LE TURTLE

Le Turtle.... not La Tortue, or The Turtle, but Le Turtle, is a vivacious little "French New Wave" bistro deep in the Bowery, although the frenchiest thing about it is probably it's .fr url.  That website is simultaneously mystifying and mesmerizing.... it changes frequently, but it seems always to include something a bit shocking, a little sexy, always quirky, artsy, intriguing.   Such can be said for the restaurant itself, at times trying too hard, but at others actually achieving it.

Large modernist turtle shell

We arrived to an empty dining room for a 7pm reservation, but within a half hour it was packed, with a cacophonous volume to prove it, and it stayed that way 'til we left.



The cocktail list included a very seasonal roster from which we choose hot toddy-type cider concoction, strong on its own with additional potency that comes with heated alcohol: it always seems to hit much harder.  Delicious, though, tart and boozy.  The cocktails are pricey, though, at $17 across the board, as is the wine list: the cheapest white was $19, spanning on up to $28.  It seems mean-spirited (no pun intended), or lazy not to include more reasonably priced varietals, because great ones are out there.  The food menus, millennial pink, have only about fifteen items on them, which your waiter will describe as if they are somehow formatted differently than any other menu in the city, but they are in fact, rather straightforward.   I got the feeling they were trying too hard on several counts, both in the kitchen and the servers themselves, who might detail a few additional specials,  and after doing so, ask if there are any questions.  There were: one she answered with a response that clarified nothing, and on the other she was just

Fennel salad

 inaccurate.  So that fennel salad, despite the fact that she said it combined both raw and cooked fennel, had only gently wilted, thin slices beflecked with toasty sunflower seeds. The most delicious component was robustly sweet chunks of roasted pineapple that made up for the disappointing fennel presentation,  subtly kissed with Meyer lemon vinaigrette.  Had her description been more accurate, I probably would've order the charred broccolini instead- it looked pretty divine with really incinerated florets and vibrant green stalks dusted with pistachio (I eyed this upon my neighbor's table... talk about green being the color of envy).  But better yet, order both.  Portions here are not particularly ample, so what we ended up with felt a little skimpy.  To that end, bread is not included, so if you are going to want a little loaf to mop

Bone Marrow

 up sauces (which are probably the restaurant's greatest asset), do order them for the six dollars they charge, and let me know what "Le Turtle butters" turn out to be.  A special, a froufrou marrow bone composition, completely lost the marrow to everything else it had going on. Which was delicious, but probably pretty overwrought for someone who actually wanted to taste the marrow and not the tasty bread-and-butter pickle relish and luscious bacon marmalade that I actually found a lot more appealing.

Venison

The ravioli pillows on the adjacent table didn't look very pillowy..... I actually thought they were the sunchoke appetizer in the dim light, but then again they licked that plate clean.   There were two large format options: a whole Sasso chicken ($69)  with Brussels sprouts and a Flintstonian Cote de Boeuf ($115), both of which got ordered multiple times throughout the evening, but with just the two of us we went for individual entrees.  Very rare medallions of venison were nestled into a mild, creamy celeriac puree brightened with popping pickled mustard seeds and a lip-smacking reduction of its maple/dry aged glaze.  I like the sauce better than the meat, which was little bland and mushy.  The monkfish was cooked similarly rare... which doesn't bode well

Monkfish

 for monkfish.  Much like squid, or chicken, under cooking verges on revolting, its texture sort of rubbery and gelatinous rather than tender.  The kitchen took it back for a little more attention, but maybe gave it a bit too much, although it was really quite delicious anyways.  Salty, its sunrise-hued sauce of ...... studded with favas.  There were only about four or five of those, however, so definitely fulfill your vegetable quota in the small plates that start, as the entrees include virtually none.

