Restaurant Review: U Petrské Věže (CLOSED)

Note to readers: As of 30/11/09, U Petrské Věže is no longer in operation.

There's something old-fashioned about U Petrské Věže. You'd think I was talking about the 14th-century building in which it resides, with its vaulted ceilings and Gothic cellar, or the restaurant's crystal chandeliers and antique-style furniture. But the kind of history I have in mind is a little more recent: waiters suited up in ties, black vests, and tangerine-colored dress shirts; menus laminated and bound in padded faux leather. It's 1995 all over again.

That, after all, is the year U Petrské Věže opened, and there don't seem to have been too many updates since. The dishes are still mostly scaled-up, if not exactly modernized, Czech classics, in a style that used to be popular among a certain segment of locals. Nowadays, when people want a fancy meal, they go for Italian or French or Asian; the Petrské Věžes and Modrá Kachničkas have been left for the tourists, or the very occasional Czech who wants to take foreign visitors to a nice local restaurant that isn't a pub.

The fallout from this shift in tastes was obvious on my visit to U Petrské Věže. The only other guests all evening were four older British tourists, who seemed happy enough with their restaurant choice. The wild boar in rosehip sauce sounded "fabulous," and they puzzled good-naturedly over the fresh rye bread and bowlful of sádlo that the waiter placed on their table at the start of their meal. They might have been even more confused if they'd known that they were about to be charged 40 CZK each for that bread and lard, even if they didn't touch any of it.

I wasn't confused, though. This was Flashback 1995, and couverts were very trendy in 1995. Was it also trendy to heinously overcharge for beverages? It must have been, otherwise U Petrské Věže wouldn't be selling 0.5l bottles of Vittel for 140 CZK and beers for 70 CZK.

The beer, it must be said, is actually one of U Petrské Věže's strong points; it is from a small brewery, Rohozec, and is tapped into frosty mugs. It's nice to see a restaurant that has managed to resist Pilsner Urquell's strong-armed tactics, even if it has to charge a lot of money to make up for it (the restaurant also has a cellar full of Czech and Moravian wines, but I didn't get to try any of those).

So the beer at U Petrské Věže might be worth its price, but the food – at least for the most part – definitely isn't. As my starter, I had the beef broth with sherry and Celestine noodles (120 CZK), and it was so salty that I couldn't eat more than a few spoonfuls. The sherry flavor was pretty overpowering, too, although I did like the dill-flavored, pancake-like homemade noodles.

Then there was my main course, the wild duck breast with "old Bohemian black sauce" and potato pancakes (440 CZK). I actually liked the sauce, a thick and sticky (and indeed nearly black) stew, fragrant with prunes. The problem was the meat itself: it was brutally overcooked, to the point where there was no pink hue left in the center of the breast at all. It was just a fat, gray, incredibly tough lump of meat. I realize that cooking duck breast all the way through is sort of the local way of doing it (as opposed to the French, who like theirs pink and tender), but judging by this example, the local way is just not very good. This was a waste of a perfectly decent piece of meat.

Another part of the dish seemed a little bit off, too: the potato pancakes. They were very small and thick, which is fine, but they were also quite sweet, which was not fine. They tasted not as if they should be served next to a roast duck breast, but covered with jam and powdered sugar. Later, I would find out why.

Chefs often repeat elements from dish to dish – the same little salad here, the same celery puree there. It makes their lives easier, and most of the time, it doesn't really matter too much. But it's only happened to me once before that I ate the same thing for my main course and my dessert (at the Mexican restaurant Cantina, where I was given the same chocolate syrup over both chicken breast and chocolate cake).

You can see where this is going. I ordered the old-style Czech pancake (180 CZK) for dessert. When it arrived, it was not one pancake, but a few small ones – the exact same kind that had been served with my duck dish. They came drenched in a similar sauce to the duck's, also made of prunes, although this one tasted strongly of alcohol. Some crumbled gingerbread was sprinkled on top. The pancakes definitely made more sense in the sweet version, but by that point, I'd already had my fill.

Not everything was bad at U Petrské Věže. My companion ordered an unusual appetizer, a fruit salad with crayfish tails (280 CZK) in a light mayonnaise dressing, that was actually very fresh and tasty. The service was attentive, and I liked that all the food was served on pretty porcelain plates.

But meat is definitely not this restaurant's strong point – even if it makes up most of the menu. When I tried a bite of my friend's roasted pheasant breast (430 CZK), it was so dry and stringy that part of it instantly became lodged between two of my back teeth. Upon further mastication, I realized that the piece was full of tendon, or cartilage, or something. So I did the old unchewable meat trick: I retrieved a tissue from my purse and discreetly spat out the offending bite.

