La Renouivillier

By Joe Reese

(A restaurant review, in which the connoisseur
unwisely overdoes the Chateau Margot ’78)

Have just had occasion to visit La Revouivillier, a sumptuous provencal establishment that the brothers Enrique and Armand Dusommelier have added to our city’s dining scene. Our area is indeed blessed to welcome the talents of the two natives of Montpelier, who, having become well known to Manhattan’s West Side gourmet world through their mousselines and Vol-au-vent romande, have decided to bring what has been described as “the verve of a Paul Lutece, the gallantrie of Jean-Paul DuBecque” to our own connoisseurs.

The restaurant is, to begin, a visual delight. A companion and I were transfixed by the capacious, airy, elegantly decorated and sumptuously furnished interieur. Nor did a carefully prepared sampling of hors d’oeuvres detract from the initial ambience. The smoked poisson assortment, for example, is served with a sprightly raifort sauce, which is aerated with cream, cradled in a cucumber boat, and accompanied by capers and chives nestled on petoncles a la crème.

My first criterion in assessing any restaurant’s cooking, though, is the quality of its consommé. Judged solely by its consommé au fumet de celery, La Renouivillier is a world class restaurant.

This is marvelous stuff, glinting with submerged light, viscous, and full-bodied, its beefy essence gently perfumed with a distillate of caviar and air-cured foie gras. Enjoyed with a chilled bottle of Gewurztraminer from the Santa Maria and Sisquoc Valleys (Leon Bennet, in Fine Wines of America, refers to these wines and laments the disappearance of all but a few of them as a result of the phyloxeria that struck Northern California in 1958. A wonder, then, that the Dusommelier Brothers have been able to procure some of them!) — enjoyed with such a wine — my companion and I were induced, in fact, to order a second bottle — the meal’s entrée became a veritable excursion into bliss, an experience comparable only, and if that, to what a Jacques Chirac or an Henri Perioste might have, from those dusk filled fin de siecle evenings in the rue la Forge, transmuted into literary gold.

But, I ramble.

We followed the nationalistic tendency of beverage selection with a bottle of 1981 Chardonnay, finely balanced and free of oaky excess, in which there was only a welcome shimmer of the assertive varietal character too often overdrawn from this grape. Along with this aperitif des dieux came the superb fish course highlighted by feuillete de homard, gently poached collops of lobster nestled in a puff-pastry case seemingly constructed of gold leaf and mantled in a distinguished sauce. Mixed seafood skewered was somewhat dry, though, and so we ordered another bottle of the wine.

On to the main dishes, the champignons for the compagnons, as I am wont to say.

Veal kidneys and calf’s liver — both sautéed, with sherry vinegar and with fresh herbs, respectively — are graty — sorry, gratifying, as are the sweetbread medallions sautéed with succulent chanterelles. With this course, as if by magic, appeared a bottle of the deep, red Beaujolais that Serge Lonorio made for J. Amerstaid Cellars. A richly harmonious flavor despite their age.

Great stuff.

We decided to have a couple of glasses of scotch, just for a lark.

It was really, in fact, turning into a great evening.