Wednesday, January 27. First Tastes Of Le Foret. My longtime friend, dermatologist, fellow gourmet and oenophile Bob DeBellevue called a couple of days ago. Dr. Bob doesn't subscribe to my credo that new restaurants shouldn't be visited early. He does that all the time, although he does cherry-pick them for probable goodness. Many of my first dinners in the best new eateries were instigated by Dr. Bob, who calls me when he thinks he has a hot one.
He's been to Le Foret--which opened four months ago--ten times already. Except for a few people who were taken aback by the prices (which seem more than reasonable to me for the kind of food they're serving), every report from callers and other correspondents have been good. Time to take a look.
Owner Margaret Schexnayder bought a building that stood empty on the corner of Camp and Common for thirty years. It is familiar to me. I worked in that block off and on in the late 1960s through the mid-1970s. Back then the main business was called (depending on which sign you read) either Ralph's Arden Bar or Ralph Arden's Bar. I never set foot in the place, but I always imagined that it hosted six or seven regular customers--some men, some women, drinking cocktails with olives or cherries in them and considering whether to cheat on their spouses.
The Schexnayders renovated all four floors, taking advantage of the large windows to make it feel wide open throughout. The main dining room is particularly handsome and airy, with uncurtained views to the handsome brownstone across the street as well as a standard parking garage. The scene is pure Old Downtown.
My cover was blown the second I stepped inside. Danny Millan, who has served me in a number of auspicious places (notably August and Brennan's, but going all the way back to Henri, in the 1980s) swept us in. Next thing I knew we were in the kitchen, meeting Chef Jimmy Corwell. He has the distinction of being officially a French Master Chef. The distinction is no guarantee of greatness, but it's not without significance. He's from somewhere in the South, but I didn't catch where. (I'll make other chances to find all that out.)
The menu is French-influenced New Southern American Gourmet, to invent a category. We were introduced to it through the agency of no fewer than five amuses-gueules, the most interesting of which was a tray-like platter with (in the photo from left to right) salmon tartare atop a small cylinder of cucumber; rabbit rillettes, sandwiched between two bunny-shaped wafers; and a fried oyster held above a little cup of artichoke veloute with a skewer. All tasty, especially the soup.
From that point on the four of us passed plates around. Everything was so good that it had to be shared. Crabmeat hid under limpid slices of beets atop a watercress salad, with a creamy horseradish dressing. A single lobster claw in a buttery sauce--grand enough--sat atop an even better truffle risotto, with a scattering of walnuts. Beautiful little mushrooms, also with foie gras lurking beneath, were attended by bitter greens and croutons. A creamy leek and oyster stew had the oysters enclosed in a sort of puff-pastry biscuit.
Every morsel of that array was spectacular, in a style we haven't seen much in the last ten or fifteen years. It reminded me of the French food we loved before all our French restaurants were bistros. The way the flavors played with one another was delightful on the brink of amazing.
The entrees maintained this high level. That's an achievement, given how many restaurants send out brilliant appetizers followed by disappointment. A pile of lobster claws, braised in butter, sat atop large gnocchi coated with a cream sauce and studded with caviar. A single Brussels sprout, outrageously tender, gave color and flavor contrast.
In front of me was a study in rabbit. I'd forgotten how cute a rack of rabbit is. (That's it at the rear of the plate.) The roasted loin was a meatier part, with the whiteness and tenderness for which rabbit is celebrated. The leg was braised into a mini-stew with mustard greens and garlic.
