By Emily Codik
By Valeria Nekhim
By Hannah Sentenac
By Valeria Nekhim
By Carla Torres
By Emily Codik
By Carina Ost
By Laine Doss
I wasn't surprised in the health-conscious Eighties when rich, fattening French cuisine fell out of fashion. Nor am I shocked that with today's retro fascination with steak and potatoes, French restaurants are popping up all over subtropica. Yet the successes of two new eateries A Brasserie L'Entrecote in Coconut Grove and L'Entrec“te de Paris on South Beach -- surprises me, and not merely because their names are similar.
Though the two establishments are unconnected in the business sense, both are traditional renditions of the classic bistro, featuring prix fixe menus and brusque, efficient service. They even offer some of the same dishes A mesclun salad with vinaigrette, tarte aux citrons and, of course, the sliced sirloin (l'entrecete in French) from which they derive their names. That said, these places are far from twins.
Coconut Grove lost one of its bastions of civilized dining when Brasserie Le Coze co-owner Gilbert Le Coze died last year and his sister Maguy sold the restaurant. With its polished French fare and service, the stylish brasserie was a laudable offshoot of the pair's highly regarded Le Bernardin in New York City, and its abrupt darkening seemed to allow the garish lights of nearby CocoWalk and Planet Hollywood to shine that much brighter.
Walking past the site on Florida Avenue now, you wouldn't know anything had changed. Brasserie L'Entrecote proprietor Giacomo Passera has kept the elegance A white table linens, wall sconces, tiled floor A intact. Well-heeled diners grace the patio in twos and fours, relaxing on green-and-white wicker chairs. Those unwilling to brave the curious glances of pedestrians can sit in the 170-seat, ebony-and-gold dining room or commune at the bar. A pretty terrace decorated with verdigris-and-wicker furniture is yet another option.
Given the prix fixe menu, where to sit is probably a more difficult decision than what to eat. For $23 plus tax and tip, patrons are served a three-course meal -- soup du jour or salad, an entree, and dessert. A pleasing variety of French and California wines and/or coffee cost extra.
The night we visited, three successive busboys brought hot French rolls, salted butter, and ice water. The epitome of bistro policy, this facilitates a quick-change multicourse meal. Too bad the grim-faced waiter, who didn't take our order for fifteen minutes, negated that first impression. Though he transformed into a model of efficiency as the meal progressed, his expression remained surly.
A tangle of frisee, radicchio, and red oak leaf lettuce was a fresh beginning. Tossed with a smooth vinaigrette, the bitter greens and reds were topped with chopped, buttery walnuts. Soup du jour, a lidded crock of gazpacho, was the other first-course option. The cool tomato base, a puree, was blended with cucumber, onion, and aromatic celery. Though an obviously Spanish invasion upon what amounted to fairly rigid bistro fare, the gazpacho was a truly fine rendition.
The menu lists only three main course options (including the namesake steak); two additional dishes are offered as blackboard specials. One was duck a l'orange, a passable version coated with a sweet, almost cloying clove-spiked sauce. The somewhat odd portion A two legs plus one meaty thigh, no breast -- was made odder still by the fact that the legs were of different textures, one dry and tough to separate from the bone, the other rare and pliant. Shreds of orange peel in the sauce and a handful of candied baby carrots, though a bit undercooked, attested to the kitchen's painstaking efforts. The duck's wonderfully crunchy skin provided further evidence of expertise.
A swordfish steak garnished with green peppercorn sauce was the other blackboard entree. Studded with whole peppercorns the size of capers and draped with a light, pastel pink cream sauce, the succulent fish was served alone on the plate, with a side dish of pommes frites.
Le colombo de supràme de poulet, a regular menu entry, was another satisfying main course. Boneless chicken breast meat had been pounded slightly, seasoned and lightly pan-fried, and sauced with an intense mushroom stock. The dozen or so skin-on supremes were nicely textured and juicy, with an exterior crunch. A side serving of fabulous gratin de pommes a la dauphinoise -- thinly sliced potatoes wafting nutmeg and oozing Gruyure -- almost overshadowed the dish.
We had assumed the combo of matchstick-cut French fries and aged Angus strip steak would be the centerpiece of the meal, and it was. The medium-rare steak, sliced and doused in a slightly too salt-heavy cream sauce eventually tempered by the released meat juices, was of prime quality, each bite redolent with smoky grill flavors. Our only difficulty lay with the cutlery -- the steak knives were as dull as cardboard. While this cut required minimal effort, a serrated knife would eliminate the need for elbow grease.
Dessert is a lengthy selection of French pastries, easily twice the number of entrees. Though we didn't appreciate a too-hard pear that had been poached and submerged in spicy red wine, a mouth-puckering lemon tart more than compensated. Topped with fresh spearmint ice cream, a velvety bittersweet chocolate tart was also fantastic, while a napoleonlike mille feuilles, layered with custard, was a slippery but tasty affair.