Not the most elegant thing to do in a nice restaurant, I know. But as it turned out, this restaurant wasn't all that nice, anyway.

U Petrské Věže
Petrská 12
Praha 1 - Nové Město
map
Tel.: 222 329 856

Open Mon-Fri 12:00-24:00, Sat-Sun 18:00-01:00

photographs Tomáš Krist for Lidové noviny; all others upetrskeveze.cz

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 28/11/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

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Restaurant Review: Lokál

The newest, best, most must-visit restaurant in the country doesn't have a celebrity chef. It doesn't have white tablecloths, amuses-bouche, or a sommelier. Instead of soufflés, there's smažený sýr (fried cheese); tlačenka (head cheese) takes the place of truffles.

This is Lokál, and it's the restaurant we've all been waiting for.

I probably don't have to tell you how miserable most Czech pub food is these days. The average inexpensive svíčková (beef in cream sauce) goes something like this: a rock-hard, dry piece of beef, smothered in a watery brown sauce, with a few stale knedlíky (bread dumplings) on the side. No wonder so many foreign visitors shudder at the memory of Czech food.

Those of us who didn't grow up weaned on the Maggi bottle, whose mothers and grandmothers cooked their national dishes with pride, know a different kind of local cuisine – one that lives on in our kitchens at home, but has all but disappeared from pubs and restaurants. Until now, anyway.

A plate of svíčková at Lokál costs 115 CZK, plus 28 CZK for the dumplings (all sides are served separately). For 100g of meat, it's more than you'd pay in most pubs, but the difference is startling. The beef was so tender it pulled apart easily under my fork. The dumplings were light and fluffy. And the sauce, tasting strongly of freshly pureed vegetables, was bright yellow and richly sweet. The dish was served with the traditional topping of whipped cream, cranberries, and a slice of lemon.

Tradition is a priority for Lokál, along with freshness, authenticity, and honesty. The inscription of the bottom of their (daily changing) menu explains their ideology best: "We want to cook Czech dishes differently than most pubs - places where hard work and fresh food are replaced with spices, flavorings, fats, ingredients that 'last forever,' and other cheap tricks used to make cooking faster, cheaper, and easier." What took them so long?

Lokál is the brainchild of Tomáš Karpíšek, the founder of the Ambiente Group and the Czech restaurant market's most brilliant innovator. He's achieved success with his chains of pasta restaurants (Pastacaffe, Ristorante Pasta Fresca) and all-you-can-eat gorgefests (Ambiente Brasileiro, Pizza Nuova). He's promoted Czech food before, too, with the First Republic-inspired Café Savoy and the upscale gourmet favorite La Degustation Boheme Bourgeoise. But Lokál is set to be his biggest, most revolutionary, most important venture yet.

Housed in a massive space off of Dlouhá formerly occupied by Middle Eastern hideaway Dahab (since relocated to nearby Soukenická), Lokál is said to be the longest restaurant in Prague. It has been, despite its size, rammed to the rafters from the day it opened. That's no surprise, really. When was the last time anybody saw rýžový nákyp (Czech rice pudding) on a menu? Or šunkofleky (pasta with smoked ham)? Or škubánky s mákem (sweet noodles with poppy seeds)? Even if you've come across those long-neglected classics once in a while, I guarantee they've never been made this well.

There isn't much to describe about Lokál's food. The plates are kept clean, with garnishes and other unnecessary flourishes kept to a minimum. No wilted oblohy (garnishes) here – just simple, straightforward dishes. My plněný paprikový lusk (stuffed pepper) (99 CZK) was filled with a mix of lean ground beef and marjoram in a sweet tomato sauce. The tatarák (beef tartare) (178 CZK) was made with similarly high-quality meat, pre-mixed to tender perfection, and served alongside crispy topinky(fried toast) and raw cloves of garlic.

That may sound close to what you'd order in any pub, and it is. The difference is in the consistent freshness and quality of Lokál's ingredients – and in the little details, like the homemade, hand-cut noodles in the chicken noodle soup (38 CZK for a pleasantly large portion), or the fresh whipped cream decorating the rakvičky (little meringue "coffins") (28 CZK). Renowned regional companies provide much of the ingredients, and the hotové jídla (pre-prepared dishes) are made from scratch several times a day.

The simplicity of Lokál's food is reflected in its interior, which, with its stark lighting and long wooden benches, brings to mind a school cafeteria. The only decoration, appropriately enough, are childlike doodles made along the length of the wood-panelled walls, illuminated from behind to create a glowing modern display.

