Coup de Foie Gras

The Holy Trinity of gastronomic delicacies comes down to this: the salted fish eggs of a pregnant sturgeon, goose livers that have been grossly force-fed, and a subterranean fungus. If you haven’t developed an appreciation for caviar, foie gras, and truffles, you might think this is one giant joke being perpetrated on rich folks. Closer to the truth is that there are two kinds of people who indulge in these foods: those who think they are good because they are precious, and those who know they are precious because they are good. Both types fill the beautiful Bal Harbour dining room of Petrossian, a restaurant that places a special value on this trio (especially the first two), while also serving up chef Christopher Sepe’s appealing mix of modern and traditional French cuisine.

Petrossian opened here four months ago, but the story really began in 1925, when brothers Melkoum and Moucheg Petrossian arrived in a vibrant Paris that was welcoming those princes, intellectuals, and aristocrats who were fleeing Russia. For all their elan, the French had not yet discovered caviar, as the brothers soon found out. The two White Russians became among the first to trade with the newly formed U.S.S.R., handpicking caviar directly from the fisheries on the Caspian Sea. Charles Ritz gave the fish eggs respectability by placing them on his influential hotel menu, helping make caviar the rage of Paris in the Twenties, and sending the Petrossians on their way to fame and fortune.

Today Petrossian is the largest importer of Russian caviar to France, the United States, and Canada. The outfit owns a restaurant in New York, and little retail caviar kiosks in that and other cities. It’s no surprise, then, that caviar selections in the new South Florida location take up an entire menu page. The centerpiece, a serving of 250 grams of beluga, comes to $600 (it will feed five to six people, or 74 to 78 goldfish), but a modest twenty-gram tasting is $47, and an equal quantity of sevruga is $23. If you’re on a limited budget, or any budget, you can get the same incomparable brand of sevruga atop three soft and puffy potato fritters, with creme fra”che and chive snippets, for just $12.50. Caviar also appears in two-thirds of the tartare samplers, salmon roe accentuating a tasty salmon tartare, and wasabi caviar invigorating a strip of raw tuna; there was no similar garnish to boost the lackluster steak tartare, though the field greens, tossed with a tangy roasted-onion balsamic vinaigrette, provided some sort of consolation.

No such perk came with the dry, disappointing French onion soup. The onions were richly caramelized but sat practically brothless, and the sliver of melted Gruyere did nothing but laminate the crouton. Just my luck — on another visit I spied a considerably cheesier version being served to someone else.

The ancient Romans prepared foie gras by force-feeding figs to their geese (nowadays corn is used), then further swelling and flavoring the livers by plunging them into a bath of milk and honey. Foie gras made from duck liver is more commonly used in this country, particularly when it comes to cooking; it melts and breaks down easier than goose liver, and has a more pronounced flavor. Differences in foie gras are also determined by how and where the ducks and geese have been raised. Those produced by geese in Toulouse are smooth and creamy white, while those from Strasbourg will be firmer and pinker. Petrossian’s duck foie gras is skillfully pan-seared and served with a delicate blueberry gastric (a vinegar and sugar-based sauce), but the goose foie gras terrine is more noteworthy, if only because not many places make it (and none make it better).

It surely is a laborious process, as the livers must be cleaned, delobed, deveined, molded, wrapped, slowly poached in bouillon, drained, cooled, and marinated for 48 hours in port and a little Armagnac before being sliced and served. No wonder it’s the most expensive appetizer.

The foie gras terrine boasted a rich, buttery texture and flavor, and in keeping with tradition was served without garnish — just some field greens and the warm, crusty slices of baguette in our bread basket. Our waiter presented the plate with the large, thin slice of foie gras facing away from my wife, which didn’t go unnoticed by the trained eye of Pierre Quetel, the former maitre d’ of Miami’s infamous Cricket Club, and general manager of Petrossian. He came over to our table and nonchalantly righted the dish. Judging by his expression as he did so, I’d guess the waiters received a stern lecture before their next shift. We didn’t bother telling Quetel that I, not my wife, had ordered the foie gras, but it was amazing how often the waiters set the wrong plates down in front of the people. Service was otherwise timely and competent, but some of the waiters clearly need polishing, not just in plate placement, but also in their general table presence and ability to enthusiastically articulate the menu.

While many of the starters are embellished with foie gras or caviar, the entrees are not, with one conspicuous exception: Sea bass with caviar, foie gras mashed potatoes, and a rich veal demi-glace flecked with black truffles. What seemed a potential case of conceptual overkill turned out to be enormously satisfying: the sweet, fresh flakes of bass braced with the salinity of caviar, the foie gras and truffles applied so subtly as to hardly register (the former really served more to enrich the spuds than flavor them, the latter adding just a mild whiff of earth to the sauce). The demi-glace worked unexpectedly well with the seafood because it was made the old-fashioned way: from scratch. The concentrated bouillons and bases, which many restaurants pass off as demi-glace, would have drowned the sea bass in saltiness when paired with the caviar.

Half of the dozen main courses (not including specials) are seafood, but that doesn’t necessarily imply light eating: All fish dishes come with hearty portions of smart, well-prepared starches and vegetables. The crisply sauteed snapper, for instance, was complemented with parsnip puree, haricot verts, baby carrots, a crouton slathered with black olive tapenade, and a saucelike broth infused with tarragon. Rare-seared tuna, presented Provençal-style instead of the usual wasabi way, gets marinated in lemon juice and fennel seed and is served over pistou (basil, garlic, and olive oil) mashed potatoes, with haricot verts and plump, bright-red, oven-dried tomatoes. The sauce is perfect, just the natural juices from the fish and tomatoes touched up with butter and fresh herbs.

Nonfish entrees offer plenty to chew on, too. A thick tenderloin of beef wrapped in prosciutto and horseradish came accompanied by gratin potatoes, the ever-present haricot verts, and a superb port-wine reduction sauce. Half an impeccably cooked honey- and herb-glazed duck rested over smoky, ham-imbued wild rice, a cluster of salad greens, and another delicious demi-glace, this one duck-based and sweetened with peaches.

Petrossian is in the process of changing their dessert menu, which is a good idea. The brioche bread pudding with rum-raisin ice cream, buttery crusted lemon tart with blueberries and mascarpone, and jasmine rice pudding were all pleasing, but seemed stylistically out-of-sync with the rest of the food, and a notch below in quality.

Quality is, rightly, what makes Petrossian products famous. And if, after shopping at Cartier and Chanel, you simply don’t have the time to fine-dine here, you can take home gourmet delicacies from the retail boutique fronting Petrossian’s dining room. At least you get a fine taste.

Petrossian
9700 Collins Ave (in Bal Harbour Shops); 305-861-6121. Open for lunch seven days, from 11:00 a.m. till 5:00 p.m.; dinner Monday through Saturday from 5:00 till 11:00 p.m., Sunday from 5:00 till 10:00 p.m.

Pan-seared duck foie gras
$16.00
Goose foie gras terrine
$25.00
Caviar-crusted sea bass
$30.00
Honey and herb glazed duck
$23.00
Brioche bread pudding
$6.

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