New York Times

Enduringly Entrancing Cuisine, Despite Changing Chefs, in Deepest TriBeCa.

by Bryan Miller

August 12, 1988

Three years ago, when Montrachet opened on one of those exasperating you-can't-get there-from-here blocks in TriBeCa (just wail til your cabbie tries to find it), it was a gamble for a French restaurant with such lofty aspirations, something akin to Lutece relocating on Staten Island. Montrachet's unpretentious style, excellent Provencal food and modest prices soon lured legions of normally unadventurous uptown diners into this alien ZIP code.

Montrachet's original chef, the French-trained David Bouley, soon became a celebrity of sorts, and the inevitable occurred: he left to open his own restaurant. Many feared that would end the short merry life of Montrachet. The irrepressible young owner, Drew Nieporent, persevered, elevating his capable sous chef, Brian Whitmer, for a short time. In late 1986, Mr. Nieporent promoted another sous chef, Debra Ponzek, who remains chef today. Ms. Ponzek worked in several of New Jersey's better kitchens before coming to Montrachet.

I am happy to report that despite all the changes, the food is as refined and dynamic as ever. And with prix fixe menus at $25, $29 and $45, Montrachet offers some of the best values in town for this level of cuisine.

You don't go to Montrachet to be wowed by the latest Adam Tihany boffo interior design. It's a comfortable but somewhat stark space in a former industrial loft. The smaller front dining room, dominated by a polished mahogany-and-onyx bar, has pale aqua-gray walls, rust banquettes and closely clustered tables. A back room is more spacious.

Like her predecessors, Ms. Ponzek has a light touch and symphonic sense of seasoning. In the Provencal tradition, fresh herbs, olive oil and refined stocks are favored over butter and cream. The seasonal menu, carrying about 10 entrees, is supplemented by plenty of inventive specials. One recent example was a starter of angulas, the tiny, spaghetti-thin eels from Spain. Simply marinated in a garlic and olive oil vinaigrette and served over a fresh artichoke heart, they were wonderful. A vivid summer appetizer is the layered terrine of red peppers, eggplant, zucchini, goat cheese and spinach enveloped in strands of fettuccinelike pasta, enhanced by a warm dill-scented tomato sauce. Fans of the classic Provencal soup called pistou (the term actually comes from Italian cooking and translates as pounded basil) will swoon over the rendition here, a richly flavored broth explosive with basil essence and replete with firm-poached string beans, white beans, carrots and other vegetables.

Other highly recommended starters include the salad of roasted thyme-perfumed squab breast with garlic and lentils, superb sauteed foie gras paired with sweet glazed shallots and wild mushrooms, and a beguiling bouillabaisselike shellfish melange--lobster, baby clams, mussels--in a tarragon-scented broth with fennel and leeks.

The waiters, wearing black pants and black shirts (all they need are stockings over their faces to complete the cat burglar outfit), are a bright, informed bunch. It's not easy to keep up with the kinetic Mr. Nieporent, but they make a valiant effort. The wine list is a little jewel, not voluminous, but lovingly chosen and fairly priced. Daniel Johnnes, the sommelier, always has a few surprises up his sleeve for those who express curiosity.

If I had to pick a favorite dish from the alluring repertory, it would be the sheer sheets of salmon fillet draped over a sward of lentils flavored with bacon and red wine. The salmon is seared for less than a minute under the broiler--so it nearly melts into the lentils--then garnished with fresh chervil. Right up there, too, are succulent, thyme-seasoned loin of lamb with vegetable-flecked cous-cous and the extraordinarily moist roast chicken with pan juices, surrounded by whole garlic cloves and mashed potatoes that could bring nostalgic tears to your eyes. Roasted baby pheasant with orzo and olives was flawlessly prepared, but some of this farm-raised game is so characterless, you might as well order chicken for a lot less money. Roast duck with ginger and beets was an engaging combination.

Another winning dish is snowy red snapper fillet with roasted red peppers, spinach and asparagus in a pool of lemon-brightened fish broth. Black sea bass with a saffron vinaigrette and a colorful palette of summer vegetables could have used a touch more in the seasoning department.

It's hard to resist the waiter's seductive description of the house signature dessert: two individual souffles, one with raspberries, the other chocolate with raspberry sauce and vanilla ice cream. Give in. They are worth it. The preparation of creme brulee, cliche that it is these days, is masterly: light, velvety and with a glassy burned-sugar crust. Kinder to the arteries yet equally good is the incredibly ripe pear sorbet. A rather bizarre dessert called hot banana tart--it looks like something a high school home-economics class would invent--actually is quite good. Ripe banana slices are set over a thin disk of sweet pastry, dusted with sugar, glazed under the broiler and served with praline ice cream.

Montrachet has endured three tumultuous years in this ragged-edged neighborhood, and it has not only survived, but thrived.

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