Caramelized fennel and cinnamon ice cream

On that note, I decided to try to get more of my five-a-day from dessert, but the caramelized fennel with cinnamon ice cream was really more candied, tooth-achingly sweet.  It would have made a fantastic garnish for a neutral cake or even poached fruit, but on its own it was overwhelmingly saccharine.  Our other options were rattled off by our server rather than printed out, so I recall a cardamom-spiced rice pudding and a chocolate option, plus one other one that escapes me.  We shared a French press coffee from La Colombe, though, and it was duly strong,  pairing well with the cinnamon ice cream and even countering some of the fennel's sugariness.

As our reservation was relatively early, the hordes kept funneling throughout the course of the evening.  So even as we were anticipating our check, more of the whole roasted chickens kept parading through the dining room, torched upon arrival for a bit of fireworks to close out the evening.    I hadn't read the New York Times' review beforehand, so when I turned to my dining companion and asked "Do you smell pot?" I didn't even know I was borrowing from Pete Well's script.  But I guess it is legal (-ish?) now, so not to worry. And whether it is that or just a well-run establishment with happy diners, Le Turtle sports a pretty chill vibe.

DIVERSION/PDX: JACKRABBIT

A Jackrabbit seems like on of the animals with just enough quirk and outdoorsiness to live up to Portland standards.  But while this Jackrabbit isn't all that weird, it has loosely modernized surf 'n turfed up menu with a fair share of cheffy oddities, like pig's ears and heads, along with "S&M"..... Shells and Meats, in this case, showcasing daily oyster specials and charcuterie complete with "untraditional garnishes."  So there is a palpable cheekiness in circulation, but a sense of normality stems from two difference factors: it is located in a hotel (The Duniway), which is usually grounding, and the chef is a familiar name- Chris Cosentino, from San Francisco.  And while my sister says he has
 diminished some of NorCal presence, he wasn't in the kitchen the night of my visit, either, nor (according to our chipper server) is he very often, if ever.








Jackrabbit is dark and kind of barny inside, fairly simply laid out but for a few rabbit tchotchkes here and about, and a large, handsome iron sculpture of heavy twists of vines and roses that was suspended above our table. A vast bar dominates the front room, with more real estate than the dining room, reflecting the heavy influence of local beers, wines and gin-centric cocktail menu.  No open kitchen here; in fact, I couldn't even tell you from where the food arrived, but when it did, nothing wasn't really, really solid.

Service is casual, the whole atmosphere is a little hush-hushed and calm, but we were there on what was probably a pretty not-busy night.  Even so, service lapsed somewhat throughout the evening, but the informality allowed to occur fairly inoffensively.  And as long as I'm criticizing, I'll put it out there here that I'm not a huge fan of "How is everything tasting?" but that inquiry presented itself a minimum of three times .  "How is everything?" is absolutely sufficient.  But at least they were checking, and the answer was always a sincere thumbs-up.

We started with a simple frisée salad over fanned-out slices of roasted delicata squash, dripped with a richly reduced, sticky balsamic.   There was one other salad option (a simple lettuce and herb combo with a lemon vinaigrette), but otherwise starters tended towards the weightier side, like a beef tartare or grilled cheese, or else a selection from the Pastas & Grains that could be shared as a first course or easily substantial enough for mains. A section of the menu dubbed Daily Requirements offers just that, which works well as starters or sides.   Roasted cauliflower certainly had enough going on to hold its own, tender, nutty nubs of the brassica nestled into a lively smudge of
 harissa, then studded with meaty pistachios and  zippy rings of pickled onion.  Not reinventing the wheel here, but certainly ensuring a smooth ride.

The menu is fairly large, so it's maybe a little unfortunate that both my dining companion and I arrived upon the grilled halibut with the same level of enthusiasm, and in a rare blitz of holiday generosity, acquiesced to us both ordering the same entree.  While a  local stuffed trout with brown butter or roasted duck breast with celery root are other attractive options, nothing else sufficiently rivaled the halibut with its braised kale and kabocha, and big, sweet hunks of
 divinely mellowed shallot.  We took another Daily Requirement in the form at sautéed mushrooms, wild ones featuring an array of chanterelles, oysters and other species of fancier fungi.

