Main Content
Read Screen Reader / Printer-Friendly Version
Here you’re back in the temple, where there’s no written menu and your fawning pro of a waiter will simply ascertain any dislikes or allergies so that the chef can tailor your meal. That waiter may go on about a wine’s brambly fruit or solemnly inquire which citrus you’d like for your Pellegrino—but for my money he was leagues more effective than the callow hotties in the loud room. Candidly, my heart sank a little to see that course two, a very generous mound of raw tuna, was crowned with a chapeau of cucumber foam—the sort of pretentious faux-food that gives restaurants like this such foofy reputations.
But the foam turned out to be essential, its ephemeral froth the right foil for the dense fish and its accompaniments of carrot, microcilantro, and orach. (Orach? Belickis darted over, naturellement, to give a biological dissertation on the grassy red leaf.) This whole plate was substantial, even mighty, because the flavors were so intense. The same can be said for every one of the subsequent courses, which unfolded according to the template established at the original Mistral—yep, there’s the scallop, the fathomless vegetable puree, the foie gras, the cheese plate, the bang-up dessert, the gratis cookies. Even portions offered substance—biggest lobe of foie gras I’ve ever confronted—providing genuine value for the whopper price tag.
There were imperfections. That foie gras, winningly spangled with crushed pistachios and sweet little cubes of Lillet gelée—teensy Lillet shooters!—was too oily. The delicate brininess of a Kusshi oyster could not hold its own against a clangor of blood orange chili gratiné. At lunchtime, when the main room goes even more drop-in casual (and tabs dip to a happy $15ish), a margherita pizza from the white-mosaic wood-fired oven lacked the requisite crispiness of crust, while a goat cheese agnolotti pasta featured mushy artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers. Flavors on both were unassailable. Execution was off.
Eat & Drink Articles
Mighty Meals
MistralKitchen offers a full plate that will please regular diners and food snobs alike.
Here you’re back in the temple, where there’s no written menu and your fawning pro of a waiter will simply ascertain any dislikes or allergies so that the chef can tailor your meal. That waiter may go on about a wine’s brambly fruit or solemnly inquire which citrus you’d like for your Pellegrino—but for my money he was leagues more effective than the callow hotties in the loud room. Candidly, my heart sank a little to see that course two, a very generous mound of raw tuna, was crowned with a chapeau of cucumber foam—the sort of pretentious faux-food that gives restaurants like this such foofy reputations.
But the foam turned out to be essential, its ephemeral froth the right foil for the dense fish and its accompaniments of carrot, microcilantro, and orach. (Orach? Belickis darted over, naturellement, to give a biological dissertation on the grassy red leaf.) This whole plate was substantial, even mighty, because the flavors were so intense. The same can be said for every one of the subsequent courses, which unfolded according to the template established at the original Mistral—yep, there’s the scallop, the fathomless vegetable puree, the foie gras, the cheese plate, the bang-up dessert, the gratis cookies. Even portions offered substance—biggest lobe of foie gras I’ve ever confronted—providing genuine value for the whopper price tag.
There were imperfections. That foie gras, winningly spangled with crushed pistachios and sweet little cubes of Lillet gelée—teensy Lillet shooters!—was too oily. The delicate brininess of a Kusshi oyster could not hold its own against a clangor of blood orange chili gratiné. At lunchtime, when the main room goes even more drop-in casual (and tabs dip to a happy $15ish), a margherita pizza from the white-mosaic wood-fired oven lacked the requisite crispiness of crust, while a goat cheese agnolotti pasta featured mushy artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers. Flavors on both were unassailable. Execution was off.
Could it be that the poor overburdened Belickis has bitten off too much? Perhaps. MistralKitchen churns out two meals a day, every day, besides which the guy is expecting his first child in July. He thinks he’s tired now.
But who’s kidding whom: Judged against the magnitude of its enterprise, MistralKitchen is a knockout. Belickis’s multicourse extravaganzas remain a heady thrill for food snobs—but here, amid the buzz and visual exhilaration of that stunning main room, his food has finally found a showcase for the rest of us.
READ MORE RESTAURANT REVIEWS.
Published: April 2010
Advertisement
Advertisement
Add a Comment
We retain the right to remove comments containing personal attacks or excessive profanity, and comments unrelated to the editorial content.