Review: Le Lupanar
LES French newcomer has flash and zeal. Can't say the same of the food.
- Metromix.com
- By Jacqui Gal
Photo Credit: Mea Tefka
Read this article on Metromix.com
It’s disappointing when the peak of a meal comes right at the start. Appetizers arrive, filled with promise and a burst of creativity and flavor, only for inspiration to peter out once the entrees hit the table, and then fizzle completely by dessert.
Sadly, a visit to French-provincial newcomer Le Lupanar followed such a trajectory. However, the gut feeling was that this particular meal on this particular night could have been an unfortunate anomaly. Perhaps it was the competent and friendly waitress, or the tasteful wood and glass décor (a black-and-white projection of “Swingers” onto the back wall notwithstanding). Somehow, the energy of this newcomer to the Lower East Side managed to engender one’s confidence.
First, the good part: appetizers. Risotto balls were coated in a thin crispy layer that gave way to a “herbed” green, creamy center of soft grains. Three of them were brightly served on a bed of finely diced red- and yellow-pepper-“marmalade.”
The braised oxtail salad was a nice portion of rich beef shreds atop a salad laced with vinegary onions and finished with a salty bite of parmesan shavings. Satisfying and more-ish, we would have happily sampled other appetizers. The pumpkin or roasted eggplant soups (unfettered by the addition of cream, said the waitress), the steamed Prince Edward Island mussels (“in a light broth!”) and the other salads (“they’re all fresh, green and light!”) all seemed appealing, but it was the entrees that promised the biggest bang (and which the waitress had depicted as impossibly delicious).
In fact, it could be that in her zealous description of each and every menu item, we were led astray. The way she sold it, no matter which entree we selected from the menu, it would be a wise choice. And although her enthusiasm for every culinary move made by the chef was palpable, it was a tad excessive.
We settled on the Alaskan king salmon “brought in fresh every day,” as well as the filet of beef. Although they were served prettily, the flavors were muted. A bland and fully cooked piece of salmon came with some lovely, sweet roasted fennel, a nice red wine fumet, and a piquant salad of celery leaves and flat-leaf parsley. The fish itself was forgettable.
Steak arrived, cooked correctly but robbed of its flavor. Perhaps its juices weren’t properly sealed and had bled into the bed of sautéed spinach below, which had the rich taste of grilled meat that the beef lacked. Fingerling potatoes that the menu promised as “crispy” were soft. An olive “jus” (dotted with chunks of black olive) added a zesty kick, yet seemed unsuited to the other flavors in the dish.
The name Le Lupanar is “provincial French slang for brothel,” we were told, and it’s a good guess that even the most popular bordellos must have their quiet nights. We happened to visit on a very quiet Friday—it’s usually busy, “packed!” said the waitress. Well, not tonight.
Still, an eclectic mix of your-Lower-East-Side-roommate’s-iPod-
on-shuffle set a festive musical mood. But the aforementioned projection of “Swingers” (set to repeat) was a distraction, as is the overall emerging trend of restaurants installing LCD TVs or projectors and broadcasting TV, movies or simple images. By reflex they draw the eye and break conversation.
Meanwhile, the bittersweet ending to this meal came in the form of a sad, dry, pear-and-almond tartlette. Its tastelessness was such an insult to the restaurant’s French roots that our waitress offered a refund, without even a word from us. “Try the profiteroles, if you come back,” she said cheerily.