My new favorite lunch spot is Home Kitchen on Jungmannova. It's about the size of a large closet and only has a few seats, but it serves honest food made fresh several times a day. The menu changes frequently, with three different soups daily (I warmed myself up with a fantastic dill and potato version), a meat entree (like duck breast with rosehip sauce and gratinated potatoes), and a couple of vegetarian items (stuffed peppers or eggplant parmigiana with turnip purée). The cozy brick walls, pleasant service, and neat take-out packaging make Home Kitchen feel distinctly un-Prague-like (a more complete write-up can be found on Cuketka's blog).
I was very sad to
hear that one of our best and most innovative restaurants, Sofia Smith's Asian-inspired Angel, has apparently closed. Celèste, Angel's sister restaurant, is still open, and I recently had a great meal there -- the desserts were particularly awesome -- but Angel will be sorely missed.
More predictable, perhaps, is the closing of Le Cornichon, which was resurrected with a new chef after a hiatus last summer, but never managed to regain its buzz. La Casa Blu, meanwhile, is still fighting to renew its lease; updates can be found on its homepage.
As m
any of you know, I left my position as Lidove Noviny's restaurant critic at the end of last year (their farewell interview with me can be read here). I'll be putting the blog on hold while I pursue other passions and things. Thank you to all my readers, even the more vicious ones, for your support. You kept it interesting -- and kept me in check occasionally, too.
And if you find anyplace good to eat in this town, be sure to let me know.
photographs: homekitchen.cz, Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny, lecornichon.cz, Prague Spoon
Monday, February 1, 2010
Food news: Openings, closings, and goodbye Spoon
Monday, January 25, 2010
Restaurant Review: Le Terroir
I'm being watched. Somebody is creeping up behind me, and although I can't see or hear him, my whole body has stiffened in anticipation. I try to relax – maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe the feeling will pass.
It doesn't. From over my left shoulder, a hand appears, brandishing a bottle of wine. My glass is filled. The hand leaves. No more than thirty seconds later, I get that same feeling again. Another hand comes into view, wearing a white glove this time, and sets down a fresh set of cutlery. A minute later, a third person is adding a splash of Vittel to our water glasses.
The next time I sense someone approaching, I turn around. It is another waiter, but he has apparently decided there isn't much left for him to do. He turns our water bottles so the labels are facing outwards, gives us a long look, and exits.
By this poin
t, I've given up on trying to have any sort of meaningful conversation with my date; the parade of unnecessary intrusions has been going on since we first sat down. Because we would prefer not to be overheard by the wait staff, we've stopped talking whenever they've come by.
There was a time when hovering service was expected of a fancy restaurant – if you didn't have the waiter's armpit in your face for most of the evening, you weren't getting your money's worth. But times have changed, and Le Terroir doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. Have they been living in a cave for the past ten years?
Well, sort of, yes. Le Terroir is one of those below-ground restaurants with lots of bricked arches and no windows, another concept that was appealing at a certain point in history but now feels heavily outdated.
But an underground restaurant still has its cozy charms, and its advantages, too; at Le Terroir, a portion of the cellar is dedicated to its vast wine selection, and patrons can, through a glass door, glimpse the stacks of crates and bottles as they are shown to their seats. Wine is important here, as is implied by the name (there are even soil samples of various terroirs – the environment in which a wine is produced – laid into a section of the restaurant's floor). The list itself is a pretty hefty tome, with a wide spectrum of bottles ranging from the under-1000 CZK mark to a justifiably pricey 1949 Latour. For those intimidated by the amount of choice, the sommelier's selection at the front of the menu is a helpful place to start.
Considering the obvious care that has been put into the wines, it was a bit strange to be asked which bottle we wanted before we'd even had a chance to look at the dinner menu. Surely it was understood that we wanted to choose our wine according to our meal? The sommelier didn't seem to get it, though; when we said we'd like to see our food options first, he looked mildly bewildered.
