegar. There was no salt on the table to season the oil-dipped bread either. Maybe the Frit is married to an It?alian! Maybe this bristro-pub is really a trattoria-bistro. Whatever.
The menu is all comfort food: French onion soup, a trio or so of salads, three with cheese, steak frites, mussels frites, chicken cutlet, brussel sprouts with bacon, mushrooms, some desserts. Nothing terribly exciting, but then again, the menu at Parisian bistros isn’t very exciting either, they’re just really, really good.
Alas this wasn’t: the salad, a mundane mix of ordinary mesclun leaves was piled high, almost big enough to justify the $10 price. The vinaigrette described as a berry dressing tasted as if strawberry jam (unstrained, in fact) had been let loose with some oil and not very much vinegar and absolutely no salt to harness the sweetness. Was this a new take on dessert? The balsamic vinegar and oil for the bread came in handy as a means to temper some of the sweetness, but did little to give confidence when it came to the main course.
And we weren’t disappointed, or shall I say the main courses mostly followed the calibre of the appetizer so really, we were very, very disappointed, if you get my drift.
The burger didn’t come with the paprika aioli as promised; the bun was much bigger than the burger itself, and nothing special in the bread department; the fries tasted of stale oil; the bacon on the Brussel’s sprouts was over cooked, although the sprouts themselves were perfectly al dente. The salmon, a bit dry inside, sat on asparagus and in a pool of “oops, forgot to mention beurre blanc” which was all right but not outstanding, not to mention unnecessary, and a fussy finishing frazzle of frisee on top. I could have made this meal at home for a total of $15 for two and it would have been much, much better.
We could eavesdrop on the table of four to one side which was discussing travel to China and the couple on the other side who, like us, wondered what was here before Le Petit Castor. They returned one of their steak frites. We, on the other hand, will not return to the restaurant.
It’s not just because of the food, although that was much of it. There was more a non-chalance about the staff, a lack of professionalism in the hospitality part of the business. After all, eating in a restaurant is like eating in someone’s home. Or that’s how the thinking used to go.
The owner is supposed to be a host, you are a guest. This was more, well, more like fast food in nice surroundings. Or a bunch of 20 somethings getting together to “play restaurant” without realizing that it’s a game with certain rules…assuming you want to survive. Graciousness is one of them; a genuine delight in the guests’ decision to dine there; an eagerness to show culinary expression, however humble or exalted it may be are others. And caring service. Someone obviously in charge.
All of this adds up to the so-called dining experience and the perception of value. I can overlook poor food if everything else is outstanding. But mediocre on all counts and failing in hospitality? I’d rather save my money and eat in.
So the next time we consider going out on a date, I’m doing the cooking and here’s what I’ll serve.
Sicilian Braised Salmon with Raisins and Pine Nuts with Chickpea Puree
Serves 2
Make the tomato sauce:
1 medium onion, diced
1 can San Marzano tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted
1/4 cup dried currents
3 Tbsp capers
2 cloves garlic, finely diced
2 anchovy filets
2 salmon filets, skin on
1 can chickpeas, drained, rinsed
1/4 cup chicken stock
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
Fresh basil “en chiffonade”
1. Saute the diced onion until soft in about 1 Tbsp olive oil.
2. Add the tomatoes, currants, capers, diced garlic and anchovy filets.
3. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to a low simmer and cook until it has thickened, about 15 minutes.
4. Taste. If the tomatoes are acidic, add a pinch of baking soda, stir and taste again. Adjust salt.
5. Place the salmon, skin side down in the sauce and put a lid on the pan. Cook for about 7 minutes or until the salmon is opaque. Don’t overcook!
6. While the salmon is cooking, puree the chickpeas until almost smooth.
7. Place in a saucepan with a drizzle of olive oil and the paprika. Thin to the consistency of whipped cream by adding spoonfuls of chicken stock.
8. When the fish is ready, gently lift out of the pan and set aside.
9. Place a pool of tomato puree in a circle on each plate. Top with a mound of chickpea puree, top with the salmon and spoon remaining sauce across the middle of each salmon. Sprinkle pine nuts on top and then chopped basil.
10. Enjoy and marvel at how little work a restaurant-worthy meal can be.
Posted by crazy4food 