For a Prague 1 restaurant, Lokál is refreshingly and unapologetically Czech: there are no menus in English (or French, or German, or Russian), and there are no conciliatory dishes of spaghetti or hamburgers. All of the drinks, from the tea (black, fruit, or rosehip only) to the hard liquor (Tuzemský Rum, Pražská Vodka, Lokál's own slivovice) to the soft drinks (Kofola, homemade sodas) are from these parts. And the beer (36 CZK for 0.5l) is fantastic: ice-cold Prazdroj, tapped fresh from small tanks, and also available as "Šnit" (a mini beer, to be consumed in one or two gulps) or "Mlíko" (only foam).

The only detail that seemed a little off were the coasters – they were the regular green Pilsner Urquell kind. Shouldn't a Czech restaurant this concerned with tradition have its own coasters, emblazoned with its own logo, as all the pubs used to have in the old days?

I guess I can forgive Lokál that one oversight. They are, after all, the restaurant (and future chain of restaurants) that is single-handedly saving good Czech pub food from near-certain extinction. You might think I'm exaggerating, but try it for yourself. If you don't like it, they'll bring you Maggi to make your meal taste more familiar, and your waiter won't even give you a dirty look: the service is more traditional Ambiente than traditional Czech, and thank God for that.

As for me – and again, no exaggeration – Lokál is the only restaurant that I feel like visiting at the moment. Everyone else peddling Czech food in this country should pay attention – because only now, after so many years of greasy goulashes and salty soups and freezer-burnt knedlíky, is somebody finally doing it right.

Lokál
Dlouhá 33
Praha 1 - Old Town
map
Tel: 222 316 265

Open Mon-Fri 11:00-01:00, Sat 12:00-01:00, Sun 12:00-22:00

photographs 1, 2, 4, 5, 6 Tomáš Krist for Lidové noviny; all others ambi.cz

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 05/12/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

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Restaurant Review: Vikárka

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 18/07/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

Vikárka is one of those restaurants that's been around since the beginning of time. Not literally, of course – but almost.

The establishment is well-known to local residents for its location within the walls of the Prague Castle, as well as for its rich history. Originally the site of church institutions, Charles IV's ascension to the Bohemian throne in 1347 gave the vicars there the right to brew beer. It ended up being a fairly lucrative business for the pious castle-dwellers, who under the late 16th and early 17th-century rule of Rudolph II served copious amounts of their homegrown brew to the patron king's various resident artists, alchemists, and foreign dignitaries.

Nowadays, the restaurant's chosen beer, Krušovice, is tapped for a less intriguing brand of foreigner and at what is surely a more unpalatable price, 60 CZK per 0.4l glass. On a recent Sunday afternoon visit, a group of older Japanese visitors who had a private dining room persuaded the waitress and then the waiter to pose with them in various configurations in front of their cameras (the staff here wear traditional-style costumes, so that might explain the fascination).

Catering to tourist groups seems to have been Vikárka's major source of income since the restaurant reopened in 2005 after extensive renovations and a seven-year closure. They certainly have more than enough room for them all: in addition to the 100-seat, multi-room restaurant space, the Vikárka complex includes a 60-person cellar (named after a famed literary character who used to drink here, Matěj Brouček, and home to the castle's oldest Romanesque wall), an upstairs series of private dining rooms with a 300-person capacity, a fast food eatery next door, and the 240-seat Rudolph's Foundry, which is designed to replicate an alchemist's workshop as it would have appeared during Rudolph II's time.

There are other souvenirs from past days, too. Ancient maps of the city and the castle grounds hang on Vikárka's arched walls, and an old weight-driven clock ticks and buzzes and whirs against the quiet classical music that emanates from tiny speakers in the ceiling. Although the prices might lead you to believe otherwise, Vikárka is not quite a tourist trap. It has a little more soul, and puts forth a lot more effort, than many of those dreaded establishments.

For one thing, the service is surprisingly great – as if they actually cared whether or not their customers come back. During both of my visits, the staff was cheerful and unobtrusive. They were perfectly willing to make small adjustments to the dishes (a companion wanted his salad without bacon) and even checked in during the meal to see if everything was all right. I really, really liked these people. They were just so… pleasant.

So it's with a heavy heart that I start to write about Vikárka's food. I very much wanted to enjoy it, if only for the sake of those wonderful waiters. But it just wasn't up to the standard set by the service. Some dishes were quite good: the boneless ham appetizer (95 CZK) came with a tangy shallot relish and a spicy horseradish and mustard-seed sauce that perfectly complemented the tender slices of meat. And a simple green salad (120 CZK) had a nice balsamic dressing and was happily iceberg-free.