As it turned out, we wouldn't just see our food options: we would hear them, too. Someone at Le Terroir has decided that it would be classy for the servers to spout off, from memory, the evening's offerings – exactly as they are written in the menu that they have just handed their guests.
This kind of thing works in a place where the waiters know the menu so well that they can rattle it off without a second's thought, and add some informative details along the way, but this was nothing short of torture. I felt like I was back in school, watching a completely unprepared student stumble her way through an oral exam. It didn't help, of course, that our poor waitress had to deliver the speech in English, blushing and stammering and awkwardly-pausing her way through a ten-course degustation menu. It was all I could do not to mouth her the answers: "scallops with… SAFFRON CONSOMME."
For all the cluelessness of the wait staff, the food mostly isn't bad. Chef Jan Punčochář prides himself on using high-quality ingredients. His concise menu changes often; the restaurant is even closed on Sundays and Mondays, when it's hard to find fresh produce. The style is French, and even if you don't order a degustation menu (ranging from 1190 CZK for three courses to 1690 CZK for six courses), you will still be pampered with various amuses-bouche between dishes.
My favorite amuse was a piece of crayfish served alongside a fennel salad and slices of orange – perfectly seasoned, simple, and light. I was less keen on the guinea fowl wrapped in bacon and topped with mashed potatoes; although it was good, it was very large, almost enough to be its own course.
My wild duck appetizer (450 CZK), too, was a hefty portion, one I could easily have handled as an entrée. But the seared pieces of duck breast were pleasantly gamey, and were well-complemented by the cubes of fresh pumpkin and spinach leaves served on the side. I quite liked my main course, too, a baked shoulder of wild pig served with chestnuts and Brussels sprouts (640 CZK).
Unfortunately, dessert – a chocolate and quark terrine with strawberry granité – was on the bland side, and my companion's fish of the day (890 CZK) was completely off. The turbot was fairly dry, and served (inexplicably) with pasta and some calamari that were well past their prime. The whole dish was so fishy, in fact, that we could smell it long before it reached our table.
We'd had about 8,000 close encounters with our waiters that evening, but at the end of the meal, there was no one to bring us our check. By the time we left, I was so exhausted that I couldn't even make a snide remark to my friend about the 265 CZK water bottle that appeared on the bill, or the fact that our coats hadn't been hung up on hangers even though there were plenty of empty ones to use. "Let's just get out of here," I said.
So we did.
Le Terroir
Vejvodova 1
Praha 1
map
Tel.: 222 220 260
Open Tues-Sat 11:00-23:00
photographs 2, 3, 5, 6 Ondřej Němec for Lidové Noviny; all others leterroir.cz
This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 12/19/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Restaurant Review: Café de Paris
This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 13/06/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.
There's only one reason to go to Café de Paris: the beef entrecôte.
The menu doesn't leave its patrons with too many other options. The choices are as follows: French onion soup, a foie gras terrine, the beef entrecôte, a vegetarian version of the beef entrecôte, and a goat cheese salad. Two appetizers, two entrees, and a salad. That's it. Pretty ballsy, if you ask me.
Well, there are the daily specials, which seem to be more of a fixed menu than they first appear. Those give you a little more breathing room, although they hardly seem necessary, given the quality of Café de Paris's star entrée.
The entrec
ôte (279 CZK) comes with a green salad, drenched in a deliciously mustard-y French vinaigrette. The salad is brought out first, and they recommend that you eat half of it immediately and the other half with your meat. Your table is then presented with two miniature grills, lit from below with candles to keep the food warm. On one goes a platter of French fries; the other is reserved for the entrecôte. Some slices of fresh baguette come with all this, too, in case the fries don't fill you up.
The beef is cooked medium rare (unless you specify otherwise) and is sliced into thin strips. You can choose whether you want it with Béarnaise sauce, red wine Parisienne sauce, or the special Café de Paris sauce, which is made according to a "secret family recipe" that has been around for seventy-five years.