The dessert menu made good on another Portland trend I recognized of late- the prevalence of carrot cake.  Jackrabbit's iteration came in the form of an accoutrement for the panna cotta, along with crumbles of black walnut and a novel carrot cider sorbet.  We tried the mascarpone cheesecake, a dense puck of ivory topped with cool, cider-poached apples and delightful shards of buttery puff pastry caramelized to a toffee-like crispness.  A grasshopper ganache featured fresh mint in its fudgy chocolate mint combo, and a cheese plate paired warm sticky fig cake with Beemster's gouda.

I'm a terrible joke-teller.  I have about three jokes in my repertoire, and only one of them really ever gets a laugh.  But it happens to be a silly little quip about cowboys, liquor, and the California Invasion into Oregon, a migration rabidly scorned by the natives in their rapidly overpopulating state.  But this interloper, Californian or not,  is welcome in my book.  As long as he doesn't bring all along too many friends.......

   






        830 SW 6th Ave
        Tel. 503-412-1800

MP TAVERNA (Williamsburg)

I think I was more disappointed with my disappointment than I was actually disappointed by my experience at MP Taverna in Brooklyn.  The food we ordered left zero room for complaints- everything was unequivocally delicious and it lived up to my every expectation of chef Michael Psilakis, which are lofty.  But through a series of seriously unfortunate events (including disastrous guidance by Waze, an insultingly late arrival by my dining companion, and a party of sixteen dining concurrently that threw the kitchen so deep in the weeds they hadn't a chance of recovering) we had neither the boisterous fun that that large party was having, nor were we able to try enough of the dishes to have made the whole venture worthwhile, simply because of an overwhelmed crew.

Which shouldn't have been the case; the rest of the restaurant was sparsely populated.  It's a huge space, though, and the waiter imparted that for the most part, they are only really very busy when the adjacent music hall is hosting a show.  Makes sense that there's a music venue attached, 'cause Psilakis is a rock-star kinda guy.  But maybe he's spread himself a bit thin between three MP's spanning Irvington, NY way upstate, to Brooklyn, where we dined.  The former is where chef is spending most of his time, and I fear the Williamsburg address isn't getting quite enough love.

The dining room is super sparse, perhaps capitalizing on a current Athenian trend of minimalist decor, but aside from some simple, square columns and some frondy palms, you wouldn't  know this place was an more Greek than any other designation.... not until you get a menu.  Which I wish had happened about two hours earlier for us, but at least the luscious Greek salad we ordered arrived swiftly.  I wish some fluffy pita had arrived along with it, but instead we ordered it after the fact, because the salty, cheesy dressing pooling underneath was too good to let go to waste.  But the bread took another dose of forever to arrive, and by then I was already getting angsty.  We had ordered our entrees along with the salad, but a tremendous lapses occurred before we even saw our server to inquire what was going on.  Apparently, that sixteen-top had just incapacitated them, and as the minutes ticked by my patience ebbed.  When our entrees arrives almost an hour later, we all but had them packed up to go.  The few bites we did enjoy, however, were exceptionally good.  I ordered pretty light, as even before the delay we

were getting a late start.  But even a meze portion of roasted scallops was bountiful, enough for a main.  They sported an immaculate crust, deeply burnished and riddled with verdant slips of spinach and  nutty nubs of roasted cauliflower brightened with chewy dried cherries.

And I held off writing this review, that precisely per my assessment and prediction, the restaurant has now closed.  This saddens but does not surprise me, although I think and hope Psilakis' other locations are going strong.

And while the Brooklyn location is now closed, I FULLY trust and love Chef Psilakis to confidently recommend his other addresses, as well as Kefi and Fishtag:

1363 Old Northern Blvd.
Roslyn, NY 11576

One Bridge Street
Irvington, NY 10533

31-29 Ditmars Boulevard
Astoria, NY 11105