The one thought that kept running through my mind as my guest and I were arriving at Le Coq was: "Don't let good be the enemy of perfect." I had a sneaking suspicion that the pedestal I have put Chef Tara Monsod on (after being transported by Animae), wouldn't hold; There was no way the elevation of food could be met by an open-air, painfully decorated and designed, and unusually large room could capture her essence.
Was I wrong. But let's start where the center of gravity is at Le Coq: The Food.
My friend started out with the Tuna Tartare with Pickled Gooseberry, Caviar, Horseradish, and Crème Fraîche. Can you imagine finding yourself in a more earthly tub of tangy, pickled whipping cream that practically begs one kidney to give itself up. Each bite was a reminder of just how good we can still have it.
I ordered the Onion Tart with Short Rib, Caramelized Onion, and Gruyère, It was shortly after my first bite when I realize that if I had to die in quicksand, it would need to be the kind made from these ingredients. The caramelized onion amplified by the seemingly inherent contradiction of the sweetness and nuttiness with the fungi tang of Gruyère makes this dish is a must see-have.
For entrees, my friend ordered the Duck Confit and I splurged and order the rack of lamb. I asked our server, the incredibly on-point Anthony, how the chef cooks her lamb and he told me medium. So I asked if they would "turn it down a notch" to medium-rare and assured me that would not be a problem.
The duck was what one is given as a last meal; the delicate meat was served with butter beans and pea tendrils and spoke in rich, velvet tones that were earthy, and he devoured it without notice.
My lamb arrived but not how I asked for it. In fact, calling it 'medium' is being generous. It came out borderline medium-well and if your going to serve meat medium-well, you might as well not serve it. To be fair to Anthony, he did ask how everything was, and I did tell him it was fine, but that was only because the sauce served with the Lamb was enough to balance out the lamb's imperfections and I already made my way past three bites. But
For dessert, Anthony treated us to to some mousee, I had the Basque cheese cake, and my guest had the Peach Chamomile Ice Cream which was the perfect stew of sweet and umami. Basque cheesecake is different in that it has a more hardened, flan-like crust over it's wedge of creamy cheesecake and each bite caused an angel to earn her wings.
The server taking away my friends food before he was finished and not asking if he could? Having to wait at the bar five minutes with three bartenders in a practically empty bar? The overcooked $70 lamb? I suppose any one of those things could be overlooked. But that decor?
On My God in Holy Hell, who came up with that decor?? French countryside bistro meets disco ball columns meets uneven slats of marbling at the bar area where people will be drinking and walking around, some in heels? I've seen prisons with more promise. (On a side note, to the designers of Le Coq: Treat yourself to Vin Rouge in Durham, North Carolina if you want to study how to Americanize the French bistro aesthetic.) I also take issue with the size of the room. Why are you industrializing your concept? I get that Herringbone - a triumph in and of itself - was that building. But I don't know. Divide the room with a smaller VIP lounge. Something. Anything to make me forget I wasn't in an Amazon warehouse with French drapery.
But at the end of the day, you are there to experience Chef Tara's inventions and not get caught up in one person with a big mouth who has an opinion.
I will return in the Winter. I mean, frankly, Chef Tara could serve food that required you to sit on nails, and I'd do it. read more