I even liked the beef and chicken broth (55 CZK), but only on my first visit when, as advertised in the menu, it came with thick homemade noodles. On my second trip, the tasty noodles had been replaced by something that resembled chopped-up spaghetti, and the broth was far too salty.

You'd think that a place like this would be able to manage the classic Czech dishes reasonably well. But the svíčková (195 CZK) had meat as tough as at any low-end pub, and its sauce was no better than one you'd get in powdered form at the supermarket. The meat of the roasted pork knee (245 CZK) didn't fall off the joint quite as easily as it should have. And while the veal schnitzel (245 CZK) came with some nice onion-laced mashed potatoes, the meat itself was thick and hard to chew.

For my second main course at Vikárka, I wanted to try something not Czech. The international dishes on their menu are a little suspect in general (the chicken nuggets with vegetables and spaghetti especially comes to mind), but I decided to go with something that seemed pretty safe: the grilled pork sirloin in a Parmesan crust with vegetable lasagna (285 CZK).

Pork and lasagna are not the most conventional combination, but it sounded like it might not be half bad. Unfortunately, thanks to the super-salty crust on the meat and a dried-out lasagna that required a steak knife to saw through its top layer, it was pretty bad indeed. The meal was somewhat redeemed by the švestkové knedlíky (plum dumplings, 85 CZK), which were sprinkled with poppy seeds and powdered sugar, and the "bomba Malakoff" (85 CZK), a small ladyfinger and chocolate mousse confection covered in a crisp layer of dark chocolate.

Vikárka has recently tried to boost its profile by holding foodie events on its premises, the most recent of which was the Hot Food Festival, a tasting of some of the spiciest dishes from countries around the world. The idea was to introduce the joys of spiciness to more Czech people, whose traditional cuisine, of course, has no relationship with the chili pepper. On hand to assist in case of emergencies were unlimited amounts of milk, sweet syrups, and a registered nurse.

It's a nice idea, and one with some merit. But before Vikárka starts branching off into cuisines – Mexican, Indian, Szechuan, Thai – that have nothing to do with the food they serve every day, shouldn't they try to fix what's wrong on the Czech side of their kitchen? For a restaurant with this much history, it's the least that they could do.

Restaurant Vikárka
Vikářská 39
Praha 1 - Hradčany
map
Tel.: 233 311 962

Open Mon-Sun 11:00-21:00

photographs: 3, 4 Viktor Chlad for Lidové Noviny; all others vikarka.cz

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Restaurant Review: U Koně

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 04/07/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

In Central Bohemia, between Prague and the Sazava river, is a so-called "micro-region" called Ladův Kraj. It was given the name after Hrusice-born painter, illustrator, and author Josef Lada, who used the area's rolling hills and picturesque villages as inspiration for his well-known children's books.

Four years ago, a pair of tourist trails was developed to honor the famous Czech personality and his homeland. The first, called "Pohádkové Hrusice" (Fairytale Hrusice) tours through Lada's hometown. The "Cesta kocoura Mikeše" (Tomcat Mikeš's Trail) is a considerably longer route and follows the supposed footsteps of one of Lada's most famous characters as he sets off on his worldly adventures with his dear friend, Pašík. At each of the twelve stops is a signpost with illustrations and an excerpt from "Mikeš."

The road from Hrusice to Říčany is 20 kilometers long, so if you decide to undertake the journey, you're probably going to make a few rest stops. Which brings me to this week's restaurant: Hostinec U Koně, located in Klokočná, the ninth stop on the Cesta kocoura Mikeše (titled on the signpost as "Mikeš straší," or "Scary Mikeš") and a very worthy place to fill your stomach, regardless of whether you've just trekked 15 kilometers or pulled up directly in front of it with your car.

U Koně has been around considerably longer than the Lada trails, or even Lada himself – the hotel and restaurant have been in operation since the 17th century. Currently helming U Koně's kitchen is Jaroslav Sapík, a former cook at the Prague Castle and, for a time, Václav Havel's personal chef. Sapík comes from a centuries-old family line of gastronomers, and at U Koně he has upheld his predecessors' commitment to serving high-quality Czech food made with fresh ingredients.

It's not a fancy place, but it attracts many of the well-heeled local families with cottages in the area. On a recent Sunday afternoon, U Koně was brimming with people; my companions and I were lucky to score a seat, even if we had to share the table with another party. We were in the front room, which is small and bedecked with antique kitchenware, faded family photographs, and old-fashioned radios.

Despite the clutter, the place felt clean and well-cared-for. A bouquet of fresh wallflowers in five different colors sat on a side table, and the scent of newly-cut jasmine blossoms graced the entranceway. Nearby was a family with several children, a rambunctious dog, and a human-sized teddy bear that required his own seat. Waiters bustled in from the kitchen, balancing plates headed for the much larger back room. Karel Gott and Hana Zagorová crooned in the background.

