Fenouil

there has been a lot of anticipation for me for Fenouil. i have a short list of kids that i make a point to eat from. don't think i know my shit. but this list extends from my familial Paul Klitsie and Adrian Hutapea to well loved John Gorham, Vitaley Paley and the illustrious and intriguingly psycho bi-atchy Naomi Pomeroy. its a list that only continues to grow

yesterday i finally made the trek to Pascal Cherau's Fenouil, who is also the exec of Lucier (a restaurant, i've heard, has been an architectural and culinary failure). he's a well respected chef that warrants a blushing smile when i see him, and my have i been curious.

before i go into food, i have got to talk about the design of the restaurant itself. (gotta make the best of my college education). POOP. it's like everything i hate about jamison square infused into the space. it is the epitome of everything that sucks about the Pearl district (old rich people/naive overpriveliged young suburbans). The kitchen looked like it had sex with the vomit of the Street of Dreams. of a restaurant with considerable notability, i expected a little more subtltey and class

their fucking water glasses had fleur de lis

Moving on. the food.

Rose, Gamay: whatever, i wanted to drink and not think about it. dry, it kinda tasted like nothing. unimpressive, but i was apathetic.

Frites a l'huile de truffes: uh. its potatoes that have been deep fried and tossed in truffle oil. what do you think? i was torn between the foie gras terrine, the fruits de mer, and this. but oh my fucking god. served with a pleasant and humble aioli. it was so powerful that you could only eat a small handful before you think that you may get sick, but it was so good that you wouldn't mind puking it all up to eat it all over again.

coquilles: aka scallops. a cook that i work with used to work at Fenouil. and apparently i ordered on of the most popular entrees. i think his exact words were "i could sear those scallops blind". it was very well done (not to be confused with overcooked). three perfectly seared scallops on a beautiful arugula potato whip and a pool of butter. finished with delicately buttered leeks, clover, and a drizzle of aged balsamic that tasted like chocolate. this bitch was heavy. i forgot to mention the slice of bacon set matter-of-factly on top of my row of scallops. probably not the best thing to order before i work, but whatever.
eating these tender morsels of bivalve made me forget about the hideous tile, the fake chandelier of candles and the ornate marble columns. at that moment, food was my architecture, i could have been eating in a buddhist temple or a russian shanty and it still would have been allllllll good.

In my neverending attempt to sabotage my sister and her "healthy" lifestyle, i convinced her that the quiche de mer was totally healthy and carb free. i failed to mention the immeasurable amount of heavy cream and probably a half-stick of butter in the crust. but i saw her savor every last bite, and smiled to myself for i knew she was grateful of my lies. my father had the paella, and had i not ordered the scallops this would have been my selection. if not for taste, for color spectrum. it was gorgeous. generously saffroned risotto, beautiful black sheen of the mussel shells, and a bold green of perfectly done peas.

My dad tipped over 20%, i've taught him well.

just another wednesday afternoon

originally 9/4/08