Spotlight: New York's Fleur de Sel

The hullabaloo over star chefs and concept restaurants becomes irrelevant when considering the merits of Fleur de Sel. Unpretentious, even plain, this new French restaurant, named for the pungent crystals of sea salt farmed in Brittany's salt marshes, has an elegant, Old World-like charm. The service is impeccable, the food sophisticated and delicious.

Fleur de Sel's Brittany-born chef-owner Cyril Renaud has set up shop in a section of the Flatiron district otherwise given over to dot-com trendiness and restaurants with flashy decor. A few rustic oil paintings decorate Fleur de Sel's rectangular room, which has a brick wall on one side and a small bar on the other. Dinner is $52 prix fixe -- fair indeed given the far more outrageous prices of "treat yourself" meals in many Manhattan eateries.

Jigsaw-puzzle lobster, hide-and-seek truffles

The half dozen appetizers are straightforward but presented with flair. The surprises in the seared foie gras, for instance, are dried-fruit puree and rose water, which add a delicate, floral flavor. The beautifully bright lobster salad is made up of bite-size pieces reassembled on the plate like a jigsaw puzzle. The smattering of greens that garnish the lobster is tossed with a seemingly incongruous lemongrass-and-vanilla vinaigrette. Peculiar, but it works.

The arctic char appetizer, which resembles a pink-and-white textile design, has the same basic-but-bizarre quality. Char is best described as a gamier, saltier version of smoked salmon. It comes with thin shavings of cucumber and a yogurt emulsion, a plain-Jane medley that blends smartly with the char's smart flavors.

Renaud likes to introduce a few oddball flavors, though he never goes too far. Of all the appetizers, the parsnip soup, with ravioli stuffed with chestnuts and white truffle, impresses the most. How reckless to drown the white truffle in soup! Then again, maybe that's the idea: most people will do anything to get to that truffle. (The French writer Colette vowed: "If I can't have too many truffles, I'll do without truffles.")

Sage cuisine

The roasted scallops come perfectly cooked, meaning barely cooked, to preserve the freshness and texture of the actual scallops. The sensational honey-and-sherry gastric (sauce) in which the scallops are doused adds a little kick, and a hint of sweetness. The surprise ingredient is sage. Intense shreds are mixed into the sauce, elevating the dish from merely first-rate to unusual and exciting.

Lamb loin, sliced and marinated with Dijon mustard, is served with fresh thyme and garnished with kamut, a nutty high-protein grain. The mustard intensifies and boosts, but doesn't overwhelm, the flavor of the lamb, and the contrast in texture of the lamb and kamut gives the dish some muscle.

Other dishes seem equally appealing. A diner at a nearby table ordered a shiny cut of pigeon that smelled so good I almost wanted to trade in my scallops. There's also Icelandic cod with wild mushrooms, striped bass in a Scotch lobster sauce, sautéed venison with beet-licorice sauce, and crispy chicken with foie gras and Armagnac sauce. The preparations are typically French -- technique and presentation are crucial, and the sauce rules -- though not necessarily regional, as one might expect from a restaurant named after sea salt. Don't be alarmed, though -- the food is surprisingly light.

The house of mirth

The desserts are equally inventive. The chocolate-tart soufflé is a strikingly handsome disk of creamy, hot-fudgelike chocolate. Though the chocolate tart is riveting, I prefer the quirkier pear tartare -- diced fruit squeezed together in the shape of an ottoman. Poached in cassis, and studded with shredded pistachio nuts, the pear has a splendidly astringent, tart-sweet flavor that is cut by the intensely sweet crème fraîche that comes with it. Unfortunately, the pear tartare is no longer on the menu. Its replacement is a confit of rhubarb with yogurt mousse and fresh thyme. But why not ask for the pear tartare and see what happens? Everyone at Fleur de Sel is so gracious; perhaps the pastry chef will make it for you if you ask.

Equally light, and refreshing, is the raspberry feuilleté -- fruit sandwiched inside a crispy, papery wafer and topped with an oval scoop of white chocolate caramel ganache. The apple crêpe, succulent and crisp, is enough for a meal.

If you're in the mood for a subtle, thoughtfully prepared meal, and a little fuss-free satisfaction, head over to the Flatiron district and enjoy a quiet evening at Fleur de Sel.

Fleur de Sel. 5 East 20th St., between 5th Avenue and Broadway, 212/460-9100. Reservations essential. AE, V, MC.


Photo Credit: Erin Nedell

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Spotlight: New York's Nobu

Is Nobu Matsuhisa a genius? Shakespeare was a genius, but can any chef -- even one who conjures up Peruvian-inspired Japanese cuisine that garners international accolades -- be considered a genius? And can any meal possibly be worth $150 a person for dinner, drinks, and tip? Or is the hype for Nobu just another instance of Americans heaping praise with reckless abandon?

I had to know, so I set out to do some research -- at my favorite message boards on the Net and at Nobu, chef Matsuhisa's celebrated New York restaurant.

