Garlic and Sapphires (41 page)

RESTAURANTS WHERE THE ROMANTIC DECOR IS THE DRAW

THE LAST TIME The Times looked at the Box Tree it was a pretentious place serving fancy, not very good Continental food for $78 a person, prix fixe. That was six years ago. Since then there has been a lengthy strike, which ended last month in a victory for the workers. You might think that would have improved the restaurant.

No such luck. Today the Box Tree is a pretentious place serving fancy, not very good Continental food for $86 a person, prix fixe. But one thing has changed. The service used to be genial and attentive. Now it is as pretentious as the setting—when it is anything at all.

Consider, for example, a midweek lunch. When I walk into the precious little entry, which looks as if it is trying out for a part in a Ralph Lauren ad, the hostess barely looks up. “Do you have a reservation?” she asks frostily. I do. “Your guest has not arrived,” she says, pointing to a seat by the fireplace. “Wait there.” She then graciously allows me to listen as she makes phone calls. Meanwhile, a waiter complains about what the cleaners have done to his jacket, and a manager loudly berates a busboy in the grill next door. I can't remember a less welcoming introduction.

My guest finally arrives. As we are led into the ornate dining room with its dark wood, stained glass and fancy fireplaces, I can't help wondering why I was forced to wait in the vestibule. But for the roses waiting patiently on each plate, the room is utterly empty. A few nights later I wonder, similarly, why the captain refuses to move us away from a large, loud party. “We have no other tables,” he insists, but anyone with eyes can see that he is wrong.

He presses quickly on. “Do we have a host or hostess?” he asks, emphasizing the final syllable. This may be one of the last restaurants in America to give guests unpriced menus. Pity, for the person paying the bill would surely want his guests to know that the meal is as expensive as it is inept.

It is also very large. This is not necessarily a good thing. By the time you have slogged through an appetizer, soup, entrée and salad, you may dread the arrival of dessert. But should you somehow find yourself at the Box Tree (it is, after all, considered one of New York's most romantic restaurants), you will be happy to hear that it is not impossible to find a few acceptable dishes to go with the dreamy décor.

Appetizers are easiest. My favorite is the smooth terrine of duck liver served in a little crock with toast on the side. Snails are quite good, too, served in a ceramic dish and topped with Pernod sauce and grated cheese. Cold poached trout is moist and mannerly. But avoid the bizarre scallops with butternut squash and the horribly overcooked cumin-rubbed shrimp.

Soups are a problem. The lobster bisque is dreadful. The bisque of morels is even worse; once you get past the taste of sherry, it is absolutely impossible to tell what you are eating. The “consommé of whole cow” is fun for its title, but not much more. But the carrot and ginger velouté is perfectly fine, and the cool yogurt and cucumber soup is refreshing.

Main courses are the most difficult. Avoid, at all costs, anything made with lobster. The waiter described the lobster fricassee, served at lunch, as a two-pound lobster removed from the shell and served in a beurre blanc. If the shell decorating the dish was related to the lobster that once inhabited it, it was no two pounder. And that “beurre blanc” was gritty with uncooked starch and seasoned primarily with dill. Lobster Mornay at dinner was tough. Tenderloin of beef with Armagnac sauce featured the most unpleasant piece of beef I have ever been served in a restaurant; it had neither taste nor texture. Veal medallions with wild mushrooms were only a marginal improvement. If you are in the mood for meat, choose the rack of lamb. Salmon is also unobjectionable: two fat fillets on a bed of lentils.

Each main course is served with an identical melange of vegetables and followed by a welcome salad of endive, watercress and Stilton.

You are almost at the end, and if you avoid the soggy apple tart and the runny crème brûlée, dessert holds no terrors. The vacherin, chocolate cake and raspberry brûlée are all perfectly pleasant.

Best of all, it is almost time to leave. Unlike other restaurants that charge these sorts of prices, the Box Tree does not shower you with little gifts to make you linger at the table. No petits fours, no chocolates. And although it can be nearly impossible to find someone willing to pour your wine, getting the check is never difficult. Just snap your fingers, and it is there in a flash.