My best guess is that the secret sauce contains butter, tarragon, and Dijon mustard – not entirely dissimilar to the Béarnaise, which is usually made with butter, tarragon, egg yolks, and vinegar. It is herb-laden and wonderful, a perfect accompaniment to the juicy grilled meat. On occasion, the beef can be a little chewy, but that is pretty typical of an entrecôte, which is a fattier cut of meat than some others. I would challenge anyone to show me a better example of steak frites in Prague.
Now lest you think that this whole delicious setup is a homegrown invention, I'm going to regale you with a little history (of which I myself was not aware until my faithful friend Wikipedia spelled it out for me while doing my research). The original Café de Paris is located in Geneva, where in the 1930s a certain Mr. Boubier developed a buttery sauce to accompany his restaurant's entrecôte. The sauce came to be known as "Café de Paris sauce" and the dish became the only dish on the restaurant's menu. Today, the name and the secret sauce recipe have been licensed to various restaurants around the world, one of which is the Café de Paris in Prague.
A similar concept – with a similar sauce – has been espoused by the unaffiliated L'Entrecôte chain of restaurants in France, the first of which opened in 1959 and was modeled after the original Café de Paris. Two years ago, a reporter from the magazine Le Monde claimed to have chemically analyzed L'Entrecôte's secret sauce and discovered its ingredients: a combination, he says, of fresh thyme, thyme flowers, full cream, white Dijon mustard, butter, and strained chicken livers. L'Entrecôte insists that this analysis is incorrect.
Prague's Café de Paris is understandably tight-lipped about their sauce's makeup. And even if their other dishes are less mysterious, they are often just as good. The French onion soup (45 CZK) was made from a delicate white wine broth and not broiled in a ramekin, but decorated with a single slice of crispy baguette and a modest amount of melted cheese. This made the soup much lighter and more appropriate for the summer season than the cheese-encrusted versions we are more used to seeing.
The foie gras terrine (159 CZK), too, was small but satisfying – a buttery slice of foie topped with toasted sesame seeds and surrounded by a potent sour cherry and plum coulis. Unfortunately, the special soup they had on offer, a lukewarm chicken broth "strengthened with gin" (65 CZK) and served in a martini glass with a wedge of lime, was as salty as seawater. I was also a little underwhelmed by the vegetarian version of the entrecôte platter (259 CZK), with its slightly overcooked eggplant and zucchini drenched in a goopy Béarnaise sauce. But the smoky tofu fritters that came with it were surprisingly tasty, if not quite as good as the beef my companion was tucking into.
A good part of Café de Paris's charm comes from its atmosphere – its quiet location on Maltézské náměstí, the small tables out front and in the courtyard, and the two tiny rooms decorated with red leather seats and postcards from happy customers. It's also nice to have your food served at the table by the waiters, who come around to fill up your plates with meat and French fries once you've polished off your first helping. The general feeling is of a homey little family-run place, where they don't pretend to be anything they're not.
And because this is a French restaurant, they have a thoughtful selection of wines from the home country – reasonably-priced – as well as some delicious sparkling cranberry, ginger, and elderflower lemonades (a little less reasonably-priced at 69 CZK for a small bottle).
I've written before that crème brulée is a bit of a cheap trick, but the one at Café de Paris (95 CZK) is worth ordering anyway. It was crusty on top, super-creamy below, and served with a scoop of mango ice cream and a dusting of salted cayenne pepper. It's a perfect finish to a meal at this soulful little restaurant.
Café de Paris
Maltézské náměstí 4
Praha 1 – Malá Strana
map
Tel: 603 160 718
Open Mon-Sun 12:00-24:00
photographs: 1, 4, 5, 7 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; all others cafedeparis.cz
Monday, June 15, 2009
Restaurant Review: Céleste
This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 30/05/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.
