KNIFE AND FORK SKIN
Our first course was a salmon, seared so its skin was crisp as a potato chip and its flesh almost melting. Courses were nicely paced throughout the evening, and portions were modest in size but nowhere near skimpy. It was just the right thing, even on a mercilessly hot summer night, to wake up the palate. Ours was a hot tomato tea consommé, which possessed the amazingly clean and lively flavors of a ripe summer tomato. That would be check one for Knife and Fork.īrassel starts every table off with an amuse bouche (yes, on East 4th Street). It showed attention to detail, and it matched the sensibility of the room and the restaurant. “This bread plate shows someone in here cares, a lot.” The homemade bread was warm and soft and sliced into thick wedges and fanned out on a rustic farm board topped with a slate saucer that contained a few hand-cut cubes of butter and a mound of flaky sea salt. I nodded to the bread display at Knife and Fork, which looked like a still life from a Times T Style photo shoot. The restaurant is still gorgeous but the food has lost some of its luster.) If I am at high end a French restaurant and I am served a cold hard roll (as I was last week at Perry Street), that says something to me about how much attention the operators are paying.” (For the record, that bread last week at Perry Street could have been used as in batting practice. “It shows a great deal about a restaurant and how much attention they pay to detail and to the concept. “Bread service is something I always notice,” I said, trying to sound quite like someone who knows what they are talking about. When our bread was served (the man bakes a nice loaf) I pointed it out to Allie. And other little touches like, for instance, bread service. I also mentioned I liked to take note of small details-how clean are the bathrooms, how long it takes for a waiter to approach the table and say hello and offer a cocktail (ditto a bartender). A review should always hit several elements of the experience: food, décor, crowd, service, and for me, an overall evaluation of certain intangibles like the energy and the soul of the restaurant. Since we were on a reviewing lesson, I started with some basics. Needless to say, we opted for that happy meal. But what makes Knife and Fork so unique is the chef’s unheard of 6-course tasting menu (five savory courses, then cheese and dessert) for all of $45. The chef’s a la carte menu includes appetizers like curried mussels with potato salad and curry oil ($11) and herb-crusted tuna with apple semolina, white asparagus and red pepper reduction ($12) and mains like hake with mussels lemongrass and coconut sauce ($22) and whole quail with chicken and garlic mousse and foie gras mash ($22). He has a confident hand with seasoning and a steady grasp of classic French technique that he uses to turn out an haute menu of modern European fare.īut more than the sophisticated nature of the food on the menu, the restaurant has garnered a reputation for something quite unusual: its value. That something more comes from a small space located off the bar, where chef and owner Damien Brassel cooks and bakes (all of his delicious breads are done in house) in an open kitchen the size of an office cubicle.īrassel is a handsome chap from Ireland who is all of 30 and has been cooking since he was 15. Knife and Fork may look like just your average bistro, but you get the sense that there’s more here than you might think. But here, tables are draped in white linen and the stemware is tall and by Schott Zwiesel. The restaurant is simply designed in that sort of ubiquitous warm and cozy way, with lots of bare wood accents including a heavy wood-framed mirror over the bar, and exposed brick walls. That night happened last week, at a little East Village restaurant that has gotten more food buzz than opening day at Shake Shack-a snug 30-seat spot called Knife and Fork.
I told her I was often recognized and that I wore no disguises, but I told her I’d probably be able to share a thing or two about the business and would be happy to have her tag along to a dinner one night.
I made sure she knew I was just a writer with a blog and a column in the New York Post. I assured her that while I was a critic, I was nowhere in the realm of Mimi, Grimes, Ruth, or Bruni, nor Gael, Hal, or Platt. She said she was working on a novel about a restaurant critic, and she wondered if she might come to dinner with me to get the inside scoop on the life and times of a real food critic. This one was from a novelist named Alison Pace (And she wasn’t looking for a restaurant suggestion or advice about a career change.
About a month ago I got an unusual email looking for help.
0 kommentar(er)
