Typically the hype surrounding the opening of a famous chef's newest venue tends to increase one's expectations beyond all belief. In finance-driven Manhattan, the capital questions are therefore frequently posed: how can a multimillion-dollar transformation turn an existing space into the next Michelin three-star venue? Can the sky-high prices be justified? Will the diners be utterly wowed? Given the irrational exuberance earlier in this new millennium that led to much dramaticpre-opening theater of
Alain Ducasse at Essex House, it perhaps made sense that Joël Robuchon first went to Las Vegas before coming to New York. Considering how many classic French restaurants such as Lutece have vaporized in recent years, Robuchon assiduously skated around New York to see which trends would ultimately prove successful in the new dining arena. After all, much has been written of late that Las Vegas is now
the in dining city in America. While we would beg to differ, given Las Vegas' history of featuring performing showgirls rather than Broadway musicals, one must note that the longevity of a show—
even with a turkey that you know will fold—is significantly longer in Vegas than in New York. Which is another way of saying: the critics, of which there are many here, number far fewer there.
Joël Robuchon's new
Atelier, an intimate, discrete, and elegant dining room, transforms this
Four Seasons hotel space into a clearly more successful and subtle incarnation than its predecessor, with a harmonious color scheme augmented by muted tones and fresh flowers throughout the room. Pierre-Yves Rochon, who designed both L'Atelier in Paris and the interiors of the Essex House in New York, created this Robuchon space in collaboration with renowned architect I. M. Pei. Given the current penchant for supersized dining rooms, overuse of theatrics and exotic ingredients, Robuchon clearly understood which elements would be most successful for his
Atelier concept in New York, and he accordingly delayed opening until satisfied with this clever combination of the right elements.
While the initial visual impression might be that the 20 stunningly-designed red bar seats can be held in equal esteem to the modest 30 black seats in the dining room, nothing could be further from the truth. The proximity to the other diners at the bar cannot be overcome by the extraordinary food or the highly attentive level of service. Simply, sitting at the bar is a vastly different experience, perhaps suitable only for a lunchtime tasting or quick dinner meal. In contrast, the 30 seats scattered throughout the room offer various levels of privacy. Some are literally elbow-to-elbow, whereas other tables have the discretion and space a long-time patron at the nearby
Four Seasons restaurant would expect. In short, the maître d'hôtel of
L'Atelier has been conferred powerful benefits found only in a handful of other New York restaurants. Clearly Robuchon—this sexagenarian superstar who semi-officially “retired” 10 years ago—has taken a page from the Las Vegas and Paris restaurants. Well aware of pecking order in New York, where all tables are not created equal, the power lunch and hotel dinner take on new meaning here. For the new form of casual
haute cuisine today means substituting woven Chilewich placemats for white tablecloths; less formality, cream, and butter; and sourcing of ever-more exotic ingredients. In short, the jet-setting chef's offerings can be all things at once—traditional and less formal, contemporary and exquisite, avant-garde and international. For the multinational Four Seasons has annexed the international brand of Joël Robuchon, and one is told the expectations of the hotel's diverse guests exceed those of the most demanding New Yorkers. And ergo: a star, one whose signature dishes are already well-known in France, Japan, and the United States.
But given that Robuchon's prices are on par with and in some places exceed those of
Ducasse,
Masa and
Le Cirque, perhaps the most pressing question is: Try a tasting menu or order à la carte? The menu
decouvert at $160 per person has many excellent offerings, certainly vastly superior to the additional lunch menu
club at $60. But solely based on the 20+ small tasting portions available à la carte, it seems a pity not to try as many as possible, given the superb range of choices. Therefore, two of us ordered four tasting dishes, two main courses, three desserts, and wine by the glass, given the vastly inflated bottle prices and that the list is a rather slapdash hodgepodge. (Obviously this list will be refined in the future.)
