Corton - SATISFACTORY
239 West Broadway
New York, NY
(212) 219-2777
239 West Broadway
New York, NY
(212) 219-2777
I have always enjoyed reading the most scathing restaurant and film reviews, the ones that make a reader squirm, that prompt chefs to take out full page newspaper ads to libel the reviewer, and I am pleased to begin my food blogging career with one such entry.
I came to Corton at the urging of a chef friend, an experienced foodie that introduced me in my early days as a New Yorker to Eleven Madison Park, DiFara pizzeria, Blue Hill, and the Spotted Pig - he opened my eyes, and my pocketbook, to the finest cuisine New York has to offer.
Our most recent foray brought us to the Bay Area's Manresa, which was one of the finest, most delicate meals I have experienced. David Kinch, the chef at Manresa, has inspired a growing number of chefs interested in preparing multi-course tastings of minute, painstakingly presented flavors. At Manresa, the flavors are clean, bright, and revelatory, and came to us over the course of a three-hour dinner - a long sit, but memorable. Go for a long walk before your meal and prepare to be blown away.
So perhaps it did not help that we flew in from the West Coast before we took a cab down to Tribeca for our 9:00 at Corton. As we entered with our slumbering four-month-old strapped to my wife's chest, the maitre d' maligned, "We have no strollers, buggies, baby seats, or anything like that here." Hmm, I didn't know some restaurants were offering buggies, I thought.
We were seated in a timely manner and ordered a delicious Chateau Latour from their extensive list of pricey French wines. Don't come to Corton in search of bargains or Nero d'Avolas. We were promptly served three biscuit-like nibbles that were unmemorable and according to my mother-in-law, really dry. Nevertheless, they served to coat our mouths with some butter to help balance the acid of the wine.
The amuse-bouche arrived soon thereafter; a light foam gave way to a rich, buttery foie gras, which hinted at the theme for the night - something like a French bubble bath. The experience was opposite my childhood Dannon Fruit on Bottom yogurt cups - I enjoyed the light, clean top and was slightly disappointed when I got to the flavor bomb at the bottom. Mother-in-law: "I don't like French food." Things weren't looking up.
We ordered the three-course tasting and covered most of the menu. Our family tradition is to nibble and pass, which puts off diners squeamish about sharing, but allows us to taste a wide range of what a kitchen offers. "From the garden," a dish that actually earns its own quotation marks on the menu, is a nod to David Kinch and Alain Ducasse, and was the family favorite. Snappy autumn vegetables and fragrant herbs were indeed reminiscent of a rich vegetable garden, fat and salt took a back seat to the illuminating qualities of well-selected produce.
The downside of passing dishes at a place like Corton is that each dish comes with three or four separate components. Our three-course prix fixe came with no less than twenty-five plates. We puzzled at first over why a chef would not plate these minutiae on one large plate and decided that most of the flavors were not designed to go in one's mouth at the same time. In fact, we puzzled over how, and in what order, to eat each item. It was as if the item on the menu was served in the middle on a larger plate, like a sun, and a series of small plates orbited the larger dish, like satellites. Unfortunately, the flavors rarely belonged in the same solar system.
Worst of all, we waited over an hour between our appetizers and main course, and when we complained, they rushed our entrees out undercooked. The fish, one a cod and the other a striped bass, was chewy, requiring a knife to tear apart, clearly not spending enough time in whatever sous vide or confit contraption it was that took over an hour to cook the diminutive pieces of fish. The sauces were tasty, but come on, fish? Get it right. The duck, too, was a let down. Rare strips of breast meat were topped with a chewy piece of fatty skin - good thinking, mediocre execution.
The brioche is a good dessert. Don't bother with the others. The fruit version of the "From the Garden" paled in comparison, served as the wrong punctuation for a sentence that began pretty well and got progressively worse. On our way out of the restaurant, the maitre d' could not find my mother-in-laws coat, because it had fallen on the floor.