Because the menu is divided into two sections – one called "Jídla ze selských dvorů dle rodinných receptů" ("Family recipes from the farmyard"), the other "Rodinné recepty ze zámecké kuchyně"("Family recipes from the castle kitchen") – both of which have appetizers, main courses, and desserts, picking what to order can be mildly confusing. But once you do, you probably won't go wrong.

On the fancier (castle recipe) side of the menu is the Czech crayfish cream soup (165 CZK), a thick, deep red bisque that brimmed with the flavor of crayfish and had lots of chunks of the freshwater lobster's flesh. This was better and less expensive than the crayfish bisque at Café Savoy, which is also very good, but a little heavy on the cream for my liking – U Koně's version of the soup seemed purer, more honest. They serve it with a piece of toast that is decorated with a slice each of lemon, tomato, and hard-boiled egg (its yolk removed and replaced with black caviar).

The most famous dish at U Koně is probably the roasted wild boar piglet (360 CZK), not least because it is also its oldest. As the menu explains, the dish is "a specialty first prepared, according to our ancestral grandmother's documentation, in 1784 during the hunt at the Rájec-Jestřabí castle." Good thing the recipe was handed down over so many years, because it's definitely a keeper. Served over a sauce of wild garlic, with spinach, sauteed mushrooms, and round potato dumplings, the tender young boar meat had been larded to keep it moist and flavorful.

Although the boar was a hearty-sized portion, the roast duck with potato dumplings and red cabbage (285 CZK) was so large that we had it wrapped up with us for dinner at home later. This, apparently, is standard procedure at U Koně; we witnessed a parade of people (mostly women) wielding styrofoam boxes of leftovers on their way out the door. So even if the prices are somewhat higher than at other restaurants in those parts, you can be sure you're getting your money's worth.

Dessert was another pleasure: hot plum-filled dumplings (125 CZK), smothered in chopped walnuts, powdered sugar, and homemade whipped cream. And while the service was a little brusque (and a little quick to take away plates), I appreciated the waiters' promptness and no-nonsense attitude.

Mr. Sapík is known to be a a die-hard defender of Czech cuisine; he has said in the past that it can rival even the gastronomy of the French. And although I'm skeptical of that particular point, his restaurant has distinguished itself as a key propagator of good, wholesome local food – whether it comes from the castle or the farm.

We need more restaurants like U Koně. If I had my way, I'd place a couple of them in the city where I live, but the charms of Klokočná add a lot to the experience: just in front of the restaurant is a placid square, where there is a pond, an old scale, and a pretty World War I memorial.

You might even see Mikeš scampering across the grass.

Restaurace a penzion U koně
Klokočná č.p. 8
Praha - Východ
map
Tel: 323 641 186

Open Wed – Fri 16:00 – 23:00, Sat 11:30 – 23:00, Sun 11:30 – 21:00. Closed Mon-Tues.

photographs: 1, 4, 5 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; 2 laduvkraj.cz; all others ukone.cz

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Restaurant Review: V Zátiší

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 25/04/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

I didn't expect much of V Zátiší. A tired restaurant that's been around for almost two decades? In this city, longevity is often less an indicator of consistent quality than a sign of stubbornness, of a refusal to either pack it in or move along with the times. Sure, V Zátiší was great back when it was pretty much the only nice restaurant around, but I doubted that it could compete with Prague's younger dining elite.

I should have known better. At the very least, I could have been tipped off by V Zátiší's radically remodeled aesthetic. Its outdated, colorful décor was stripped away last September by interior designer Barbara Hamplová and replaced with fanciful brown-on-slate wallpaper and comfy crushed velved armchairs. Sleek vases by local glasswear designer Rony Plesl are stuffed with feathers, cotton buds, and spotted eggs; framed botanical sketches and the carved birds perched on the drinks tables next to the bar complete the still life theme. The new interior is modern without being minimalist (many people would say anyway that done-to-death minimalism is no longer modern).

Any restaurant that undertakes such a bold shift after so many years must be making an effort. And V Zátiší really does make an effort: the staff was willing and cheerful from the moment my companion and I stepped in the door. The hostess who greeted us waited calmly while I spent a couple of minutes digging my mobile phone from out of my coat pocket before she carried our jackets away from our sight, and an equally patient waiter dispelled my confusion about the menu system.

