Also this issue: Grape Deals -Peter Burwasser

February 20-26, 2003

food

Seeking The Master's Touch

My sherry amour: Lacroix features a remarkable number of dishes flavored with sherry, like this potato-crusted cod. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Much that's wonderful, but much that's still a work in progress at Lacroix.

by Maxine Keyser

Lacroix

Rittenhouse Hotel, 210 Rittenhouse Square, 215-790-2533

Three-plate menu, $55; four-plate menu, $65; five-plate menu, $75. Lunch: prix fixe, $17 or $24

Breakfast: Daily, 7 a.m.-1:30 p.m. Lunch: Mon.-Sat., 11:30 a.m.­2:30 p.m. Brunch: Sun., 11 a.m.-2:30 p.m. Dinner: Sun.-Thu., 5:30-9 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 5:30-10 p.m.

Wheelchair accessible. Smoking is not permitted. Reservations accepted. All major credit cards.

When Jean-Marie Lacroix, for many years the eminence gris at The Fountain in the Four Seasons Hotel, considered retirement, an offer appeared that he couldn't refuse: his own eponymous restaurant, new décor and all, at the Rittenhouse Hotel. Retirement suddenly seemed far in the distance. Now he is ensconced in that brilliant new space, and he has brought Bobby Boribong, the handsome maître d' from The Fountain, with him.

I had heard that the room was beautiful, but I was unprepared for its sheer luxury -- Treetops was never like this. From my first steps on the stone floor, past the ivory candles in heraldic wrought iron candlesticks, to the point when I float into my olive velvet chair, I am dazzled. The soaring ceiling where palm trees cast their shadows; the continuation of the theme of the candles (although these are really electric fixtures); the arched mirrors that reflect the lights of Rittenhouse Square below; the taupe and green fabrics that cover the banquettes and are echoed in the carpet; lighting that is bright enough to read the menu but not so bright that everyone doesn't look wonderful -- all speak to me of other dining rooms in world capitals, in particular the glitter and swank of Hong Kong. Along one wall stands an antique stone fountain, and tonight it is filled with the greenish-gold orbs called pumelos, a grapefruit-like tropical fruit that fits right in with the color scheme. Boribong is gracious enough to cut one open for us so we can sample the sweet-tart red flesh. All through the room, there are little touches -- an arrangement of herbs and fruit, a single orchid, a painting of the Square, green silk lampshades, plates painted with irises, exquisite stemware -- that delight the eye.

But, then, reality intrudes.

The waiter asks for our drink order. My friends want martinis, I ask for a glass of white wine. "I don't know anything about the wine," he replies, and brings another young man who offers me "a nice glass of Chardonnay." I don't want Chardonnay, I want to see the list, and finally, a third person brings me the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that I wanted all along. Meanwhile, my friends have been drinkless, content to gaze at the perfect pat of butter with a thyme sprig across it, although the bread has not arrived. At last, the drinks and the bread (particularly the olive bread) are disposed of, and we are still roaming the menu.

I love the idea here. The menu's divided into three lists called "Plates" from which you can mix and match -- order one item, say, from First Plates, two from Second Plates and one from Third Plates for a total of $65. Or you can choose just three ($55) or as many as five ($75), And you can have them in any order you should choose. Craft, in New York, initiated this type of deconstructed menu, but Lacroix's is much easier to live with, and contrary to belief, you do not end up eating too much. Our server, the lovely Adrienne, carefully explains every detail, and we are free to order with abandon. The only problem is in getting our other waiter's attention. The staff must be a ratio of two servers to every one customer, but try to get them to stop as they fly back and forth to the kitchen. We had to ask twice before the olive bread was replaced, and when we tried to order wine, the waiter continually wandered away. Adrienne struggled bravely, and finally managed to get our first order in, a bottle of delightful Corbieres from the Côtes du Rhône at $38 -- and finding a wine at that relatively low price was, in this 30-page, high-end wine list, quite an achievement.