One snooty diner commented not too subtly that she had expected a nice restaurant, not a daycare. Our baby had slept through the entire hours-long experience, attached to my wife's chest, so we were nonplussed, to say the lease. Perhaps it was the food that was at the heart of her discontent, or the pretentious service, or the time between courses. Or perhaps she was delusional, and she liked the restaurant. One can't be sure.
I came to Corton at the urging of a chef friend, an experienced foodie that introduced me in my early days as a New Yorker to Eleven Madison Park, DiFara pizzeria, Blue Hill, and the Spotted Pig - he opened my eyes, and my pocketbook, to the finest cuisine New York has to offer.
Our most recent foray brought us to the Bay Area's Manresa, which was one of the finest, most delicate meals I have experienced. David Kinch, the chef at Manresa, has inspired a growing number of chefs interested in preparing multi-course tastings of minute, painstakingly presented flavors. At Manresa, the flavors are clean, bright, and revelatory, and came to us over the course of a three-hour dinner - a long sit, but memorable. Go for a long walk before your meal and prepare to be blown away.
So perhaps it did not help that we flew in from the West Coast before we took a cab down to Tribeca for our 9:00 at Corton. As we entered with our slumbering four-month-old strapped to my wife's chest, the maitre d' maligned, "We have no strollers, buggies, baby seats, or anything like that here." Hmm, I didn't know some restaurants were offering buggies, I thought.
We were seated in a timely manner and ordered a delicious Chateau Latour from their extensive list of pricey French wines. Don't come to Corton in search of bargains or Nero d'Avolas. We were promptly served three biscuit-like nibbles that were unmemorable and according to my mother-in-law, really dry. Nevertheless, they served to coat our mouths with some butter to help balance the acid of the wine.
The amuse-bouche arrived soon thereafter; a light foam gave way to a rich, buttery foie gras, which hinted at the theme for the night - something like a French bubble bath. The experience was opposite my childhood Dannon Fruit on Bottom yogurt cups - I enjoyed the light, clean top and was slightly disappointed when I got to the flavor bomb at the bottom. Mother-in-law: "I don't like French food." Things weren't looking up.
We ordered the three-course tasting and covered most of the menu. Our family tradition is to nibble and pass, which puts off diners squeamish about sharing, but allows us to taste a wide range of what a kitchen offers. "From the garden," a dish that actually earns its own quotation marks on the menu, is a nod to David Kinch and Alain Ducasse, and was the family favorite. Snappy autumn vegetables and fragrant herbs were indeed reminiscent of a rich vegetable garden, fat and salt took a back seat to the illuminating qualities of well-selected produce.
The downside of passing dishes at a place like Corton is that each dish comes with three or four separate components. Our three-course prix fixe came with no less than twenty-five plates. We puzzled at first over why a chef would not plate these minutiae on one large plate and decided that most of the flavors were not designed to go in one's mouth at the same time. In fact, we puzzled over how, and in what order, to eat each item. It was as if the item on the menu was served in the middle on a larger plate, like a sun, and a series of small plates orbited the larger dish, like satellites. Unfortunately, the flavors rarely belonged in the same solar system.
Worst of all, we waited over an hour between our appetizers and main course, and when we complained, they rushed our entrees out undercooked. The fish, one a cod and the other a striped bass, was chewy, requiring a knife to tear apart, clearly not spending enough time in whatever sous vide or confit contraption it was that took over an hour to cook the diminutive pieces of fish. The sauces were tasty, but come on, fish? Get it right. The duck, too, was a let down. Rare strips of breast meat were topped with a chewy piece of fatty skin - good thinking, mediocre execution.
The brioche is a good dessert. Don't bother with the others. The fruit version of the "From the Garden" paled in comparison, served as the wrong punctuation for a sentence that began pretty well and got progressively worse. On our way out of the restaurant, the maitre d' could not find my mother-in-laws coat, because it had fallen on the floor.
One snooty diner commented not too subtly that she had expected a nice restaurant, not a daycare. Our baby had slept through the entire hours-long experience, attached to my wife's chest, so we were nonplussed, to say the lease. Perhaps it was the food that was at the heart of her discontent, or the pretentious service, or the time between courses. Or perhaps she was delusional, and she liked the restaurant. One can't be sure.