"It's all very simple," he said, although it wasn't really as simple as he claimed. The menu's prices are listed like a regular à la carte, but if a customer selects two or more courses, he has composed for himself a "Deluxe Menu" with a set price ranging from 840 CZK (two courses) to 1390 CZK (five courses). Each of those can come with an optional wine tasting menu at additional price. But then doesn't everyone end up having a "Deluxe Menu" unless they only want one course? What's the point?

Then there was the matter of the Fish of the Day, which was priced as "Pay as you wish." Could I really pay whatever I wanted for that day's salmon special?

"Yes," the waiter assured me. "If you want, you can pay 20 CZK." Really?

"Yes, really, though most people end up getting one of the multi-course menus anyway." Aha, so I wouldn't really end up paying 20 CZK then, right?

The waiter started to look nervous. "If you like, we can agree on a price."

There was no need; I didn't want the fish special anyway. I had my heart set on the svíčková na smetaně (beef sirloin in cream sauce) (695 CZK), off the 'Bohemian Specialties' section of the menu. That small list is obviously catered to tourists who want to try Czech food, but I found it a bit of a shame that the Czech classics weren't integrated into the menu as a whole.

The svíčková was certainly good enough to stand alongside the other dishes. For the price, of course, one would expect a little more than a hospoda-style hotové jídlo version, and it was. The cuts of beef were thick and juicy, their sweet sauce bright yellow and obviously packed with vegetables. On the side was an herb-laden homemade Karlovarský knedlík (bread dumplings), cranberries over a dollop of crème fraiche, and green beans wrapped in bacon. Here, finally, is some of the local cuisine that a tourist could eat without going home and declaring Czech food to be inedible.

V Zátiší does have many tourist customers, apparently because the restaurant has worked out a deal with some of the city's hotels. But it is by no means a tourist restaurant, and is certainly not a "tourist trap," as I have labeled one or two of Prague's other veteran upscale establishments.

V Zátiší's head chef, Milan Hořejš, has a weakness for sweet, fruity flavors. The appetizer sampler (395 CZK) included a pumpkin and autumn pear soup with cinnamon cream (I couldn't taste the pear at all, but the cappucino-like cinnamon froth was a nice touch) and a green asparagus salad with pine nuts and a black currant dressing that also came with fresh red currants. The third sample was the oddly-named "seared beef carpaccio" – since carpaccio is by definition raw, the meat more closely resembled roast beef.

All of the above dishes were good, if unexceptional. What bothered me about them was their lack of seasonality. When I visited V Zátiší (at the end of March), it was not quite asparagus season, it was definitely not the best time for currants, and we were still a long way away from harvesting pumpkins. A seasonally-oriented menu not only allows a restaurant's dishes to complement the weather outside, but also (hopefully) indicates that their ingredients have been reared closer to home and are therefore fresher.

I also felt at times that there was too much happening on my plate. My dessert, the warm caramel gingerbread (245 CZK), came with three sauces: caramel, raspberry, and chocolate, plus a scoop of walnut-flavored ice cream. Apparently, V Zátiší is on some kind of sauce kick; each of their daily specials and many of their regular dishes come with the choice of two different sauces (the waiter recommended trying them both at once). There was wasabi beurre blanc sauce, squid ink sauce, mint aioli sauce, and more. There was an endless stream of little serving pitchers and dipping bowls and rectangular plates.

Why not just pick one great sauce for each dish and stick to it? The problem was similar to the menu's – there were too many variations. Limiting your customer's options doesn't have to be a bad thing. But I still came away from V Zátiší feeling that I'd had a nice meal served by kind people in a beautiful setting. And sometimes, the last impression is what ends up counting the most.

V Zátiší
Liliová 1
Praha 1 - Old Town
Tel: 222 221 155
map

Open Mon – Sun 12:00 - 15:00, 17:30 - 23:00

photographs 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; all others vzatisi.cz

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Restaurant Review: Tlustá Kachna

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 18/04/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

I had never been to Marco Polo IV., the international restaurant that was Tlustá Kachna's predecessor. Neither, it seemed, had many other people; the place was more or less consistently empty whenever I walked by it on my way to the Staroměstská metro stop. I had always assumed it was nothing more than a spot for the occasional hungry tourist to eat after having visited the Jewish cemetery across the street.

But when Marco Polo IV. was transformed by its new owners into Tlustá Kachna (The Fat Duck), people did start coming – and they were mostly locals. What had changed to suddenly make this formerly doomed location an attractive place to eat?

A few things happened with the décor: Marco Polo had had a Venetian theme, and was decorated with gondola poles and a lion's head fountain, along with a few random Asian knickknacks. Now, the pebble mosaic decorating the walls and the bright red ceiling have been painted white, and a sculpture of a duck sits in a glass display (the lion's head fountain remains intact). The furniture is darker, and the restaurant feels more subdued.