The freshly-posted instructions on the outside of the Dancing House are very clear: if you want to get to the top of this icon of modern architecture, you'll have to pay a visit to Céleste first.
The Dancing House is a tricky sort of building. Its towers, nicknamed "Fred and Ginger" for their abstract resemblance to a pair of dancers, are oddly shaped – Ginger, the one made out of glass, is tapered to mimic a woman's form – and its windows are staggered in a wavelike pattern. But Frank O. Gehry's and Vlado Milunić's deconstructivist masterpiece is a risky restaurant location for a different reason: it doesn't get much foot traffic, and there's plenty of the other kind.
To get to the restaurant, you pass through Céleste's small ground-floor bar, where the bartender hits the elevator button and calls upstairs to announce your imminent arrival. And once you're up on the seventh floor, the view is wonderful: the river, the castle, the far-off greenery of Petřín. You'd even forget about the traffic jam downstairs, if you couldn't see a half-kilometer-long line of cars stretching up to Karlovo náměstí.
Céleste is sister to one of Prague's best restaurants, Angel. But here the cuisine is French, not Asian, and the mood is more upscale – white tablecloths, fussier waiters, and slightly higher prices. By
all appearances, Céleste is not dissimilar to the previous tenant, La Perle de Prague, which closed recently after having operated since the Dancing House's completion in 1996.
Yet anyone who has visited both restaurants would surely agree that Céleste is a major step up from the overpriced, uninspired La Perle. The new head chef is Gwendal Le Ruyet, a Frenchman from Brittany who spent five years working under Michelin-starred chef Alain Ducasse, among other prestigious international posts. His cooking – much like that of Sofia Smith, who helms Angel's kitchen – is bold and self-assured, with an emphasis on seasonal ingredients.
One of the waiters recommended that I try the lettuce soup as an appetizer, but there was no need; I had been planning on ordering it anyway. I really like cold soups, and this one sounded especially intriguing: a velouté of spring lettuce with pan-seared escargots and tarragon foam (275 CZK). The soup itself turned out to be a rich spinach-green color, full of the snappy flavor of fresh lettuce but slightly under-salted – which didn't really matter because the escargots were very savory (they also, for some reason, seemed to taste mildly of bacon). Some fresh shredded lettuce leaves and a few crunchy miniature croutons added texture to this well-balanced dish.
This is modern French cooking at its best. Le Ruyet has preserved the classic culinary techniques and rich sauces of his predecessors, but the dishes are lighter, more pared-down. He often does away with carbohydrates completely: the preparation of a pan-seared cod fillet (450 CZK as part of a two-course lunch menu; 550 CZK for three courses) cleverly evoked a classic beef Bourguignon, with its thick red wine sauce, pearl onions, and button mushrooms, but there were no potatoes to weigh the meal down.
Another fish dish, the sturgeon fillet (625 CZK) was similarly fresh-tasting and very appropriate for the spring season. It was served with pink grapefruit and fresh radishes, along with a green pea puree that was a nice homage to mushy peas (typically found next to fish and chips in English pubs). The sturgeon was perfectly cooked, but the citrus sauce it came with had an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste, as if some lemon rind had gotten in there by accident.
If you are a die-hard carbohydrate lover, don't worry: Céleste makes their own bread, and it is excellent. We were offered a choice of rosemary, white sesame with onion, black sesame, and rye flavors. Finally, an upscale restaurant that doesn't get its bread from the Mansson bakery like everybody else.
Céleste seems determined to do things differently, and better. Their dessert menu is full of unusual surprises, like the heavenly purple pears with red wine granita, mascarpone, and salted Brittany biscuit (195 CZK). My dinner companion said his roasted lamb with daikon radish and artichokes (595 CZK) was the best he'd ever had in this country, and the server proudly explained that it was organic Moravian lamb, not meat that had been shipped in from New Zealand or elsewhere. And they even offer Mattoni and Bonaqua along with the pricier imported waters.
