Grounded

The subterranean terra is high on our minds.

by David Snyder

Mark Stehle RETURN OF THE QUACK: Terra chef Eric Paraskevas' original duck dish didn't win over our critic, but this one — sliced breast in a citrus sauce, with a leek and squash gratin — was a grand slam.

Thomas Edison burned through a nearly innumerable line of prototypes to perfect the incandescent lamp that made electric lighting affordable for the average American. After the innovation caught on, it's said that the inventor was asked if the countless false starts of the several-year development process made him feel like a failure. "We now know a thousand ways not to build a lightbulb," he purportedly responded.

Edison wasn't being cheeky; he understood that missteps are inherent to growth. It takes balls to run at something head-on without fearing failure — one of the many reasons I love chef Eric Paraskevas' cooking at terra.

Let me be clear: terra is not a failure. The 40-seat eatery, located in the basement of the piano bar Tavern on Camac, is quite the opposite. ToC owner Stephen Carlino decided to rebrand this subterranean space as a restaurant after buying the building in 2004. He's introduced features like a 200-bottle wine cellar, but his wisest addition was Lolita/Slate vet Paraskevas, who starting cooking his brand of new American cuisine here in September.

What sets this chef apart is his ability to stack seams of flavor and texture without burying the elemental simplicity of a dish. Take his grilled tenderloin, where a generous portion of succulent beef sits atop a layer of crunchy fried mashed taters. Sounds like, well, good ol' meat and potatoes — but the duo of sauces on the plate change the game quickly. A rich thyme cream sauce had such soul that I was surprised to learn its base is vegetable stock; in the background, dollops of red pepper pesto imbued with jalapeño and morita (ground chipotle powder) introduced a gentle undercurrent of heat.

Other dishes express such inspired layering just as well. The acidity of Paraskevas' red pepper vinaigrette worked wonders at endearing perfectly seared scallops to creamy goat polenta and a mushroom sauté. Velvety black cod stood out alongside chorizo- and lentil-stuffed dolmades (a nod to Paraskevas' Greek heritage), but the caper-scented tomato sauce and almond rosemary purée is what really convinced me that I needed to wipe the bowl clean with my finger.

Accompaniments of turnip purée and Brussels sprout escabeche didn't provide the contrast I sought for the heady flavor of Paraskevas' lamb shank, but I liked how he used that same meat, slathered with a distinctive fig aioli, alongside a mini beef/cheddar burger and a bitty Cubano in his slider trio.

Flatbread pizzas are popping up all over town, and many attempts are pitifully slapdash — premade crusts, saccharine sauces, bland cheese. Paraskevas' effort, in contrast, is both thoughtful and delicious. The crust, bolstered by a cornmeal undercoat, is homemade; fig married well with prosciutto, red pepper pesto and balsamic drizzle. Terra's Brussels sprouts are served as a shredded, nearly slaw-like side, allowing Paraskevas' house-cured bacon to shine. It's the only way I want to enjoy this veggie henceforth.

Like most chefs (or inventors), Paraskevas has a hell of a creative streak. But what makes his cooking refreshing is the healthy way he approaches failure. He seems to believe that the truest metric for success, in a kitchen at least, is not whether you're perfect — rather, it's whether you can leverage a flawed situation into an opportunity for improvement. And in the case of Paraskevas, doses of self-awareness and enthusiasm have led to some amazing results.

The acorn squash hot pot I had on my first visit, for example, was an interesting idea — a roasted-off acorn squash served as an edible "hot pot" for an udon noodle soup with duck breast and bean sprouts. But the meat drowned in the quick-cooling soup, leaving only loamy flavors and soggy textures. (Paraskevas himself admits the dish wasn't where he wanted it to be.) By my second visit, though, he'd retooled it into a new preparation using many of the same components. Sliced duck breast now rested in a zesty sauce bold with the fantastic bite of preserved orange peel. On the side, a delicately sweet leek and squash gratin amped up with cream and Parmesan cheese came topped with earthy microgreens, shredded duck leg and a touch of poblano. Paraskevas' propensity for retooling is so impressive, I almost wish he'd fail more often.

Service-wise, terra also scores well thanks to how it deals with missteps. A miscommunication with our waiter led to us receiving an entrée we didn't order. It happens; the one I actually wanted came out soon thereafter. We declined both the server and the host's kind offers to comp us a round of drinks; when the check showed up later, it turned out they comp'ed our desserts instead.

I felt slightly guilty about it, given how much I enjoyed the creamy chocolate tres leches with sautéed bananas. Maple syrup from Spring Hills Farm in Dalton granted crème brülée a delicate sweetness. A Blue Moon float, with appealingly bitter homemade orange ice cream dropped into a glass of the witbier, was a great excuse to down booze for dessert. Definitely something I'd order again.

Don't know if I'd say the same for the bacon pot de crème. I liked the moist vanilla cake and mango anglaise drizzled underneath the actually pot-less pot, but the flecks of bacon ran up against the custard's texture in a jarring way. (Smokier meat may have helped.) Part of me, though, is glad this dish didn't work out — it's yet another opportunity for improvement. Can't wait to see what bright idea Paraskevas comes up with next.

(david.snyder@citypaper.net)

terra | 243 S. Camac St., 215-545-1102, terrapa.com. Sun.-Thu., 5-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 5-11 p.m. Appetizers, $8-$12; entrées, $17-$24.