And, as suggested by its name, Tlustá Kachna doesn't serve the Italian – Asian mélange favored by its former owners. Instead, it has plain and simple Czech food, like svíčková (beef in cream sauce), Moravský brabec (Moravian 'sparrow'), and tatarák (steak tartare); according to its website, the chefs make food using their grandmothers' recipes. The menu change might help explain why this place has quickly gained a local following.

Well, that, and the fact that the price is right, too. Most Czech restaurants in Prague 1 are geared towards tourists, serving expensive and often subpar meals. The other option is traditional hospodas, which have cheap Czech food that is also subpar.

The paradox of Tlustá Kachna is that while it looks nothing like a hospoda, its food bears a lot of resemblance to what might be cooked at the U Parlamentu pub down the street. In general, the food I had was heavy on grease and low on quality ingredients.

The pork schnitzel (159 CZK), for example, had an unpleasantly thick crust that tasted vaguely of burnt oil, while the meat itself was challenging to cut through, let alone chew. It was a large portion (two good-sized řízky and a lot of small new potatoes) but I would have taken a half-sized version if it had meant the meat would be better. Ditto the svíčková na smetaně (179 CZK), with its leathery-textured beef and sickly-sweet sauce. Everyone likes their svíčková a little different, of course, but if you tried the one at the cheap, smoky pub by my house, I'm sure you'd agree that it is a much better version.

I did like the beef broth (49 CZK) – it was refreshingly Maggi-free and came with some good liver dumplings – and the smoked tongue (79 CZK), with its side of horseradish and spicy kozí roh red peppers, was tender and tasty. It was nice, too, that the dishes were served on homey-style, flower-patterned plates. The roasting pan that came with the Czech duck (195 CZK for ¼ duck; 295 CZK for ½ duck) was less successful, as its small size and high sides made the dish difficult to eat properly.

Even without the unfortunate choice of tableware, Tlustá Kachna's titular dish was something of a disappointment. The duck was overly greasy ("Tlustá" indeed!), its skin was floppy instead of crispy, and the potato dumpling was rubbery. To make another comparison with a different restaurant, a few nights later I had the ½ roasted duck at U Sádlů, and it was far superior – thick, crispy skin, juicy meat, and plenty of flavor. And it only cost 225 CZK. Remembering my meal at Tlustá Kachna, I found myself thinking that if those were Babička's recipes, then Babička wasn't a very good cook.

But then again, what do I know? Maybe real Czech food is supposed to be full of fatty, tendon-laced cuts of meat. Lots of people do seem to like it that way. But if that's how you want it, why not go to a nice hospoda where the atmosphere – and maybe even the food – will be better?

You see, the ambience at Tlustá Kachna is pretty weak. There's something about the lighting in the non-smoking area that makes it seem more like a science laboratory than a restaurant. The light is a little better in the smokers' section, but all the tea candles waiting in their holders have never been lit. Why have them at all if you’re not going to use them? And the décor feels haphazard – rattan chairs, kitschy fake flowerpots on the tables, a massive iron lantern-like thing by the staircase.

Still, there's one thing about Tlustá Kachna that works: the service. A vegetarian dining companion ordered the spaghetti aglio e oglio (to much eye-rolling from yours truly – who orders pasta in a Czech restaurant? They have fried cheese, after all). When it arrived, he discovered that it was full of bacon and cream instead of aglio e oglio (garlic and olive oil).

Although the waitress insisted that these were indeed the spaghetti aglio e oglio my friend had requested, she and her colleague were very accommodating in changing the order. They immediately took away the meaty spaghetti and asked what my companion would like with his pasta instead. Some cheese perhaps? A cream sauce? Vegetables? He went for the vegetables, and the replacement arrived quickly, with zero grumbling and no additional cost.

It's probably safe to say that this particular scene would never happen in a Czech pub, at least not any that I've ever come across. You'd be lucky if they even listened to your request to change dishes.

So I guess I was wrong. Maybe there's a reason to skip the pub and check out Tlustá Kachna after all. You definitely wouldn't be the first.

Tlustá Kachna
Široká 4
Praha 1 - Old Town
map
Tel: 224 819 668

Open Mon-Sun 11:00-24:00

photographs Viktor Chlad for Lidové Noviny; all others tlustakachna.cz

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Restaurant Review: Klášterní Šenk

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 28/02/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

As all restaurant-goers know, sometimes the quality of your experience at a particular restaurant depends not only on what you get, but whom you get. You can order everything right, but if you're stuck in the wrong seating section on the wrong day of the week, your food will end up tasting just that little bit more bitter.