On both my visits, the service was very good, if a little over-eager. Because I was recognized by a waiter who knew me from my frequent visits to Angel, I can't say for sure that it would be the same for other customers. But I have no doubt that the servers at Céleste will be professional and friendly to everyone who walks into their refined purple and gray-themed dining room.
When you do visit, ask to sit in the "Ginger" section of the restaurant, which is surrounded by glass and has a clearer view. Or, better yet, arrange an evening in their private dining room upstairs, which is absolutely stunning and can seat anywhere from two to twenty people. From there, you can walk out onto the circular terrace that crowns the Fred tower and look out across the city in the fresh air.
When you leave, of course, you'll be walking back into that big intersection. Not the most inspiring setting for a post-dinner walk – but by then, you'll be so drunk on lovely food and magical views that you won't even care.
Céleste Restaurant & Bar
Tančící dům
Rašínovo nábřeží 80
Praha 2 – Nove Mesto
map
Tel: 221 98 41 60
Open Mon-Sat 12:00-14:30, 18:30-22:30. Closed Sunday.
photographs: 1, 3, 4 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; all others celesterestaurant.cz
Monday, April 27, 2009
Restaurant Review: L'Ardoise
This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 11/04/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.
The scallops would have been perfect if they weren't gritty.
They were part of an unusual dish: seared scallops with galettes and poached pears (360 CZK). A galette is a savory buckwheat pancake native to Brittany, and its grainy texture was a nice contrast with the slippery smoothness of the scallop meat.
In theory, anyway. These mollusks hadn't been properly rinsed, so they tasted like they had been battered in sand – not my favorite method of scallop preparation. It was really a shame, because without the grit, the dish would have been memorably tasty (by the way, check out La Crêperie in Holešovice if you want to try inexpensive galettes made in the more traditional way).
L'Ardoise is owned by a Frenchman named Alexandre Déon – son of well-known writer Michel Dé
on – who settled in Prague after meeting his wife on a local film set (Déon's other career is in the movie industry). The small Vinohrady restaurant, first opened in September of 2006, has recently reopened after a brief hiatus.
I never visited L'Ardoise before its closure, so I don't know if there have been any major changes in the interim. But what greeted me when I first came in was a pleasantly-lit corner restaurant, decorated with beige leather banquettes, white tablecloths, and colorful paintings by Italian artist Franco Hüller. There were also a few shelves of antique Czech toys – cars, puppets, and dollhouse furniture.
The welcome was pleasant, too; a friendly waiter took our coats and asked which section we would prefer. Since the restaurant was more or less empty, we had our pick: smoking or non. Since I always prefer non-smoking, that's where we went. On my first visit, there was no problem, but on my second, the non-smoking area was distinctly, well… smoky. Not actively smoky, but it smelled as if it had been smoked in recently. During a late-night party, perhaps? Or maybe the fumes had just wafted over from the other side of the restaurant. Oh well. It wasn't too offensive – it just made the air a little stale.
The menu at L'Ardoise is small, and during my dinner visit, there was only one special: some kind of veal liver dish that the server didn't voluntarily describe and seemed a little hesitant about. We didn't order it.
There is a fair amount of veal on the menu, by the way – two of six entrees, which is a little unusual. I ordered the veal cheeks (380 CZK). Veal is the most tender kind of meat, and the cheeks are one of its most delicate muscles, so even if you've never had veal cheeks before, you can imagine just how wonderful they can be. Each morsel of meat flaked off the fork, and the thin ripples of cheek fat added a luscious creaminess to every bite. The cheeks were served in a thick brown gravy and with a small side (a little too small, perhaps) of gratinated potatoes and some mildly sad-looking vegetables.