Much has been written about
l'oursin, a sea urchin in tender jelly, topped with cauliflower cream. We omitted this in favor of a splendid pan-fried sea bass with a lemon grass foam and stewed baby leeks, the appearance of which was nearly as impressive as the harmonious flavors. A layered foie gras and caramelized smoked eel with oriental flavors was utterly divine, with the crispy yet somewhat sweet eel a brilliant complement to the rich foie gras. Robuchon's signature
langoustine was a joy: a crispy langoustine fritter with basil pesto, cooked to perfection.
Main courses—substantial and vastly expensive—range from
le thon rouge, a lightly seared toro (tuna) belly, to foie gras ravioli, a gracious rack of lamb, sliced-to-order Kobe beef ribeye, and a steak tartare with hand-cut
frites. Do try
l'onglet, a French-style hanger steak with sautéed shallots, piquant peppers and trumpet mushrooms, served with the famous Robuchon mashed potatoes in a mini-Le Creuset dish. Do not omit the superb
la caille, caramelized free-range quail stuffed with foie gras, and served with truffled potato purée. A more perfectly-prepared quail can hardly be imagined, and the techniques in preparation of this dish again highlight Robuchon's extraordinary virtuosity. (In deference to Chicago's recent banning of foie gras, ordering these two portions of foie gras in one meal seemed all the more enjoyable.) The possibilities are many, and at few other restaurants does making a choice seem to involve a profound sense of loss—the potential loss of something not sampled.
The stellar desserts underscore pastry chef's Kazutoshi Narita genius. At the astounding price of $20 apiece, the splendid dishes on which they are served further highlight their jewel-like appearances.
Le chocolat noir, an unctuous creation of dark chocolate with a semisweet coffee mousse was both visually lavish and superb for its well-balanced flavors.
Les cerises, cherries with an almond soufflé and bitter almond ice cream was nearly hypnotic in its effects, a dazzling combination of textures. The true visual phantasmagoria, however, is called
le sucre, served atop a transparent glass dish. An enormous pearl-like sphere, which when pierced reveals flavors of violet and lychee as well as several other complex elements we will keep secret so as not to spoil this surprise. It is outstanding, unforgettable, vastly complex, and unique. Coffee and espresso at $9 apiece are served with flair and elegance, reminding us of what we have experienced at top Swiss hotels. It's the Four Seasons, and that is that.
Many of the staff have been at the Four Seasons for more than ten years, and their collective experience is clearly of much value to Robuchon, despite the obvious soft-opening kinks that inevitably occur. We were bemused by so few types of bread, the lack of any
amuse bouche (despite that "2 amuse bouche — 0.00" was the first item on our bill), and no after-meal petit fours. But despite our attempts to find fault with the service, nearly every detail was impeccable. Given that the cost of doing business is far higher in New York than in Las Vegas, it seems inevitable that the price of
haute cuisine will continue to rise exponentially. For with more than two dozen hands at work in the kitchen and with an enviable waiter-to-diner ratio, the needs of the
patron are correctly anticipated. Wine ordered by the glass and drained just before the entree was served was noted by a waiter hovering so discretely that he went to fetch a fresh bottle immediately and returned in under one minute. During our most recent dining experience, a Brazilian family of four—three elegant ladies plus a father wearing cutoff shorts and constantly barking into his cellphone in Portuguese—posed questions in three languages, and clearly all their questions were answered with elegance. Our dining companion as well as the Brazilian lady at the adjacent table had no placemat. As one the numerous attentive waiters asked repeatedly throughout the meal if there was anything else we desired, it therefore ultimately seemed appropriate to mention: "A placemat." It appeared in 30 seconds. French grandmothers know from experience that a doily under an impressive dish makes it seem all the more impressive with that ornamental mat underneath. Hence Joël Robuchon's legendary personal attentiveness to the details. For this is not the theatrical setting of Le Cirque; it is a hushed and tranquil place to dine, where waiters hover and the service is neither stilted nor contrived.