From "First Plates" we decide on a slice of pink and beige terrine of Hudson Valley foie gras, set in a garnet pool of port gelée, sprinkled with fleur du sel and decorated with frisée salad and a tiny slice of pain d'épice (spice bread). The crunch of the salt against the creamy foie gras, and the sweetness of the shimmering gelée, make a rhythmic combination. Also from First Plates comes a bowl of green lentil velouté, an unfortunate but unavoidable shade of puce, which is nevertheless delicious. An island of braised sweetbread floats in the middle, enhanced by bits of foie gras and light sprinklings of sherry vinegar and olive oil. A sherry vinaigrette also graces a simple salad of "Chef's Garden Greens," which, though it is listed under "Third Plates," makes a fine starter. All of this jumping around the menu may sound confusing, but you really do get right into it. I also try "Eggs on Eggs" from First Plates, and receive, reclining in the bowl of a handsome, oversized, stainless-steel spoon, a barely poached egg in the shell, touched with chanterelles mushrooms and lobster in a salpicon (tiny pieces of each bound with a creamy sauce) and on the handle of the spoon, a croustade of red caviar. If you love lobster and chanterelles, imagine them with egg yolk. Heavenly stuff, but barely a mouthful, as is a little concoction called "Rillettes Périgourdine." The rillettes, usually a paste of meat and fat, is made of artichokes and leeks, a very savory combo with a confit of oranges, and a whopping order of black truffles. Sound a little precious? It is, but once you get past the descriptions, no one goes hungry. From Second Plates as well comes a hefty slice of roasted foie gras, lusciously unctuous beside a spicy cranberry and wine gastrique (a reduction of vinegar and something sweet -- in this case, cranberries).

Sometimes I think that M. Lacroix, whose charming presence is visible throughout the evening, cares more about the sides than the main dishes. The "tender" loin of pork is overcooked enough that the stunning Laguiole knife has difficulty with it, but the warm paté en croute on the side, a mixture of pork and herbs, is divine. A tenderloin of beef, again doused with a sherry-vinegar sauce, has to be sent back because it is not rare enough, but the bone marrow ravioli on the side -- ooh la la!

Of our entrees, only the sushi grade tuna is perfect. But read the rather twee list that lies beneath -- sweet carrot purée, preserved eggplant lobster emulsion, essence of cardamom -- a mishmash of flavors that no one can properly identify. But the oxtail ravioli is fine enough as a garnish.

After a respectable cheese selection from the cart, we are eager for dessert. A hot chocolate soufflé bears a stencil of moons and stars in white chocolate on its stygian surface, and almond ice cream melting into it. A splendid lemon thyme crèpe enfolds sautéed pineapple and a dab of coconut ice cream, and the selection of ice creams (pistachio, coconut, almond, coffee, etc.) comes with a brave sail of chocolate and a bit of spun sugar. All lovely, but in a restaurant of this caliber, why are there tea bags hanging out of the stylish white teapot?

M. Lacroix is apologetic about the service as he hands us little boxes of made-in-house truffles. He knows that there are some rough edges still to be ironed out, and I'm sure that soon, things will be as seamless as they were at The Fountain. What concerns me more is a tentative air to the cooking, as if Monsieur is still trying to find his signature in all of these conceits and froufrou.

At lunch on another day, things are much smoother. The room is just as lovely by day, and I can only imagine how it will be when the trees bloom and reflect the greenish hues within. Lunch is rather a bargain -- two prix-fixe menus, one for $17 and one for $24, or à la carte offerings. Today there are orchids and oranges among the pumelos, and the Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc (which we get with no problem) lends its grapefruity nuances to the slices of pumelo that Boribong once again proffers. The three-course $17 menu brings us a little tomato fennel soup as an aperitif and then a delicate salad of quail eggs, chopped beets and endive, with sherry vinaigrette. Is it M. Lacroix or Chef de Cuisine Matthew Ridgway who has such a thing about sherry? After this, a tangle of marinated skate in an orange dressing with a cluster of pea shoots is refreshing and original. The lasagna that is our third course, rich with lamb and goat cheese, is delicious, and the entire lunch has proven to be just right in every respect. The tuna burger that a companion enjoyed from the à la carte menu featured a tartar of tuna, cleverly sandwiched between two pieces of tuna, and brioche beneath. The dessert cart that pastry chef Fredrick Ortega sends out has everyone gasping. Somehow we manage to have an oozing flourless chocolate cake, a banana chocolate tart and profiteroles that are as flimsy as air. Each plate comes with a generous serving of fresh berries, which is a bonus, because the mignardises ­ the small plates of after-dinner treats -- that follow lunch as well as dinner are lackluster. It is as if they got lost in the whole gigantic shuffle of décor, and menu descriptions, and trying to do something new and different.

Lacroix succeeds on many levels -- the prices are not astronomical for such quality food, and just sitting there is a joy in itself. But there was not one thing that I woke up at night dreaming about; not one dish that would make me run back screaming for more. You could never convince me that Lacroix was anywhere near retiring -- this venture is that of a young, eager chef, bursting with ideas, who has yet to hit his stride.