The same vegetables accompanied my companion's salmon millefeuille (310 CZK) – a dish that came with some tough-looking, almost cookie-like pastries that she didn't like. A different companion made the wrong choice, too, when he opted for a lunch menu (390 CZK for appetizer and main course) featuring some baked gnocchi that were so overcooked they were more like mashed potatoes than pasta. They came in a heavy cream sauce, baked with parmesan. Not much imagination, and not much flavor, either.
The vegetable soup (90 CZK) was very bland too, although I did appreciate the fact that it had just the right amount of creaminess and was sprinkled with some crispy fried onions (the onions were also used in several other dishes I tried). And although it isn't always perfect, the food at L'Ardoise does have a fresh simplicity that I like. They don't do too much to their food; in some cases, they let you play with it instead.
That's how the beef entrecôte (490 CZK) was served – a massive slab of meat with just a little seasoning on it. The beef came with various sides: boiled new potatoes, herb butter, a small dish of sea salt, and two kinds of French mustard. The steak was medium rare, as I had ordered it, but it was cooked unevenly. Some portions of it were dripping with blood, which should never really happen even if the steak was ordered rare.
Even if the previous courses were a little hit or miss, the desserts were a pleasant surprise. A chocolate fondant (160 CZK), dubbed something like "hot chocolate love" by our waiter, was baked to perfection, and the tarte tatin (a traditional French caramelized apple tart) was accompanied by an aromatic scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. When, on my second visit, my companion and I chose not to order dessert, they brought us something sweet anyway – a spoonful of dark chocolate mousse with a dab of white chocolate mousse and a small homemade cookie. It was just the thing to hit the spot, and to make me want to order a whole portion of mousse on my next visit.
The way I see it, L'Ardoise is a good little neighborhood restaurant with the occasional good dish. It's not really a destination spot, but it's a place you might want to go if you live in the area or happen to be passing by. I can see it being especially attractive in the spring and summertime, when people can sip vintages on their large outdoor terrace. By then, maybe they'll have fixed a few of the kinks in their kitchen.
L'Ardoise
Bruselská 7
Praha 2 - Vinohrady
map
Tel.: 222 524 102
photographs 1, 3, 4 František Vlček for Lidové Noviny; all others ardoise.cz
Monday, February 23, 2009
Restaurant Review: The French Restaurant at Obecní Dům
This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 07/02/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.
There's a funny thing I've been noticing about Czech restaurants lately: the service isn't nearly as bad as it used to be.
Sure, you do come across the occasional pissed-off waitress who behaves as if your ordering an omelet with Gruyère cheese is a personal affront (which is what happened to me recently during brunch at Café Savoy), and things aren't always as professional and efficient as we'd like them to be. But whe
n I started writing this column, I expected to be using up a lot more space writing about outlandishly rude waiters. Just a few years ago, that would have been the norm. Things have gotten better, I suppose -- or maybe I've just been lucky lately.
Table service tends to be the worst at tourist traps, since the staff doesn't expect to ever see their customers again (and many visitors tip poorly for the same reason). But even in those restaurants, there seems to have been a marked improvement.
I don't seek out touristy restaurants very often. Sometimes, however, the tourist traps come to me. I find out that a place comes highly recommended by local food experts an
Case in point: the Francouzská Restaurace at Obecní Dům. The location itself, although it is a sightseeing favorite, is not what makes this restaurant a tourist trap. Neither is the service, which is polite and quite professional. What marks it as a place no self-respecting local would go – even a local with a lot of money to throw around – are the prices.
How can these people possibly think they can get away with charging 165 CZK for a small shot of espresso? And this is not the coffee bean excreted by wild Indonesian civet cats or some other such fashionable brew, but regular old Lavazza. They do serve it with an unannounced drop of Rémy-Martin, but I still shudder to think what a double (or, God forbid, a cappuccino) might cost. Some restaurants that are not exactly tourist traps charge outrageous prices for their coffee, too, such as Allegro at the Four Seasons – but at least in that case, the bill is somewhat justified by the fanciness of the coffee and quality of the food.
