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.