The Man

Reading up on Matsuhisa, I found out that he was raised in Tokyo, trained as a sushi chef, and began experimenting with South American ingredients during a stint in Peru. He left there to open a restaurant in Anchorage, of all places.

With the wind chill, Anchorage can hit 60 below in winter, and in summer the endless hours of sun can drive you crazy. Suddenly, Matsuhisa seemed unconventional, a risk-taker.

Then the Anchorage place burned down. Not to be deterred, Nobu moved to Beverly Hills, where in 1987 he opened the immensely successful Matsuhisa. Since then, he has opened branches in Aspen, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, London, Malibu, and Tokyo.

But the opening that had the greatest impact was in 1994, when Matsuhisa joined forces with actor Robert De Niro and restaurateur Drew Nieporent to start up Nobu in New York City's intensely hip, industrial-chic neighborhood of TriBeCa.

The Hype

Food-obsessed New Yorkers, celebrities, and even other chefs rave about Nobu's cuisine. My friends who had tried it, loved it. Those who hadn't were still trying to get reservations. Since I grew up in India, I'm always looking for thoughtfully spiced and aromatic food, bursting with fresh, differentiated flavors. Maybe Nobu's as good as they say, I thought. Maybe it's worth it. So when, out of the blue, a friend asked whether I wanted to splurge on Nobu, I jumped at the suggestion. (Be warned: we booked a reservation three weeks in advance for a Tuesday night, so call at least a month ahead to be safe.)

Tuesday night -- three weeks later -- we walked into a whimsically elegant room -- best described as woodsy organic with urban-architectural flourishes. We were seated by the window, where I settled into a velvety lime-green banquette that looked out into a wittily designed room containing sawed-off trunks of birch trees blossoming into something more like two-by-fours than branches, and a sleek wall of pebbles curving against the room's centerpiece: a sushi bar lit from within.

Two Ways to Order

There are two ways to order a meal at Nobu: choosing individual portions or opting for the omakase, or chef's special. Take a risk and try the omakase for an inspired blend of raw and cooked fish.

The price tag starts at $70 per person and goes up to $200. The more you spend, the more luxurious and rare the ingredients. A hundred dollars each bought us eight courses, most of which were first-rate.

The Review

Toro tartare -- rare tuna topped with osetra caviar and infused with palate-cleansing wasabi sauce -- launched the meal. The nervy, wild flavors that followed convinced me that Nobu is indeed a genius. Kumamoto oysters, crowned with vividly orange sea urchin and sprinkled with fried leeks, ginger, sesame seed, and nutty shavings of crispy, melt-in-your-mouth seaweed, were deliriously good. The dramatic and complex orchestration of flavors and textures was, well, Shakespearean. It was the kind of thing that might have made Lady Macbeth a little nicer.

Our less lyrical third course was finely sculpted aji (dried mackerel) ceviche -- straightforward but respectable. Kampachi sashimi salad followed. Don't expect to find this intensely buttery fish, a member of the yellowtail family, in your average sushi joint. A fun touch: Curved like a footbridge over the kampachi was a dried-and-fried sardine chip.

Our waitress seemed to take no vicarious pleasure in our dining, but served each course impassively, slightly irked at what probably seemed like two overcurious women who had never seen fish before. Not surprising, because we asked too many questions and wrote down all her responses on a piece of paper as she was talking. We did this with each course and sometimes asked for more details. But the food more than made up for her matter-of-fact style.

Branzino -- Mediterranean sea bass -- perfectly absorbed the explosive flavors and colors of the tart pomegranate-and-mango salsa pooling around it. We sopped up everything we could and picked at the fruit with our chopsticks.

We crescendoed into our sixth course with Nobu's signature dish, black cod with miso. This ecstasy-inducing cut of sweet broiled black cod with miso sauce was topped with a slab of rich, gamey foie gras. The presentation was striking: The cod was served on a dark-green shiso leaf with a magenta flourish of pickled onion. Next came, ho-hum, only sushi. No sweet-or-spicy tricks, no bells and whistles. That said, the immensely fine, if unimaginative, sushi included toro, shad, kampachi, white salmon, and snapper.

The finale was a warm chocolate soufflé served in a bento box (a small lacquered container in which Japanese food is often served). Topped with a scoop of green-tea ice cream and drizzled with a pungent, vanilla-flavored sauce, the dessert had an appealing spiciness. The warm-cold trick worked, as did the blending of hard and soft textures. The delicate, well-balanced spices cut the sweetness and added some intrigue.

Was it worth it? I'll put it this way: If Nobu had been around in Shakespeare's England, to be or not to be might not be the question, nor even to eat or not to eat. It might be: "How soon can I get another reservation?"

Nobu. 105 Hudson St., off Franklin St., tel. 212/219-0500; 212/219-8095 for same-day reservations. fax 212/219-1441. Reservations essential. AE, DC, MC, V. Closed Sun. No lunch. Read more...