You can't really say the same for Francouzská Restaurace. Although the food generally isn't especially bad, it is especially pricey: appetizers range from 490 to 690 CZK; entrées are between 590 and 950 CZK (ordering three courses gets you a set menu price that's a better deal). Looking at the menu posted outside and the restaurant's gorgeous Art Nouveau interior, an unassuming couple of tourists might conclude that this is one of Prague's most upscale restaurants and treat themselves to a special night out. But they would be making a mistake.
Shriveled, dry, and tasting unmistakeably of burnt oil, the grilled octopus appetizer (690 CZK) was a genuine rip-off, even if the saffron risotto it came with was decently executed. The pumpkin soup (490 CZK) was so creamy that I could hardly discern the flavor of the vegetable at all, and was garnished by a few soggy strands of zucchini that had most likely been cooked in the same offending oil. Value for money this was not.
I do have some good things to say about my main course, the Czech duck roast. At Francouzská Restaurace, appropriately enough, they make duck in the French style, meaning that the breast and legs are prepared to different degrees of doneness: the breast arrived medium rare, while the drumstick was thoroughly cooked through. Otherwise, the dish was all Czech, with sides of both bread and potato dumplings, red cabbage, and stuffing, along with a pear marinated in alcohol that I thought was a nice touch. This was not an inexpensive dish, but it was well-made and the portion was large; I would recommend this one to any vistor who wants to try Czech food done in a more refined way.
Despite Francouzská Restaurace's magnificent architecture, and even with the accompaniment of an exceptional piano player, the gigantic room still felt uninviting. It may have been the white covers over the wooden chairs, or the bright lighting, or the handing over of our coats to a bored-looking coat-check lady when we first walked in, but the warm, luxurious atmosphere I'd hoped for just wasn't quite there – and the tourist puffing away at a cigar throughout our meal didn't help much, either.
Even in the best of times, the restaurant business is incredibly difficult, and in a city oversaturated with expensive dining options (and now about to lose more and more tourist dollars to the financial crisis), the challenge must be even harder. I can see why resorting to old restaurant tricks like overpricing the drinks sometimes feels like a necessity to survive.
But whether we are locals or tourists, most of us have worked hard for our money, too, and would rather not spend 110 CZK of it on a 0.2 L bottle of Coca-Cola. The problem is we won't realize we're being charged so much until after we've received our bill and it's too late. Who, after all, checks the non-alcoholic drinks list before ordering a bottle of water or a cup of coffee?
I certainly don't – but it looks like it may be time for me to start.
Francouzská restaurace v Obecním domě v Praze
Náměstí Republiky 5
Praha 1 - Old Town
map
Tel: +420 222 002 770
photographs 1, 4, 5, 6 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; all others francouzskarestaurace.cz
Monday, January 12, 2009
Restaurant Review: La Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise
This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 20/12/08 edition of Lidové Noviny.
The La Dégustation experience begins with a phone call.
An unfailingly polite staff member takes your reservation and asks if you've been to the restaurant before. If you haven’t, he'll explain La Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise's concept to you: traditional Czech and Mediterranean dishes made with modern culinary techniques served as seven-course tasting menus with seven different amuse-bouches. He then inquires whet
her you or any of your dining companions have any food allergies or restrictions – the kitchen is more than willing to accommodate them. Finally, he'll tell you that he and his colleagues are looking forward to seeing you at their restaurant. And you will actually believe him.
Once your date is set, it's time for you to mentally prepare yourself. Here's what you need to know prior to dining at La Dégustation:
1. You will eat a lot. A degustation (tasting) dinner may consist of small plates, but fourteen small plates add up pretty quickly. So it's probably a good idea to skip the svíčková for lunch that day.
2. You will spend a lot of money. Memorably wonderful gourmet experiences at La Dégustation's level don't – and shouldn't – come cheap. Still, considering the quality of the food and service, this is one of the better-value upscale restaurants in town.