That's what happened on my second trip to Klášterní Šenk, a cozy pub-restaurant located within the walls of the 10th-century Břevnov monastery.

My mother and I were having lunch. She ordered the soup of the day and I chose a main course off the regular menu; for seconds, we both ordered dessert. Her soup arrived promptly. I watched her eat it, hoping my halušky would come in time for us to dine together. Some time after the soup bowl had been cleared, my mother asked the waiter if the halušky were on their way, seeing as we had been waiting half an hour for them to come.

He promptly replied thus: "No, you have NOT been waiting thirty minutes." He then went to the register, hit a few buttons and returned with a very self-satisfied look on his face. "The order was put in at 12:40, and it is now 1:00. So you've been waiting twenty minutes."

Now, in America (and whatever you might think of the country, they do customer service very well) they have a saying: the customer is always right. It is an adage followed by just about everybody working in any service industry. Why? Because if the customer feels as if she has been waiting for thirty minutes, it has been thirty minutes. And because even if the customer is wrong, she should be treated with a level of courtesy and deference that will keep her happy.

I, instead, was treated like a booger. And that's fine; I'm pretty much used to it. Czech waiters often look at me as if I was something small, dry, and shriveled that they had just scooped from the inside wall of their nasal cavity. That especially happens when I do things like gently trying to explain that we had hoped to eat at the same time, and no we should not have had to tell the waitress that we wanted the food to come together because it should be obvious and in any case she should have asked us, etc., etc. The booger talks! It's always an interesting moment.

The argument went on for a full five minutes, as if the head waiter didn't have anything better to do in a packed restaurant during lunch hour than educate a couple of ladies about the correct way to order a meal.

Now contrast that experience with the one I'd had during dinner the week before: a friendly, charming server, who offered to make a cucumber salad although it wasn't on the menu (he ended up forgetting the salad, but apologized sincerely when he realized his mistake). I was pleasantly surprised by how patient he was with a friend who is a Czech beginner – he didn't pretend not to understand her, or start speaking in English, as so many servers often do. He even complimented her on her language skills.

So the service at Klášterní Šenk seems to be a little hit-or-miss. The food, on the other hand, is a lot more consistent. The dishes are mostly classic local fare and slightly more expensive than you'd find in your average pub, but all that much better in terms of quality and presentation. They are listed on the menu in funny, old-school Czech style: prsa z kačice, co na rybníku pod klášterem plula, s obé zelím i knedlíků (259 CZK) ("breast from a duck that swam on the pond under the monastery, with both cabbage and dumplings").

I tried one of the pricier entrées, the beef sirloin with chanterelle mushrooms (490 CZK). The meat was expertly cooked and seasoned, its inside pink but not dripping with blood, and the chanterelle gravy was a nice accompaniment. Even the corn on the cob (40 CZK) I'd ordered on the side was very good: instead of being shriveled or muddy like many pub cobs, this one was sweet and juicy. It was dressed in olive oil and a sprinkling of basil – an unusual choice, but tasty nonetheless.

A roast pork knee with sour cherries and horseradish (249 CZK) was excellent, too, as was the mushroom-packed kulajda in a bread bowl (59 CZK). And nothing makes me happier than opening up a menu to find hearty Czech sweet dishes, long replaced in most restaurants by tiramisus and cheesecakes. At Klášterní Šenk, you'll find fluffy lívance (Czech pancakes) with whipped cream and blueberries (69 CZK), or delectable potato dumplings filled with plum preserve and served with a vanilla-tinged sweet cheese sauce (69 CZK). The beer on tap is, appropriately enough, the rarely-seen eleven-degree Klášter (0.5l for 32 CZK).

To find all these delights, you'll have to make your way out to Břevnov, but even if you're coming from across town, it really is worth it. The setting – just adjacent to the St. Margaret church and its surrounding gardens – is positively serene, and makes an ideal spot for a pre- or post-meal stroll. And with its birchwood-burning fireplace (not always lit, unfortunately), stone walls, and wooden beams, the rustic-style restaurant is uniquely charming.

But lots of people already seem to have figured that out for themselves. Klášterní Šenk is a popular destination for weddings and other large-scale events, and if warned a few days in advance, they can prepare a full-on feast with roast duck, goose, and other specialties. On regular days, they are consistently packed for both lunch (they have a 99 CZK menu on weekdays) and dinner, so reservations are recommended.

And the restaurant is recommended, too. Just be careful who you order from.

Klášterní Šenk
Markétská 1/28
Praha 6 - Břevnov
map
Tel: 220 406 294
Open Mon – Sun 11:30–23:00

photographs 1, 2, 4, 5 Jindřich Mynařík for Lidové Noviny; all others klasternisenk.cz

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