3. You will enjoy yourself immensely (but only if you are eating with somebody you like). Dinner here usually takes at least three hours, so this is not the place to bring your cranky mother-in-law or the guy who loves to narrate, word for word, scenes from films you don't care about or have never even heard of.
If, on the other hand, you're looking to impress somebody, La Dégustation is the place to go, even if it might not seem that way on first glance. The atmosphere is elegant but understated – dark woods and soft brown leathers dominate the décor; the tablecloths aren’t spread over the tops of the tables but hang from their sides. Nina Simone croons quietly from the speakers, and the manager wears jeans and a blazer. They don't need to use any old-fashioned fancy gimmicks here to justify their prices.
A taste of your first amuse-bouche or two and you'll understand why. The opening treat was a creamy little bonbon of foie gras in dark chocolate sprinkled with sea salt. Then came a phenomenal beef tartare – the best I've ever tried – neatly sandwiched by two round pieces of toasted bread.
The big decision is between three tasting menus, each of which varies slightly from week to week. The Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise (1850 CZK) consists of modernized traditional Czech dishes; the Dégustation Terre et Eau (1950 CZK) is a lighter, fish- and vegetable-heavy, mostly Mediterranean menu; and the Sélection du Chef (2650 CZK) is a combination of both with some additional pricey goodies, such as foie gras and lobster (half menus are also available, as is a newly-instated lunch menu). Each can be supplemented by a wine pairing, ranging in price from 1000 to 1500 CZK, selected by La Dégustation's knowledgeable sommeliers.
The kitchen emphasizes fresh, seasonal ingredients, many of them sourced from local organic farms. In pairing these high-quality goods with a sense of playfulness and sound technical skill, head chef Oldřich Sahajdák achieves a feat that has eluded so many local chefs: he has elevated classic Czech food to meet international standards.
Take, for example, the oyster blade organic beef – so tender that its strands flake away from one another at the touch of a fork – served alongside a perfectly poached egg, mashed potatoes rolled in breadcrumbs, and a lemony dill cream sauce. It's a refined version of koprová omáčka (beef in dill sauce), the flavors both Czech and worldly, familiar yet novel.
Other dishes touch on the scientifically-based techniques of molecular gastronomy. A luscious seared foie gras was paired with a gelée of sweet Monbazillac wine and fluffy almond purée; another amuse bouche, a "ravioli" made entirely from a paper-thin slice of carrot, popped under the teeth to release a surprising gush of homemade apple juice.
Oversights are made here too, on occasion. My poached lobster claw, presented in a beet sauce with creamy leek and cashew nuts, was so overcooked it was hard to swallow, and a Jerusalem artichoke soup with orange "caviar" and bell pepper preserve was disappointingly bland.
But it is easy to forgive the occasional misstep of a team so dedicated to their craft. During the course of our meal, the restaurant's friendly manager, Filip Trčka, showed us a tattered book filled with sticky notes, written by 19th-century "culinary personality" Marie B. Svobodová. Discovered in an antique bookstore, this archaic manual for soon-to-be brides was the inspiration for creating La Dégustation and now serves as the chefs' primary reference, a vintage culinary Bible for an innovative kitchen that has a real sense of purpose.
Which is not to say that every great restaurant needs an old book or a romantic story. But La Dégustation's origins, and the palpable pride of every staff member working in the open kitchen and on the restaurant floor, help explain why this is such a remarkable place.
I could enthuse much more if I had the space. Instead, I'll say only this: all of the passion, originality, and joy long missing from Czech restaurants are alive and well in La Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise. If you can at all afford it, go. And when you do, tip generously – knowing La Dégustation, they'll probably deserve it.
La Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise
Haštalská 18
Praha 1 - Old Town
map
Tel: 222 311 234
Open Mon-Sat 18.00-24.00, Tues-Thurs 12:00-14:30
photographs 1, 5, 7 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; all others ladegustation.cz
